In the Future...

For a long time, I thought that once I finished Creative Writing, I'd just delete this blog. I'd remain unattached and cool, just posting things required for class, things that had none of my heart and soul in them.

I thought wrong.

The first week of class, I stated on here that I had lost my creative soul, that I had lost the ability to write fancifully. One of the possible reasons I cited was the fact that I wasn't writing stories or poems for classes, so I didn't feel prompted to write them at all. Well, I want that to change.

Although my creativity has been rusty, it slowly loosened up this semester. I want to continue to let it thrive. I want to encourage the free flow of creativity, the creation of stories and characters and words strung together in new ways. I want this to live on.

So I am keeping Mandatory Musings. I want it to be my little corner of the world wide web. I want it to be the place I can post things with no bearing in real life, things born of imagination.

Maybe this won't work like I want it to. Hopefully it will.

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Me For Comes Death

The man turned his head and died.

He felt his body move and stiffen. His veins burned and froze, hot and cold battling in his blood for dominance. A hurricane spread through him as he fought one last, clung to life.

The needle burst through skin and membrane, and he went limp. All was futility.

It got closer, the black gloved fist stabbing blindly as he scrambled to get away.

He looked in panic at the object in the intruders hands—there was a glistening syringe, the only point of light in the otherwise dark room. The irony was as intense as the fear that possessed him.

A dark-clothed man stood just within the doorway. He spoke, in a low voice that slid like a snakes. “Hello Frank. It’s time.” The man inched—no, glided—closer to the hospital bed.

Suddenly, the doorknob turned. He tried to push the summons button, fear encompassing his being. There was no response. He tried to turn on the light. Blackness pervaded the room.

He sighed. They would never understand. Settling back into the flat scratchy pillow, he tried to stay alert, always keeping one eye open. Vigilant. The quiet sounds of night invaded his brain, each one a mountain of noise.

The nurse tightened her lips and resolvedly tucked in his bed covers. “Stop that, Mr. Settebello. I won’t hear anything more about this. Now take your meds…” He swallowed a few pills. “…and go to sleep. Your body needs to heal. Those should relax you and get rid of most of the pain. Good night.”

“I’m telling you, they are going to come back and finish the job!” He struggled to grasp the edge of the bed and push himself up. “I need protection! Please… I don’t want to die.”

“Don’t worry, you’re being taken care of. No one is trying to hurt you, we’re trying to make you better.” The nurse patted his hand gently. “The best thing for you now is rest.”

He had to warn them. He had to do something. He turned to the woman. “Help. I need help.” He gasped for air, the sudden rush of wind slicing his lungs like a knife. “They’re… they’re trying to kill me. Help me.”

To his relief, a nurse entered, with a jug of water and tiny cup full of medicine. She bustled around the room, checking his stats and adjusting bed sheets. She smiled at him. He felt like he could confide in her. He needed to confide in her.

Before he knew it, he was in the room. Doctors came and went, cleaning him up, adjusting bandages and putting things in IV’s. They swirled around him, getting less and less frequent as the hours wore on. Before too long, he was alone. And terrified.

At the sight of his broken body, the staff mobilized into action. They moved him carefully, taking into account his many breaks and bruises, mopping up the thick clots of blood that congealed on his face and arms.

The man stumbled through the sliding hospital doors, limping his way to the front desk, where four women in pale scrubs sat asking questions and writing down answers. Pushing aside a large woman, he stood weakly in front of one them. “My name is Frank Settebello.” He made a quick, whistling inhalation of breath and tried to hold his side. “I need help.”

Cyberspace

Meaningless words hurled into the void
Restless thoughts in the technological emptiness
Are you there?
Can you hear me?
They shout to no one. All alone
in the grand chasm that is earth.
What is the use of observations, reviews,
personal revelations and enlightenments?
Is anybody listening?

Driving

The flashlight flickered off trunks and branches as she moved through the trees. Every now and then something would glimmer in the gleam of the light, and she'd drop to her knees and skim the grass with her hands, grasping at twigs and fallen leaves. It had to be here! It just had to. And then it happened. A soft glisten on something definitely not natural. Sara felt her hand close around the thin chain as she held the found object up to the beam of light. There it was. A simple necklace, with a small silver medallion on the end, etched with a few letters.

He gave her a necklace on their one month anniversary. Chris was the most gentle boy she had ever dated. Sara knew they were going to be together forever.

If Chris ever found out she had been here ... best not to think of what he'd do. She left the woods and got in her car. He'd freak. Especially if she knew Nate had been with her. "Nate" she sighed exasperatedly. Just then, a tap sounded at her window. Well then. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Sara rolled down her window.

"Nate? What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, looking at her with eyes that worshiped her very soul. "Nothing much, just walking around. Thinking." His gaze became more intense. "Mostly about you."

Sara decided to ignore that last part and reached over to unlock the passenger side door. "Here, get in. I'll give you a ride home."

Nate climbed in, and Sara started the car, turning onto the road. They had only gone a few feet before Nate started speaking again. "Sara, you need to know something. That was a dream come true for me. I mean, you have no idea how hard it's been just being your friend all these years. I mean, I've loved you for..."

At the mention of the word 'love', Sara momentarily swerved into the other lane. Luckily it was late and they were in the heart of suburbia cul-de-sac land, so no one was harmed.

She punched the radio on, trying to prevent any more conversation with the soothing effects of music. Usually Weezer would be a good thing, but as soon as she heard "Falling For You" Sara knew she was doomed.

Playing chess in the summer grass, sharing headphones and laughing over her hopeless strategy as he checked her in three moves... Sara pulled into Nate's driveway and parked, the song the only noise in the stillness of the night. The car stayed put, and in that moment Sara moved on.

Character Sketch: Melvin

His name was Melvin. He was 22, and addicted to cleaning his satchel. Every morning he'd carefully load it with pens and pencils, highlighters and post-its, gently lowering his laptop into the specified slot and filling space with notebooks and required texts. Every evening, he'd take these things out, placing them neatly on his desk. Then the pockets would be vacuumed, cleared of crumbs and papers that were usually nonexistent. Finally, he'd polish the brown leather exterior, lovingly caressing it with a soft cloth, buffing scratches with small, circular motions. His older brother Barry had taught him this technique years ago, when Melvin was just 18 and Barry was a worldly 21. It was one of many bonding experiences from their youth.

Melvin never spoke to Barry anymore, not since Barry had moved to Florida and taken that job with NASA. It was difficult to lose contact as Barry was all Melvin had. Their dad had walked out on them over a decade ago, an event that hadn't happened soon enough. When Melvin heard of his death last year, he couldn't muster any emotional response, let alone sorrow. His fathers departure had changed his mother. She turned into a dryer sheet, soft and pliable, clinging to her boys for approval. Melvin tried to support her, but his efforts left him tired and frustrated.

He felt the same way now, as he struggled with his law texts. He read the assigned claim aloud. His voice was low and gravelly, surprising people who judged his tall thin frame as a typical 'geek', not a body capable of this Clint Eastwood worthy tone. It was a voice now pinched with tenseness as he read the next paragraph. It was his one dream: to become a lawyer, to help others and enrich the world. He knew this calling came with a negative stigma, but truly believed he could contribute to the erasure of such views, restoring truth and justice to the world. Melvin would be a modern day super hero, if only he could figure out his homework.