The light was off and the door was closed. So explain one thing to me: how are you justified in getting snippy when you are crushed in the door when I open it? What makes you think that I am at fault? There was no malicious plot to smash your face against the wooden bathroom cupboards. You claim you were just removing items. Why in darkness? Why with the door closed? Indicate your presence woman! And next time, don't get snottily in my face, give me your death glare and say 'Whatever" in that TONE when I try to apologize. Get off your freakin' high horse. You are not perfection on earth missy, and you have no right to continue chipping away at my self worth in your subtle way. Stop pouting when I leave a pan to soak in the sink, don't fold my jacket when it is left on the floor. I am not some miscreant child! That square footage of space on the floor would have been cleaned after I finish finals, you wannabe OCD freak. Don't even pretend you have these complexes, we all know you don't. You just like to call attention to your aspirations in medicine, always following a cleanliness diatribe with some back up tidbit you learned in class. You love finding ways to put me down so you can remain firm in your conviction that I am a heathen sinner bound for Hell and you are the embodiment of righteousness. Well I can't wait until you are judged. Or have you not come across Matthew 7:1 in all your extensive scripture study? For shame.

To Whom It May Concern

Dear Left Nostril,
I do not know why you decided to be stuffy today.
Why you decided to make my breathing

rag ged
and
un even.

Just know this:
You're on thin ice.
Ice as thin as that gentle film
obstructing my airway.

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.