I was bored today, so I decided to try my hand at writing again. This is what I came up with
Ashes by Adam Lanier
I pour more cream into my stale coffee -- stir it and make phantom images appear and dissolve into a pale liquid. I finally mumble the nagging thought that's been ricocheting throughout every part of me for the past few weeks: “I miss her.” Wilfred's cigarette falls, unlit, from his mouth. It lands beside his shoe, next to a smattering of butts and a fair sprinkling of ash. I sip my coffee which is already cold. Still too bitter.
“You're kidding, right?”
I swirl my coffee around the waxen cup. Tiny grounds float to the top, shifting like snowflakes. They seem just about as cold. I stare at them instead of answering my best friend.
“Course you're joking. After all that's happened...” he trails off, fishing another cigarette from his pack. I hear his lighter, and after a moment, smell the rich, burnt, smoke. I continue meditating on the cup of joe, willing myself to take another drink. I sigh.
“Fine, whatever,” he punctuates with a cloud of smoke. “But what's to miss? I mean, really?”
I look up at him, his hair tousled by the morning breeze. I have plenty of answers, but no words to go along with them. “I dunno.”
“Look, that whole period was messed up. But it's over now. Thank god.” He taps ash from his cigarette. It falls slowly through our mesh table and falls to the concrete below us. “It's time to move on.”
“But there's more to it than...”
“No. There's nothing else to it. Everything she touched she destroyed. It ended the best way it could have.” He lapses into silence, smoking and looking out far into the distance, and at nothing at all.
“She changed my life, Will, and I got rid of her.” I look down at the ashes by my feet.
Wilfred clears his throat, or maybe it's a scoff. “But if you hadn't...”
“Yeah, if I hadn't. Then my life would be more exciting. Different. Maybe I wouldn't always feel so lost.” This is the first time I've openly talked about her, and the words come haltingly and with difficulty. “I... I never knew what to expect from her. From the very beginning, I was clueless. And maybe she would have changed. Did I really ever give her a chance, Will? With everything I've learned... If I just had another chance, but with what I know now... Didn't she deserve another chance?” I look down at my hands, still clutching the half-empty cup. “Maybe I'm the bad guy.”
“You're not the bad guy. And I hope you realize that you're not the only one she hurt. You gave her plenty of chances. But she never took them; she tore down everything you built up.”
“Everything that's torn down can be rebuilt.”
“Yeah, doctor, I know." He pauses to take another drag off his cigarette. "That's why I think you and the city will be alright.”
We look across the street at the pile of rubble that used to be a series of sky scrapers. The ashes dance in the wind.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Ocean Blues, a piece of fiction.
All matter as we know it was created in the Big Bang. We see the remnants of the universe's great expansion every time we gaze upon the stars. They appear immobile to our ephemeral eyes, yet they silently stream across the heavens at speeds too fast for comprehension, moving further and further from some initial point, some universal answer to their existence. And here, on Earth, all life has emerged from the sea. We are drawn to it, and countless civilizations have flourished on it's shores. Maybe that's why a coastline at night stirs something within us.
Several years ago, during my college days, I went to Florida with some classmates for spring break. By this point in my life, it was already well-established that I would but rarely drink and preferred to always be in control of my faculties. These teetotaler ways of mine, coupled with being a mutual friend to everyone on the trip, undeniably played a part in securing me a seat in Jeff's old station wagon for the seven hour ride to the ocean.
There were five of us total. There was Jeff Codby, the unquestionable leader of our troupe with an infectious good-nature, and Tom Davidson, a foot-baller with a good head on his broad shoulders and an unhidden love for botany. There was Eric Worth, a very intelligent young man with absolutely no drive to succeed or study, and there was Daniel Winters, who, despite belonging to very wealthy family, lumped himself with us and looked forward to working for a living, even if it was in a laboratory. And of course there was me, Anthony Landis, the introspective model student and designated driver.
One of my fondest memories from the trip involved me taking over my duties as designated driver on the very night that we arrived. Eric, no taller than 5'7, and no heavier than a hundred-thirty pounds soaking wet, challenged Tom Davidson to a drinking contest. Tom, it should be mentioned, stood 6'2 and weighed near 300 pounds of solid muscle. After three mugs of beer each, Eric began to slur his words very noticeably, and Tom confessed to being “a little less thirsty than before.” Across the bar, Jeff spent his time trying to impress some female vacationers with his pinball skills and personal charm, while at the same time, Daniel tried to impress the same girls with his ability to buy them drinks. He never once mentioned his social status, but kept the taps running.
At the end of the night, we had only been to the one bar, and the only one in our ranks that was completely smashed was Eric, who was easily carried to the car by Tom(Tom, it should be mentioned, had developed nothing more than a touch of uncertainty in his tread). I drove the group to our motel smiling faintly as Jeff and Daniel recounted how they made plans to meet back up with the girls they had met.
The next two nights saw me again chauffeuring the crew around, and by the fourth night, it seemed like my good-natured sobriety was being required a bit too often. I had fully expected to be the designated driver, but for some reason I hadn't expected my comrades to end up drunken every night after the first, and to need my services throughout the daylight hours. What complicated matters was that not everyone in the group had the same plans each day. There were times when I'd drive Jeff to one bar, and then would take Tom to a volleyball tournament, only to turn around and drop off Eric and Daniel at a motel to meet someone. To my further dismay, after taking everyone to their perspective destinations, I would always end up driving back to the motel to wait for calls requesting me to pick them back up. As I've said, by the fourth night, I was wearied. I, in a move quite uncharacteristic of me, voiced this sentiment to Jeff. It was not taken lightly, and I was assured that the next night (our last night to be there) I would be free to do anything I wanted.
The following day came quickly enough, and my peers all found other ways to get about during the day while I read an improving book out in the sunlight and sand. Later, I brought out my pencils, and sketched the sunset as it crept into the sky, and when the stars eventually came out, I began to walk. I simply meandered, slowly taking in the vastness of the stars. At the same time, my thoughts also turned inward, and I began to think about how insignificant we all are in the vastness of space. And I thought about how nothing we do could ever possibly matter in any kind of grand scheme. And, yes, I doubted that, given the infinity of space, that there could even exist a grand scheme. But at the same time, I saw that such beauty and structure could hardly be random! I looked upon my own life's actions: I had made no real accomplishments beyond those of academia, I had seen very little of the world, I had never known real love, my youth was very dull and common, etcetera, ad infinitum. But in the vastness of it all, these facts were trivial. I could exceed in every field and still it could not matter to the universe. It only made a difference in my own mind. And yet... and yet, there seemed to be something more, if I could only grasp it. It was then that I heard my name, called out, as if from some great distance. I turned and looked back towards the lights of the city which were drowning out the stars above.
A figure was heading my way, and after hearing my name again, I determined that it was Daniel. Behind him, further back, I could just make out the others. I waited for them, and when they had all caught up, they told me why they had sought me. There was a carnival out on the docks. It had just started that night, and this was the only opportunity to see it. I politely mentioned how I was supposed to be free of my duties tonight. Jeff answered for the rest of them, saying how the docks were within walking distance and that I wouldn't have to drive. I didn't understand at first, but after a bit more conversing, I realized they wanted me to be the designated walker! I was being asked to make sure that they didn't get completely smashed only to end up walking the wrong way back to the motel, or that they didn't pass out on the beach and get carried away during high tide.
I tried to shirk the responsibility using levity. Their cries of “Let's go the fair” were met by my “I'm sorry, but I'm not a very fair person,” and “You go on without me, I don't fare well.” All I wanted to do was to continue my study of the seas and stars. I felt that if I could just continue, some great puzzle piece would fall into place. I would understand my role in existence, I could figure out my destiny, I would learn the meaning of life, so to speak. And yet, the group all continued their entreaties. They were dead set on going to the jetty, and they desperately wanted me to go along with them. They assured me that I would have a great time, and said that even if they weren't drinking, they would still want me to go with them. They didn't understand how close I felt to finding some great peace and understanding, and I lacked the words to explain. Eventually, their request for my attendance at the docks was little more than a chant. I sighed, and told them I would go.
I actually had fun, I'll admit it. But at the same time, I still have yet to find the answers that seemed so close that night. Some nights, I lie awake and wonder how my life would be different if I had stayed behind, if I hadn't gone to the silly carnival on the docks. Even today I feel remorse for the knowledge I never learned, and for what seemed like my decision to remain ignorant.
All I can do is simply wonder how my life might have turned out differently if I hadn't given in to their request that I join them along the jetty.
Oh, if only I hadn't given in to pier pressure!
Several years ago, during my college days, I went to Florida with some classmates for spring break. By this point in my life, it was already well-established that I would but rarely drink and preferred to always be in control of my faculties. These teetotaler ways of mine, coupled with being a mutual friend to everyone on the trip, undeniably played a part in securing me a seat in Jeff's old station wagon for the seven hour ride to the ocean.
There were five of us total. There was Jeff Codby, the unquestionable leader of our troupe with an infectious good-nature, and Tom Davidson, a foot-baller with a good head on his broad shoulders and an unhidden love for botany. There was Eric Worth, a very intelligent young man with absolutely no drive to succeed or study, and there was Daniel Winters, who, despite belonging to very wealthy family, lumped himself with us and looked forward to working for a living, even if it was in a laboratory. And of course there was me, Anthony Landis, the introspective model student and designated driver.
One of my fondest memories from the trip involved me taking over my duties as designated driver on the very night that we arrived. Eric, no taller than 5'7, and no heavier than a hundred-thirty pounds soaking wet, challenged Tom Davidson to a drinking contest. Tom, it should be mentioned, stood 6'2 and weighed near 300 pounds of solid muscle. After three mugs of beer each, Eric began to slur his words very noticeably, and Tom confessed to being “a little less thirsty than before.” Across the bar, Jeff spent his time trying to impress some female vacationers with his pinball skills and personal charm, while at the same time, Daniel tried to impress the same girls with his ability to buy them drinks. He never once mentioned his social status, but kept the taps running.
At the end of the night, we had only been to the one bar, and the only one in our ranks that was completely smashed was Eric, who was easily carried to the car by Tom(Tom, it should be mentioned, had developed nothing more than a touch of uncertainty in his tread). I drove the group to our motel smiling faintly as Jeff and Daniel recounted how they made plans to meet back up with the girls they had met.
The next two nights saw me again chauffeuring the crew around, and by the fourth night, it seemed like my good-natured sobriety was being required a bit too often. I had fully expected to be the designated driver, but for some reason I hadn't expected my comrades to end up drunken every night after the first, and to need my services throughout the daylight hours. What complicated matters was that not everyone in the group had the same plans each day. There were times when I'd drive Jeff to one bar, and then would take Tom to a volleyball tournament, only to turn around and drop off Eric and Daniel at a motel to meet someone. To my further dismay, after taking everyone to their perspective destinations, I would always end up driving back to the motel to wait for calls requesting me to pick them back up. As I've said, by the fourth night, I was wearied. I, in a move quite uncharacteristic of me, voiced this sentiment to Jeff. It was not taken lightly, and I was assured that the next night (our last night to be there) I would be free to do anything I wanted.
The following day came quickly enough, and my peers all found other ways to get about during the day while I read an improving book out in the sunlight and sand. Later, I brought out my pencils, and sketched the sunset as it crept into the sky, and when the stars eventually came out, I began to walk. I simply meandered, slowly taking in the vastness of the stars. At the same time, my thoughts also turned inward, and I began to think about how insignificant we all are in the vastness of space. And I thought about how nothing we do could ever possibly matter in any kind of grand scheme. And, yes, I doubted that, given the infinity of space, that there could even exist a grand scheme. But at the same time, I saw that such beauty and structure could hardly be random! I looked upon my own life's actions: I had made no real accomplishments beyond those of academia, I had seen very little of the world, I had never known real love, my youth was very dull and common, etcetera, ad infinitum. But in the vastness of it all, these facts were trivial. I could exceed in every field and still it could not matter to the universe. It only made a difference in my own mind. And yet... and yet, there seemed to be something more, if I could only grasp it. It was then that I heard my name, called out, as if from some great distance. I turned and looked back towards the lights of the city which were drowning out the stars above.
A figure was heading my way, and after hearing my name again, I determined that it was Daniel. Behind him, further back, I could just make out the others. I waited for them, and when they had all caught up, they told me why they had sought me. There was a carnival out on the docks. It had just started that night, and this was the only opportunity to see it. I politely mentioned how I was supposed to be free of my duties tonight. Jeff answered for the rest of them, saying how the docks were within walking distance and that I wouldn't have to drive. I didn't understand at first, but after a bit more conversing, I realized they wanted me to be the designated walker! I was being asked to make sure that they didn't get completely smashed only to end up walking the wrong way back to the motel, or that they didn't pass out on the beach and get carried away during high tide.
I tried to shirk the responsibility using levity. Their cries of “Let's go the fair” were met by my “I'm sorry, but I'm not a very fair person,” and “You go on without me, I don't fare well.” All I wanted to do was to continue my study of the seas and stars. I felt that if I could just continue, some great puzzle piece would fall into place. I would understand my role in existence, I could figure out my destiny, I would learn the meaning of life, so to speak. And yet, the group all continued their entreaties. They were dead set on going to the jetty, and they desperately wanted me to go along with them. They assured me that I would have a great time, and said that even if they weren't drinking, they would still want me to go with them. They didn't understand how close I felt to finding some great peace and understanding, and I lacked the words to explain. Eventually, their request for my attendance at the docks was little more than a chant. I sighed, and told them I would go.
I actually had fun, I'll admit it. But at the same time, I still have yet to find the answers that seemed so close that night. Some nights, I lie awake and wonder how my life would be different if I had stayed behind, if I hadn't gone to the silly carnival on the docks. Even today I feel remorse for the knowledge I never learned, and for what seemed like my decision to remain ignorant.
All I can do is simply wonder how my life might have turned out differently if I hadn't given in to their request that I join them along the jetty.
Oh, if only I hadn't given in to pier pressure!
Monday, April 21, 2008
Future Updates
I have decided that I'm going to find some way to update my blog at least once a week. I might just post silly little nothings, or a hastily drawn sketch (probably from MS Paint... I still don't know what's wrong with the scanner). For right now, I think I'll try brushing off my writing abilities and change a one-panel comic I drew quite a while back into a short short-story.
So, here it goes (keep in mind that this is a spur of the moment thing... so it won't be perfect by any means):
If these walls could talk
Linda and Will were of that rare type of relationship which grew from adolescent camaraderie into something more mature. They were best friends since meeting in third grade, and one moonlit night three years ago, they became that and more. Under the stars, they had come to the realization that they couldn't bear the thought of ever being without each other. They had never even kissed before that night, but for some reason the planets aligned, their hearts beat faster, and their eyes opened.
Now Linda clings to Will's arm. They are newlywed, and the stars still shine bright in their young eyes. Today they are moving into their new house. They try to suppress their anxiety. This will be their first time entering the old, modest construction rather than viewing it through photographs. It may have been a brash move to make, but the price was right, and they are eager to start a life all their own. Once the paperwork was finished, they hopped a plane and now they stand just outside their very own home, surveying the foundation of their future. Will opens the front door and peers in hesitantly. Linda takes advantage of his turned back, and uses all her might to lift him off the ground. She carries him past the threshold. Will laughs, but isn't wholly surprised. On their short, cheap honeymoon Linda had sworn she wouldn't stand for being carried through every new door the two of them crossed together. This was just payback.
Once nestled in the gloom of the house, Linda sets her husband down and tries to regain her composure (and breath). They smile at each other, Will still laughing. It is then that they hear it: a strange, almost groaning sound. The couple's bodies go rigid, their eyes go wide. They both hear it -- something resembling a voice in the vaguely metallic noise. It doesn't last long, and when silence begins to seem certain, Will asks "Did you hear what I did?" Linda shrugs, her eyes still wide; she doesn't know what she's just heard. The noise starts again. This time it sounds less like something clanging against old steel, and has an eerie creaking sound. Will and Linda huddle together silently, listening hard, trying to discern some meaning in the noise. This time the voice is more apparent and they hear the words. As soon as the creaking voice ceases, Will takes his wife by the hand, and they run out the door.
By the road, next to many of their worldly possessions they look at each other, dazed and pale.
"What was that!?" Linda pleads.
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out right now." Will pulls out his cell phone and calls the real estate agent. "Jared, this is Will Barter..."
"Oh, Mister Barter! How do you and the misses like the house?"
"That's what I've called you about! I'm telling you, this place is haunted! My wife and I just heard... things."
"What's that? It's nothing, I'm sure. Old houses make lots of noises. Old pipes, old, strong wood."
"You don't understand! There was a voice from nowhere!"
"A voice, Mister Barter?"
"Yes, Jared, a voice! The first time I think it said 'good enough, I suppose.' How do you explain that?"
"Oh, that! Don't worry about that," Jared Green replies sagely.
Will looks at his wife, far paler than usual, shivering in the summertime. He draws her close to him, and presses the button on his cell to turn on speaker phone. If there's a good explanation, he wants, he needs, his wife to hear it. "Okay, Jared, maybe I imagined the first one, but the second time, I'm sure there was a voice that said 'Well, alright... I guess... that's fine... really...' Now, why, how, would our house say something like that?!"
"Like I've said: It's an old house, Mr. Barter. What you heard was the house settling."
So, here it goes (keep in mind that this is a spur of the moment thing... so it won't be perfect by any means):
If these walls could talk
Linda and Will were of that rare type of relationship which grew from adolescent camaraderie into something more mature. They were best friends since meeting in third grade, and one moonlit night three years ago, they became that and more. Under the stars, they had come to the realization that they couldn't bear the thought of ever being without each other. They had never even kissed before that night, but for some reason the planets aligned, their hearts beat faster, and their eyes opened.
Now Linda clings to Will's arm. They are newlywed, and the stars still shine bright in their young eyes. Today they are moving into their new house. They try to suppress their anxiety. This will be their first time entering the old, modest construction rather than viewing it through photographs. It may have been a brash move to make, but the price was right, and they are eager to start a life all their own. Once the paperwork was finished, they hopped a plane and now they stand just outside their very own home, surveying the foundation of their future. Will opens the front door and peers in hesitantly. Linda takes advantage of his turned back, and uses all her might to lift him off the ground. She carries him past the threshold. Will laughs, but isn't wholly surprised. On their short, cheap honeymoon Linda had sworn she wouldn't stand for being carried through every new door the two of them crossed together. This was just payback.
Once nestled in the gloom of the house, Linda sets her husband down and tries to regain her composure (and breath). They smile at each other, Will still laughing. It is then that they hear it: a strange, almost groaning sound. The couple's bodies go rigid, their eyes go wide. They both hear it -- something resembling a voice in the vaguely metallic noise. It doesn't last long, and when silence begins to seem certain, Will asks "Did you hear what I did?" Linda shrugs, her eyes still wide; she doesn't know what she's just heard. The noise starts again. This time it sounds less like something clanging against old steel, and has an eerie creaking sound. Will and Linda huddle together silently, listening hard, trying to discern some meaning in the noise. This time the voice is more apparent and they hear the words. As soon as the creaking voice ceases, Will takes his wife by the hand, and they run out the door.
By the road, next to many of their worldly possessions they look at each other, dazed and pale.
"What was that!?" Linda pleads.
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out right now." Will pulls out his cell phone and calls the real estate agent. "Jared, this is Will Barter..."
"Oh, Mister Barter! How do you and the misses like the house?"
"That's what I've called you about! I'm telling you, this place is haunted! My wife and I just heard... things."
"What's that? It's nothing, I'm sure. Old houses make lots of noises. Old pipes, old, strong wood."
"You don't understand! There was a voice from nowhere!"
"A voice, Mister Barter?"
"Yes, Jared, a voice! The first time I think it said 'good enough, I suppose.' How do you explain that?"
"Oh, that! Don't worry about that," Jared Green replies sagely.
Will looks at his wife, far paler than usual, shivering in the summertime. He draws her close to him, and presses the button on his cell to turn on speaker phone. If there's a good explanation, he wants, he needs, his wife to hear it. "Okay, Jared, maybe I imagined the first one, but the second time, I'm sure there was a voice that said 'Well, alright... I guess... that's fine... really...' Now, why, how, would our house say something like that?!"
"Like I've said: It's an old house, Mr. Barter. What you heard was the house settling."
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