Creative Writing Works

Just some random writings....

Red Light Means Go

It was three minutes to four am on the cold fall morning of October seventeenth when Ophelia came to pick me up from the “Fuse”, a common living quarter for college students. I’d just finished up a team project and was ready to head home for some rest before class at nine. Her old silver Honda Civic was struggling to supply heat for our cold quaking bodies. Half asleep, we sat patiently at the intersection of Cameral and Flake behind a white SUV, anticipating the light to change. We both stared at the red light like zombies until something unusual caught our attention. A man in the white SUV in front of us began to exit his vehicle, and proceeded towards his trunk. Curiously, we watched. It took us a full seventy-three seconds to realize the event that was actually taking place before our eyes. It turns out, the man that had stepped out of the car was not headed for his trunk but for the hood of our vehicle, there he stood pant-less and exposed by our car’s head lights. He had a white jacket on and a bare body; he had clearly spent time pleasuring himself before his show. Like deer in head lights we remained frozen in our seats. I could not believe what was going on before my eyes, I’d just become the victim of an indecent exposure.

“Gross!” I kept repeating inside my head. Before me stood, a well endowed naked black man in his late twenties, a sick son-of-a-bitch.

Twenty eight seconds he spent standing before us, rotating his body like a model on a catwalk. Ophelia and I sat motionless and shocked. We didn’t even think to lock the doors or run him over or even to react at all. Twenty eight seconds before he returned to his vehicle and continued on his way. Our semi-innocent minds were corrupted and our lives had experienced a permanent change. No way would I ever be able to shake the image of an older mans hard penis being flaunted before my face. It took another five seconds after his departure for Ophelia and me to realize that this man had been waiting to expose himself and we just happened to be the opportune victims. As he drove off, he had no license plate, no pants, and a well thought out plan… He got us good. Pervert.

In a World of Color

Most people see the world through their eyes. They see the colors of the skies, the faces of their loved ones, and the changing of the moments that pass by. I have green eyes that rim blue and brown around the edges, otherwise known as hazel. When I was about twelve my vision faded into blindness and I never saw the world again, at least not through sight.

Now what most people don’t realize is that when you are blind you may not be able to physically see a person, object, or thing but you can see the aura of a persons soul, the shadow of an object radiated by the heat of its color, and

I’ve never been diagnosed with any disease or given an explanation to my blindness, but after the loss of my vision I realized how much of my life I took for granted. I saw the world in darkness for the first time. I no longer wanted to believe in God, because had there been a God, he would have answered my prayers. Every morning for about seven months, I woke up screaming and demanding attention or help. I would throw raging fits, so out of control, I hurt myself and my mother a few times. I remember the day my father said we had to go to the hospital so my mother could get stitches because I threw a lamp at her face on accident in a frustrated rampage. After that day I knew things had to change. I couldn’t hate the world anymore and I could not blame God.

I have selective acute hearing. Out in the woods I can hear animals a hundred and fifty feet away but in a crowd of talking people, I can’t hear any thing that is being said. I hate crowds, in crowds I can feel pitiful eyes of judgment cloak my body. I can feel the sorriness of thoughts escape their minds and intrude upon mine. Here, I can taste the stale taste of recycled air as I walk through the woods; I love it. My father took me away from the city for male bonding. He also wanted me to escape the chaos of our metropolis lifesyle and focus on my other senses. He says that a quiet place would give me the chance to concentrate and learn to utilize my senses so that I could survive in this world.

It has been about a week we have been staying here at our family cabin and I have learned to see the world by the use of only four senses: smell, touch, taste, and hearing. I can not see the trees but I can sense their presence surrounding me. I can smell the difference between pines, oaks, and maples. I recognize the scent of pine trees because they remind me of Christmas; the freshness of their green liveliness cools my lungs as I inhale. The oak trees usually smell rotten and when I feel them, their trunks are typically covered in moss and cloaked by grasping ivy. The maple tree is my favorite scent, it carries a sweet comfortingly honeyed smell. Out here in the woods is where I learned to see again. It is where I rediscovered a sense of peace.

Today my father said I had to explore the woods alone. He would not be guiding me with his hands or carrying me with his voice. He said I had to focus on what I had learned and navigate my way around. I would have to focus and memorize how to do everything I did forward, backwards. I told him I was not ready, but he insisted. A little after lunch it was time for my journey to begin, so my dad drove me out to a location that I was expected to be familiar with and left me standing on a boulder. And now here I am lost in the woods. I haven’t the slightest clue of what frame of day it is, but it’s a little bit chilly. The wind is teasing my skin as it blows soft breaths behind my neck, and it seems no matter which direction I turn, the wind is tauntingly behind me. I can feel about a foot of mud that has dried around my leg begin to itch and there is a tear on the left sleeve of my shirt. I’m not positive, but I potentially have a black eye. I hate my father. What was he thinking? Sending a blind nine year old little boy into the woods unsupervised. Perhaps it was a plot for his scheme to get rid of me. Maybe he hoped I’d perish and be forgotten in these woods. Maybe he was ashamed of his blind son. Whatever it is, I still need to prepare myself for a potential night out here.

I’ve decided at this point that it must be night. I can’t feel any trace of sun light upon my skin and the temperatures of the day have dropped. My general sense of the woods has changed, and I feel like new creatures have emerged and are surrounding me. I can hear little feet scurry across the broken leaves on the ground and the soft hoot of an owl in the distance. My eye is throbbing and my stomach has started to rumble. I’m not sure what to do, so I cry. It feels like I’ve spent an eternity of time sitting stationary in this one spot and if I had to guess, my eyes must look like hell right now from all the crying. I really loathe my father.

I’m not sure what time I feel asleep but I know I’ve awakened to a new day. I can feel the sun on my skin again and it feels amazing. Unfortunately, the rest of my body feels uncomfortably dirty. I’ve decided it is time to leave this spot that I’ve been resting on and try to figure my way out. I couldn’t decide what I should do first, so I began to have a panic attack. What if I never find my way out of these woods? What if I keep leading myself further and further away from civilization and just die alone in the wilderness? My heart begins racing and my breathing drew shorter until I begin to hyperventilate. I passed out, but I’m not sure for how long, and awoke to soft fur caressing my skin. A wet nose was intruding my body as it smelled my forehead, face, and neck before it licked me. Startled I sat up quickly. I could see a small haze of life before my eyes, a white shaded figure. At least I thought it was a shade of white, I wasn’t sure if I remembered what colors really were. As I reached towards for the white shaded light, it licked my hand. It was friendly and that was quite a relief. The whole night before I felt beady eyes was preying on me and I was positive I wouldn’t make it to morning. I felt its fur as I bushed my hand from its head and down its back. It was soft and warm. I had to be petting a dog. It felt so nice to have interaction with another form of life, especially one so nice. I reached my arms out and began to hug around its neck as I buried my face it its fur. It didn’t even try to budge from my hold; it just nuzzled its face into my neck like it was trying to comfort me.

“Where’d you come from boy?” I whispered towards its ear. “Help me find my way home, please,” I pleaded as I released my hold on its neck. I stood up slowly and the dog followed closely to my right side. I bent down to pat him on the head but missed and hit his butt. “Alright buddy, lets get out of here,” I announced before I decided to start walking forward.

As I was walking, I could smell the different fragrances of the forest. The smell of maple trees began to grow stronger; and I remembered that closer to our cabin the aroma of maple trees overpowered any of the other scents of the woods. I could feel excitement rise within my heart. I looked down to make sure the white light was still close by and it was.

“Ouch,” I thought aloud as my face smacked into a tree and sent me collapsing backwards onto the padding of dead forest leaves on the ground. I had hit the ground so hard it almost sounded as if my cracking bones audio over the crunching leaves. I just lay down for a few minutes because I could feel an excruciating headache assembling in my brain. The white light hovered over my face as it licked my mouth.

“Gross,” I announced to the dog. “I need to name you so I can call you if we manage to separate. “How about Ralphy?” I asked. I always wanted a dog name Ralphy but my parents would never approve for a dog. “Ralphy?” I asked awaiting a reply. He licked my face and I knew he’d accepted his name.

Thank God for Ralphy, he was the only living thing on the Earth that seems to care for me. After a few minutes of basking in the glory of my new dog, I decided it was time to return to my feet and continue on my journey. Once I had resumed walking position, Ralphy began to growl. I was a little confused and then I sensed it: a rustling in the distance. I could feel eyes beating hard against my back. Mortified, I froze and just listened to its terrifying approach. The closer it got, the better I could see its color’s haze; it was a deep red and it only grew larger as it drew closer. Its heavy breathing sent perpetual rounds of shock through out my body. When the beast was about five feet away, that is when Ralphy lunged at it and began to fight. I felt tears pour down my face as I listened to the breaking of skin and screams of pain. Before long, Ralphy sent the beast running north. I only knew it was north because of the direction the beast ran was the same direction the moss growing on the oak tree on my left was facing. Ralphy then hobbled to my side and plopped his body to on my feet.

“Oh Ralphy, I don’t know what that was but thank you so much,” I cried. I placed my hand beneath his snout and rubbed the top of his forehead. “It will be alright buddy, we’ll get out of here soon,” I assured him. For the next few hours we remained beside the oak tree. I comforted Ralphy as I let him rest to try to recuperate.

The Unexpected Essay

I remember the excitement that consumed me as soon as I watched the garage door close. Relief filled my mind with ease knowing that for a few hours he would be absent. I quickly ran to the dining room and picked out the chair that would help assist me on quickening his departure by closing the garage door after his car evacuated it. I dragged the chair to the garage door where I opened it and reached for the button that closed the car entrance. A false sense of security overcame me as I watched the door fall shut and the man disappear from my sight. I thought he was gone and I’d be left alone for the day. About two minutes after victory, he returned and fear filled me. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me forward, enraged by what I had just done. I felt my body go weightless as it crumbled beneath me and he held me up.

“Don’t you ever touch that button again, you hear me? Or I will break every one of these little fingers of yours.” His voice hit me hard, harder than his hand across my face. The sting from his impactful hit sent sharp pains of shock through out my body.

“Do you hear me?” he repeated. I nodded my head with defeat as I fought back my tears. I didn’t want him to see me cry, I didn’t want to give him more power than he already had.

“Wow,” Is all I could think after reading just the first paragraph.

I remember the day my mom picked me up from the babysitter and the face she made after I responded to her question “How was your day sweetheart?”

“If you can’t find me when you come to pick me up, look in the garage,” I replied to her question. I was only four. Her face dropped from a smile to a frown and her eyes lost sparkle.

“Sweetheart, what do you mean? Why would I look for you in the garage?” She asked as she brought the car to a stop.

“That’s where they put me during the day. They duct tape my hands and mouth and place me on the chair to sit alone all day.”

I could see so many emotions course through my mom. She went from fighting tears to clenching fists, from looking terrified to visually being enraged. She became a mother on a mission.

When we got home I could see how disturbed my mother was from what I’d said. She paced the house so hard that the ground shook like an earthquake. I never really knew what earthquakes felt like since I slept through them all, but I could only imagine that my mothers motion was close. The minute my father returned home from work my mother made me recite my story. I told him about how my babysitter treated me and how terrible her husband was. I told him everything.

“What do we do about this Richard?” my mother questioned my father.

“We should sue them for child abuse and neglect or something!” she cried.

“Sweet heart,” my father responded.

“She is only four. I don’t think she could handle a courtroom especially with how shy she is. We just need to threaten them because they know they screwed up and never use their services again,” he suggested to her.

“You’re right,” she answered as she held me close and brushed my forehead.

“I’ve been a terrible mother, baby, how could I have let this happen to you?” she cried in my ear.

The next day my mother scared the hell out of those terrible people; they begged and pleaded for no court cases and apologized on their knees.

“I’m not sure this girl fully understood the assignment and I’m not sure if I should submit this to a councilor,” I thought to myself as I continued reading.

Today I watched my best friend burn before my eyes. She tried to lure me in amongst the flames with her. I was tempted. She offered me peace of mind and relaxation, she whispered “everything is going to be alright now” as she passed the blunt my way. The smoke was dancing around her fingers as it slowly approached my face and I couldn’t help but be caught in its trance. I was having a bad day, year, a bad life. I graciously accepted her gift and took a hit. My lungs burned but I liked the way it hurt; my eyes grew heavy and my body became lazy. I felt amazing.

Sometime I get irresponsibly drunk at inappropriate times, while managing to get into ridiculous situations by disregarding social norms and ignoring any consequence of my ludicrous behavior. I blame it on all the bullshit I had to deal with in my past. Drinking is just a simple and fun way to escape. I remember the day my parents decided to divorce, I was in the fifth grade. The argument began the night my dad decided to place my mom’s car at the top of the driveway and cover the shields with secret love letters. They didn’t think I saw the letters, but I did. “Bitch, Slut, Fuck You,” were the exact words my dad wrote all over the letters. I was on his side. The really messed up part about the whole situation was I knew who the receiver of the lover letters were, I just never realized my mom was having an affair. But it all made sense when I thought about it. My mom always had me hanging out with her so called “friend” and his daughter. We would always do fun stuff like play at Silver Lake or the McDonalds play ground. And while that man’s daughter and I were off playing, my mother and him were crossing the boundaries of just friends. God, she knows how to make me sick to my stomach, I disowned her as a mother. Fifth grade was a terrible year overall. My first stalker was in fifth grade; Thomas Vanlorer, he made up stories to the neighborhood kids about how we use to have sex. He took it so far to the extreme as to gather all of our friends and ride bikes to my front yard where he would point to a window and insist it was my room. He would talk boastingly about our “relationship” and how we would one day have children together. He really brought hell to my life by his lies. I didn’t even understand what sex was at that age, I was so innocent. It was also the year I was called a lesbian by the girl who first started rumors about me. I thought she was my friend, but her true intentions were to sabotage my reputation. I mean really? A lesbian? Can you even be a lesbian at the age of ten? My life seems to be one screwed up story after another and writing it all down is the only thing that seems to keep me sane.

When I was given this assignment I didn’t know what to write about and what could possibly explain why I love writing. Then I thought about it and realized exactly why I love to write. I write to remind myself how I felt and what I have learned; to remember what compelled me to relinquish myself. I write to bear in mind who I am and where I have come from, not to mention, writing can be quite therapeutic. On the days I feel no one is worthy enough to listen to my thoughts, tribulations, feelings, whatever…writing is where I will unravel my latest sentiments. So for this assignment I thought I would share a series of old journal entries that showed exactly why I love to write. I love to write because my life is a story and what a shame it would be to have my library lost if it were never expressed on paper. I plan on one day writing a memoir of my life.

“This was far from what I was expecting,” I thought to myself after reading Elizabeth’s paper. “She must be crying out,” is all I could think. Well, she answered exactly what I’d asked, so I gave her an A and continued to read the rest of the class’s essays.