Thursday, June 18, 2015

One Act Play

Steep Road Ahead

Bruce: (whispering quietly to the person in the passenger seat next to him) Mama, hey mama, wakey wakey eggs ‘n cakey!!!

Mother: (quietly, subconsciously not wanting to be disturbed) err mhhh.

Bruce: Hey mama, we’re almost at the split, you need to wake up now. We’re about ten miles away, come on mama.

Mother: Why, hello there Brucey baby. Where are we?

Bruce: We’re almost at the split.

Mother: Oh, how nice, very nice. The weather is pitch-perfect- ain’t it, Bruce?

Bruce: Mama, you crack me up like an egg being prepared for one of aunt June’s famous baby cakes! It’s gonna be rainin for the rest of the week! You remember the weatherman saying that don’t ya mama?

Mother: Yes, I’m just making fun with you honey. Are you sure you know where you’re going? Should I get tha’ map out?

Bruce: No.

Mother: Are you sure? (Reaching for glove compartment) I have a map right here, here let me git it son. It’ll just take a second. We’ll know where we’re going faster than you can say Jiminy Cricket! We didn’t always have those fancy gizmos you know, we were only lucky enough to get them last year thanks to the good Lord, now none of you young’uns can get around without street signs. What do you think we did before?

Bruce: I don’t know momma, maybe talk’d to them magical aliens you always go off about.

Mother: They was hovering right above me, I’m tellin’ ya! (after a brief pause) I’m gonna get that map whether you like it or not.

Bruce: Alright momma, do whatever keeps your overalls blue.

Mother: Now it says here, hmmm, mmmm, oh, okay, yup, yup, yup, that after the split we need to bear left onto the transcontinental freeway for approximately three days and then merge onto route...
Bruce: What map are you lookin’ at? That seems like the darndest route I’ve ever heard. (muttering) Three days...yeah...on whose paycheck?


Bruce: Yeah I thought so.

Mother: Oh what was that Brucey pie? This map is quite nice, makes a girl think she ought to be a calligrapher.

Bruce: You heard me loud and square momma. I know my own route, it’ll take us there much sooner than THREE DAYS!

Mother: Oh yeah? Bruce it wouldn’t hurt if  just listened to me once in a while. I’m your mother.

Bruce: Just because you’re my mother doesn’t mean I need ya to do everythin’ for me.

Mother: I understand that honey, but you know it’s better if we don’t get lost.

Bruce: Clarice, for the last time I am goin’ my own route, thank you very much, now leave me to it!

Mother: Don’t give me no lip son, you can’t tell the difference between stew and a tomato! Never call ya mama by her name, it’s damn disrespectful. Remember, I always know best.

Bruce: Yes (sarcastically) Madame.

Mother: Oh good Lord, please smack some sense into this young’un. I didn’t carry you around in my kidneys for a year for you to treat me like this. I had to stop mud jumping because of you! All because of you!!! I had a career goin’ for me, I was gonna make it big! I had the best scores in the state!

Bruce: Momma, it’s just I need you to give me s’um freedom. You can latch and snatch their freedom right from under ‘em, like a mosquito on the Fourth of July, sometimes a bother!

Mother: (crying) You just go and keep on hatin’ your poor mama, she don’t mean nothin’ to you. If I died, y’all would go off and celebrate, ‘n sell m’ corpse to the devil.

Bruce: Oh mama, I didn’t mean to go and upset you like that, you know I love you! It’s just hard sometimes to say what I need to say, without hurting you.

Mother: (insultingly) Good Lord Bruce, I’m not some delicate tractor engine that needs to be oiled every two minutes. I can handle it, I’m not weak, you better not be callin’ your dear mother weak!

Bruce: I would never, mame. I just gone been worried about your crying.

Mother: I don’t need no damn son worrying about me, isn’t that what you're all worried about?

Chuck: You mean cartographer momma?

Bruce: What you talkin’ ‘bout boy?

Chuck: (hesitant) ‘makes a girl think she ought to be a calligrapher’, a cartographer is someone who makes maps.

Bruce: Chuck you ain’t no help.

Mother: Oh Lord have mercy! Both of my children attackin’ me, and attackin’ each other. What’s next? Will the car implode from all this sin?!? The Lord will surely thrust me into the bowels of hell. I am a victim of a horrible family, I will die lonely!

Bruce: Mother I think you need to calm down and relax. It gone been a long car ride, we’re all just a wee bit cranky like a rooster on pluckin’ day. Momma?


Bruce: Hello there, earth to momma! Have the aliens come for you again?


Bruce: Momma!


Bruce: (looking at the steep road ahead) I just don’t know if we’re ever gonna git there.

Monday, June 1, 2015

Picture Perfect Pieces

Organic [test]

           The pale blue dot twirls never-endingly, a relentless French pirouetter trying to get it perfect, yet deciding it wasn’t good as soon as it ended. As he sits and stares at it, it’s no different as if he was looking at a computer screen with a black background, featuring one pixel of a cerulean dot smack on right side. This pale blue dot, this single pixel, the insignificant body where everything ever known to the human race has occurred, soon to be swallowed by the black void in the eyes of its beholder.
            The man caught his last glance and lay down in the chamber, where he would spend the next 245 days, sleeping an essential sleep. The sleep’s funding was hard fought by the space community, and seen as trivial by most compared to modern world events.
            Even though no one was conscious to observe it, a single bright red pixel popped up on that imaginary computer screen. It twirled much fiercer than earth. The lights, still on in order to stimulate the otherwise pale skin, were humming lightly in the background. It was completely silent.
            In perfect synchrony the chamber doors open, with the first sound the humans hear being the hydraulics of its doors. A cacophony arises suddenly, coughing, sneezing, vomiting, shrieks, cries, and laughing.
            They feast, eating fittingly for people who have only had liquid nutritional supplements for the past 245 days. However, to their disappointment the food was only solid nutritional supplement. They sat in silence, feeling as though they endured years of horrible deafening dreams without end, while others may have been under stimulated. Noises are quieter than silence.  
            After touchdown on the fine Martian soil, they all took a deep breath. To some, this breath was a sigh of relief, while to others it was filled fear, or adventure, or curiosity.
            Instead of saying what they had prepared before stepping on the sand, which is surprisingly clichĂ© for a group of scientists, they stepped out in silence. They were consumed with their own thoughts, running all throughout their minds chaotically. They were brave. It was nearing sunset where they were.
            They began a voyage out and around the area they had landed. They explored and ventured further than any humans ever had. The mountains sloped steeper and were wider than any they could have imagined. They were huge arches which rippled and danced across the sky.
            They lost track of time and began to go farther and farther. It was almost sunset. They jumped and laughed and giggled. The Martians enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness; it gave them a sense of pure euphoria.
            As the sun set against the back of the mountains, the temperature began to decline rapidly. Their breath was visible against the helmet glass. They could see it’s white wispiness float around, the water vapor in their breath. As it floated in their helmets, it stuck and froze onto the glass. Before long, the entire helmet was covered in a thick crystal ice. The dust and other particles both in the air and on the helmet helped to sculpt an unpolished and unrefined shape of patterns on the glass. The fading sunlight gleamed on the mountaintops, a dirty yellow spread throughout the middle view. The sharp red sand was invisible against the illusion of light. The picture view was soon to be swallowed by exponential growth rate of the crystal. They took it all in and breathed it all out. One of the Martians whispered,

            “Oh my god,”

CCCP [test]

An ant scurried across the floor of the woodlands, scanning for a snack. She moved quickly, changing direction every so often, but still hovering about a general path. If her pathway was to be mapped it would crudely resemble that of any general wavelength of light.
Her brilliant eyes were analyzing the surrounding landscape, focused on both the left and right, for gods placed them on the sides of her head. Unbeknownst to the ant, school kids giggled only seconds ago due to the peculiarity of the Egyptians’ paintings’ sideways eyes.
Scuttling around the towering blades of intimidating gray and yellow, she bonked into a curious fishbowl. Even though she had traveled this same path since she was able to move, she was unfazed and in fact didn’t even perceive the bowl as anything else but an obstacle to her goal; food.
She began the trek along the circumference of the object, until a pale hand came down and grasped it, squishing her in the process. The vermin was promptly smeared across the fibrous suit leg of the inconvenienced, whose grime might be called one of the best pieces of abstract expressionism created in modern times. The fishbowl was relocated next to the vehicle, so that it wouldn’t shatter and stab him later on.  
The natural bristles on the man’s neck began to rise with the falling temperature. The raw day chewed through the man, puncturing and nibbling on his psyche, regurgitating it messily over his head, similar to the primitive bears that were in pursuit of him for their next meal. He duly decided to go back into the government commissioned vehicular craft. While waiting for the warmth inside the craft to diffuse into his body, he began to think over the discussed plan.
"Next time you are in my eyes you will be in Siberia, ha-ha yes comrade?" he remembered one of the reserve crew members saying. The comrade's corpulent head jiggled with ferocity as he laughed, bucking his skull back, revealing his dirty teeth which were putrefied from years of government sponsored living.
While the man was in Siberia, it was not the sterile wasteland of capitalist propaganda. The trees were burnt charcoal black, the yellow tufts of grass piercing against the dull gray, resembling an elder who forgot to wipe the mustard from his mustache after lunch.
The man continued to recall the simple plan, he had already started the homing signal, so they were coming toward him. He was just supposed to wait for the helicopter to find the signal and lie low.
He had fallen asleep suddenly; his clunky suit and warm shuttle had accelerated his tiredness. He began to stir, overwhelmed with the sound of a persistent fuzzy cry from outside the spacecraft. The man grasped his shotgun. He unlocked the hatch and looked out, resembling a hound, his arms on the ground and his legs still immersed in the safety on the floor of the hatch.
As he rose the sound started again. He began to walk to it, with nothing but a lamp clamp on his suit to help traverse the area. There was a small radius of 2 feet around him illuminated. Beyond that an ocean of black.
He was muddled and confused: lost. Was he in the black void that surrounded him only hours ago? Was this void lacking oxygen? His breathing became labored.
The cries grew louder and closer until they were mere feet above him, in the embodiment of a hooting owl. His face was paler than normal, covered in dripping beads of sweat. He let go of his breath and began to breathe heavily once more.


“Hahahaha! Yeah, we’re actually going to check out the reef tomorrow.” she said, “We’re adventurers! Deep sea divers of the wild!” Her thick Aussie accent detonated the erupting blaze of laughter.
She moved to the stern of the boat as it began to accelerate. It was dusk, and the sun had just set passed the sloping mountains. The city lights glistened, a valuable yellow that lighted the way for people, casted over the water. She saw her face enveloped in the yellow. The reflected poles of light were stretched and pulled, she smiled, reminded of Mike Teavee’s prolonged body after using Wonka’s famed taffy puller.
The other boats and buildings began to shrink until they dissolved into water’s horizon. She shifted focus back onto the conversation.
“and that’s when I said, yeah and Hugh Jackman can eat a bagel!” It seemed that the group’s mirth spread to the rest of the boat, as soon enough everyone was whooping with joy. She reveled in the moment, and was elated to be there. “Ay, Krissy, how you likin’ Zealand? How much different is it from ‘the down under’?” he began to laugh from all of his hand motioning,
“Not much different I expect.” Smiling, she brushed off the question and continued listening what the others were saying.
She plopped into the warmth of the water, it filled her suit, “faster than a wallaby on skates” she thought to herself. For those few seconds before her entire body suit was submerged the water in her suit legs sloshed around. She began meandering through the water, her powerhouse kick propelled her forward.
A school of ebony fish jetted past her, their high concentration of mucous on their skin making it easy for them to whip around. She continued traversing the coral reefs, filled with bright vibrant blues, greens, reds, purples. And yellow.
Staring at her in the face seemed to be a sickly bumblebee nested in a reef alcove. The muffled black and yellow seemed problematic. The tube coral swayed back and forth on the crimson cauldron, hypnotizing her with its spiraling motion from the current, that brought life and pirates into the region long ago. The cauldron was oxidized and corroded, masked and camouflaged with the reef.

           The bright light fried an oval into her eyes, overwhelming her corneas, searing the image right into her mind. She shut her eyes and could perfectly place where everything was. Sight without sight. The bleached rays of light shone from the sun, no, the lamp in the sky. The water rippled with intensity, dragged by the wind across of the surface of the lake. The land was perfectly sculpted to appear like a painting.
“Welcome to the Biosphere, Mars’s premier biodome.” she remembered hearing on a commercial back on earth, and now she was here. She made it. She was standing on the grass, err, turf? No. Real meadows. The company had always prided itself in its 100% natural policy, which other terraforming companies did not guarantee.
The earth was defiled. Done in. Kaputz. The population was left unchecked, and every possible square inch was crammed with bodies. The closeness of everyone was unsanitary, someone sneezed and their snot ended up as a topping on their friend’s goulash. It turns out the snot was lined with a mucous covering oozing with parasitic laced juices.
While some parasites caused death, most caused debilitating side effects like paralysis, weakening the population. Thirty five percent of the population were born without motor control in their appendages, the central nervous system was attacked and numbed in the womb. All they could move was their eyebrows.Only the rich could survive, escaping the wretchedness of earth by converting their stacks of money into stacks of rockets. She was one of them.
The world was her oyster, err, at least until it became tainted, then like a piece of bad meat she threw it out and searched for the next piece, a ravenous beast whose thirst could only be temporarily quenched.

She turned round, started climbing back up the uneven hill into her estate. The path was made of rubble of ancient earthly kingdoms, while she happened to step on a fragment of a Spanish palace, she looked at her Alcázar inspired manor and thought about its underwhelming size. The front of her estate was lined with hand crafted tiles, each with their own special individual engraving of different species, coincidentally they were all of species that became extinct while she was on earth. Lining the avenue that the estate was situated on was other manors with different themes, that were situated closely together due to a lack of space in the Biosphere.

For Odin

The infernus cinders enveloped the entire paper lantern, burning it into nothingness, like it never existed. The first one was lit by the child of the deceased. Once the heat lifted it, the other’s launched there’s, filling the sky with waning bubbles of light.
There was crying. The weeps and wails of the people permeated the beach, overpowering the sound of the waves smashing the hard beach sand. With every tear let out an equal force of remembrance and happiness was embraced in the mind.
After the last bubble of light atrophied, there was a solemn silence. All that could be heard was the sloshing and wallowing waves pounding the beach. The absence of light comforted the mourner’s grief.
Most of them were wandering the obscurity of their memories with the departed, forgetting the raft that was making its way off the the shore of the beach. The late body was laying on the pyre, ready for the next step of life.
The pyre was chipped and worn, weathered from years of sitting and waiting to be used. Her body was dressed in her finest clothes, her burgundy dirndl had tears and splotches from a generation of hearty use, still had the worn initials her mother embroidered for her decades ago. Her family knew she would be embarrassed saying that it’s way too schmutzy, but they also knew it’s what she wanted.
English lavender. Forget-me-not. Chrysanthemum. Hydrangeas. Azaleas. Not lillies, she didn’t like those. Enveloped by nature and familial objects she was hugged and supported by nature.
A single arrow arced upwards, lit with a vibrant yellow body that began to sink, dropping directly into the flowers. Ascending into an inferno, the beacon was amplified by the reflection off of the ocean, doubling the area illuminated and blurring the line between fire and water. The dirty yellow ran across the sea.
Standing glued to the fire, their faces were lit up by the profundity of the blaze, a haze cloaked their eyes, unfocusing their vision of the scene into giant colorful blobs.

Prof. Dribble

I climbed the staircase up into the professor’s study, which was oddly unlike the rest of the house. It was crafted from Scottish stone, and felt appropriately cold for the most aloof person I am familiar with. Inside, electric lamps lined the walls by the archways, which lead to a larger observatory surrounding the small study. The portraits surrounding the tower above me were partially illuminated, mostly on the bottom, making their already disdainful appearances look even more arrogant than they already were.
The rusty globular structure that hung down from the ceiling, resembling that of a drooping snot of a child would twist and spin round sporadically, as if it had a life of its own. Somewhat frightened, I approached my professor who was writing feverishly with his quill. Just like the quill, he curiously seemed an anachronism, simply born five hundred years too late.
He dipped his quill in ink, continued scribbling whatever nonsense he was scribbling, and said in his deep and patronizing voice,
“Well, you might as well sit down.”
I nodded, even though I’m unsure why as he wasn’t even looking at me, and stared at his exquisite face. It was noticeably advanced in age, with many flaps and folds and dangles of the skin trying to worm their way off. His eyes were deeply situated inside his skull, creating dark shadows all around his eyes like some sort of demonic spirit. Other people said he had the eyes of Cthulhu, but I wouldn’t be generous enough to grant him that honor. His arms were squid like appendages, thin and lanky extending far beyond the normal reach. His eyebrows, well, the hair had vanished with time from so much ink dabbing on them, but he did create an impressive self serve tattoo.
He continued scribbling, aware of the fact that I was sitting in front of him, but apathetic.
“I’m here to speak about the botany class your offering next semester, and I…” but I couldn’t finish, he cut me off.
“I know why you’re here,” he said sighing as if he was ready for retirement, “but like a Madagascar Palm you must wait to be realized,” he said, emphasizing the word wait with every force he could put into it.
His voice echoed against the Scottish stone, instead of one gut wrenching punch into my stomach it provided two. His breath permeated the air around me, stimulating the flaring of my nostrils with the smell of rancid horseradish. His teeth were a dirty yellow, covered in a fuzz resembling a caterpillar.

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Writing Burst Prompt

Compose a short story where the first letter of each sentence is in alphabetical order.


        A bear was sitting upon a rock. Behind her a wolf was watching. Closely next to the bear was her cubs. Delicately, she prodded them. Every move she made was watched by the wolf. For if it wasn't for the mother, the wolf would devour the cubs. Gallantly, the wolf strode into the bear's territory. Harrah, the mother bear, stood her ground and roared. Initiating an old fighting ritual, the wolf began to circle her. Just as Harrah roared a third time, the wolf pounced.
        Knelt on one knee was a human observer, photographing the action, from the safety of a ledge many ways away.
       Leaving not even a single cub to fend for themselves, Harrah attacked. Mother bear had hit the wolf in the snout. New power had come to her and she fought hard. Often, the wolf fell backwards. Perhaps it was luck, or good motherly habits, but the wolf retreated. Quickly, the wolf galloped back to his pack. Right as the wolf ran Harrah released a booming roar. Silently, the cubs came out of hiding and dashed to their mother. The skilled mother bear had successfully defender her kin. Uncertain if the wolf would come back when she was feeding, Harrah decided to leave the plains. Very soon afterwards, the wolf in fact returned. Waiting for the rest of his pack to follow, the wolf searched for the cubs. Xiphoid, the teeth of the wolf were ready to tear and grind through their next meal.
       Yearning for a good action shot, the man had his finger on the capture button.
       Zealousness paid off for the vigorous mother bear this time.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Irony Short Story

“You are hereby sentenced to death by firing squad,” spat the judge, in the direction of the defendant, who was only three feet away from him. He was completely emotionless, as if the last sentence he uttered had been ordering his lunch. And in fact, immediately afterward, the judge began deciding what to have for lunch. He stood, and exited. The defendant would see that man many times more for the appeals process.

Upon hearing the verdict, the defendant immediately began laughing. He had a strange smile on his face that didn’t fade until the next  morning. The defendant was then taken away through the double doors on the side of the courthouse. Above the double doors was a picture of a blindfolded woman holding scales, with both scales at an equal height, blind justice.

Once in his office, the judge retreated to his desk. Inscribed in it was a quote: “Truth. Justice. Honor.” He began filing the necessary paperwork that was triggered by the course of events in the courtroom. It took him a mere minute, he faxed it off, and about twenty minutes later the ordered hamburger came by an intern. 

The intern was acting in a hurried manner. As soon as he entered and dropped off the food he ran off. From outside the office, the intern could hear, “Forgot the mayonnaise, goddammit!!” which was nearly screamed.  The judge then proceeded to spew a wide range of profanities, which when asked how he had such a collection, claimed that they all came from his bad tempered defendants. He began to mumble, “do it myself...goddammit...damn mayonnaise...MAYONNAISE,” Disgruntled, the judge shot his sandwich in the trash, and marched out his office, and hopped into his intern’s car.

“Hello, welcome to Burger King, how may I take your order.”

“Gimme three cheeseburgers, a large fry, and uhh what, what do you call those ice cream things?”

“Oh a frosty?"

“Yeah sure, why don’t cha’ give me ‘un large frosty and...” as he continued, the cashier began to lose interest and think about her lunch break.

“Okay, yes, sir, sure thing. That’ll be $2.84”

“OK whatever, just get me my food fast.”

“Yes, sir, here is your…” he trailed off.

The judge then sped away from the ordering window, accelerated to about 40 MPH, even though the next window was a measly 4 yards away. The senseless act caused the judge to slam into the car in front of him, which was rocked forward. Through the window the judge could see the woman flailing her arms and freaking out. She was about to scream the judge’s ear off.

The judge then proceeded to scream a very high shrill scream, with full force, using his entire body. His limbs followed by flailing all around, until the judge decided what he was going to do. He accelerated and sped onto the road, except he never took his foot off the break. 80. 100. 120. 140. 160. 190. 220.

The defendant was sitting in his cell staring at his wall. “I’m going to die soon,” he said, with a sad demeanor, but not that sad. Not death sad, sad as in someone just stepped on his lunch.
Smoke filled the cell. The car was pressing against the defendant’s head. The judge was three feet away from him. His head was laid on the steering wheel, with red liquid pouring from all around him. The defendant walked straight up to him, and simply whispered, “Thank you,” and he walked away. 

Precisely two minutes and eight seconds later the judge raised his head. “My drink, goddammit!!!” He got out of his car, and returned to his office. As soon as he sat down in his chair, his intern entered his office. He was shocked. Not car crash shocked, but shocked like someone just slapped his lunch out of his hands.
“I’m going to have to request to take the rest of the day off,” he said, almost ashamed, “my car has been hijacked and crashed,”
“This is highly unacceptable,” he continued in a very monotone voice, “I would expect more from someone like you. Good thing you’re not paid.”
Immediately afterwards, police officers entered his office and seized the intern. One officer took hold of one arm, while the other took hold of his other arm.

“Excuse us your honor, we have reason to believe that your intern here has helped a convict escape. We scanned the license plate, and found that he owned the crashed car.”

“No, it, it, no, it was stolen! It was hijacked! Tell ‘em your honor, tell ‘em!”
“I’ve never thought less of anyone else in this world than you,” said the judge, staring right into the soul of his intern. “Get him out of my sight,”
“Does this mean I’m fired?”

“No, and you’ve done so well you’ve made your pension fifty years early! Congratulations!”
The judge looked down at his papers while the intern was taken away. He began working on the paperwork for the convict case. After the intern was taken away, he stared out the window thinking about what to eat for lunch.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

3 Poems

Poem 1: Afghan Landay

        Original Draft:      My people scorched, called “just damnation”.
The blood of my people fell as precipitation.

Revised Draft: My people scorched for “just damnation”,
reasoned as leading us to glorious salvation.

Poem 2: Japanese Tanka

        Original Draft:                Valleys everywhere
Butterflies diving quite low
Quacking duckbills boom
Moths dancing all around you
Clouds wisping through the wild winds

          Revised Draft:          Beautiful bright trees
Disgusting giant buildings
Beautiful bright bees
Artificial clouds inflate
Caught in a burning vapor

Poem 3: Free Verse

Original Draft: Geeeeaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wanna  to ate sum aple sauce!!!!!!!!!!

I wanna play with billy!!!

I want to hang with Clara.

Wish I had some money.

I want to go to college.

I am going to get a job.

I need to meet someone.

I need a raise.

I am going to build a crib.

I need money.

I ought to get a more expensive car.

I would like to retire.

I can’t wait for my grandchildren!!!!

Why didn’t  little Timmy invite me to his game?!?!


Revised Draft: