Feels so real

I just finished a short story based on something scary that happened to me three years ago. I altered the ending. I'm not a fan of sitting next to strange men on public transportation esp in NYC. But it seemed like I had little choice in the matter three years ago. I don't know what would have happened if I stuck around. My "friends" that were with me weren't much help. I felt really alone but I realized things about myself in that moment. I can stand up for myself. I don't need anyone else's help. One of these days I might just start carrying mace. Writing this story brought up such awful memories from my HS days. I just wish I could let it go. The hurt I felt back then seems to come back whenever I think about HS at all whether it was a funny event or just someone I knew back then. I should just stop writing about my past and focus on my future.

Fiction or creative non fiction

I'm in the middle of writing a story based on events that happened recently or at least in the past few months. I intend to end it on purely fiction. In a way the ending is going to be how I'd like the story to end. For all I know it could not be like I want at all. Usually my life doesn't fit into my dreams. That's reality. Not sure if I should call it fiction or creative non fiction. I'm not nearly done so I have time to think about it. The middle is always the hardest part. I have the beginning and part of the ending. Whats left is too finish the ending then move on to patch up the middle.

Being a writer is hard work

I love everything about writing and wouldn't change my major for any reason. There are times where I wish I had enough money and time to add some minors or get another degree in Marketing, Screenwriting, Advertising or PR. I really have liked learning about those professions and where they could take me. As a writer I do have opportunities in those areas and who knows I could end up working for a TV show even with only a writing degree. Writing is a cool way to express who I am. My imagination can go anywhere and no one can tell me NO what's better than that? I can write about anything and anyplace, it's the best.

New 2011 Poet

I wrote this poem for a contest a few months ago and they published it. I received a certificate saying, "Best Poets and Poems of 2011. This poem is called Sigh


 

I feel the cool clear liquid

run over my smooth hands

they feel silky like pajamas

the water rushes off my fingers

into the opening in the white bowl

my left hand reaches over to

grasp my favorite hand soap

from my all time favorite store

immediately as I pump some

into my palm, the tangy sweet

smell emerges from the bottle

and streams into my nostrils

I rub my hands under the coolness

until my milk chocolate hands

turn the color of skim milk

I feel like I’m holding little clouds

lifting my hands toward my face

inhaling pink grapefruit till I’m satisfied

I reluctantly dip my hands back in the water

and watch the clouds disappear into the

void in the white bowl

the water stops running and I lift my hands to

my face once again and breathe in

such a wonderful feeling

I think this is one of my best poems thus far. :)

Writing

Havent been on here in too long I know but I havent stopped writing and thats the most important part. Here is one Ive written a few days ago.

This is called Running.

Gasping for breath, her chest heaving with every stride, a young girl looks for an escape route. Her brown hair streaked with maroon swishing back and forth as she dashes through the halls of Penn Station in New York City. A man twice her age tried to charm her on the train ride from Boston. She first ignored him but he kept talking to her so she finally gave in and attempted to make small talk with him. The conversation abruptly ended when he asked for her phone number. She gently told him that he was too old for her. That’s when the man’s demeanor changed altogether. Instead of just what seemed like a bored old man looking for some conversation, it turned into a man on a mission for a mistress. He had confided in her that he had left his wife of fifteen years a couple months ago. He had finally got a job in New York and was moving there hence the reason he was on the train. When she told him she wasn’t interested he grabbed her arm with such force she could feel his fingers touching her radius bone. She wanted to scream but was too scared. The man’s eyes had become fierce and dark almost like a wolf. The girl honestly didn’t know what to do.

I wish I had mace  

But she didn’t. All she could do was pray.

Now she was running for her life. The halls of Penn Station were dim and empty. It was almost midnight when the train had finally rumbled into the station. There was no one to help her; no one to save her from this mad man. She could hear him charging through the halls behind her. She looked back as she turned yet another corner in the maze and saw nothing. She knew she wasn’t safe until she got home. It had been so long since she was in Penn Station she couldn’t remember how to get to the street.

Of course I had to tell my parents that I can get myself home

So there was no one to pick her up. No one would be waiting for her in Penn Station. She was on her own.

Good thing I’m wearing my sneakers

About a minute after she thought that statement she tripped down the stairs and landed with a thud right on her behind. She stifled whimper. Quickly she tied her sneakers and wiped her tear stained face. Her arm was a still a bit red from when the man grabbed her arm. She could still feel the burn on her forehead from when he hit her. Her roots were also screaming at her from when he yanked on her hair. Gathering her duffel bag and purse she set off running again. She wished with all her might that a train conductor or an office employee were still around. Again she looked back. Now she couldn’t even hear him. She slowed down to a fast trot still on edge still looking for the streets of New York so she could disappear from this awful nightmare. She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

All of a sudden she heard a loud yell. It was the man he had found her again. This time his eyes were round, as big as half dollars. Sweat was dripping down causing sweat patches on his polo shirt. He reminded her of an angry bull. Very angry. She hastily turned on her heel and sprinted toward the nearest door.

I have to get out of here!

 It ran into it but it was locked. Panicked she tried the next door and the next. None would open. Finally the last door opened but instead of the street it leads to stairs leading upward. She took them two, three at a time. As soon as she got to the next floor she heard the doors downstairs slam open hitting the wall with a crash. She continues to run through more hallways and comes to a lobby area with seats.

Casey!

She turns startled. There stands her best friend, Tyrell. He smiles at her but freezes when he realizes her state.

“What in the world?”

They hear a crash from down the hallway and the girl runs toward Tyrell pulling him down to the floor behind the seats. She covers his mouth with her hand.

“Shhhh!”

They listen in silence. Then the man comes running into the room. He doesn’t even stop but continues to run through another set of doors out. Then silence again. After counting to fifty the couple stands up slowly. Finally, Casey breathes a sigh of relief. She turns and gives Tyrell a huge bear hug and hangs on tight.

“Thank you!”

Tyrell smiles and then asks, “So who was that guy?”

“Can I tell you in the car? I need to get home, now!”

Casey’s breathing slowly goes back to normal. Her face turning back to its original color as relaxes.

“No problem”

He picks up her duffel bag, puts an arm around her and they head out.