vukprodanovic

[vukprodanovic]

[vukprodanovic]

Sonnet

Shakespearean  

If Only

If only we had not met, or our lips

Had not touched. Then I’d be a blissful man.

If only our eyes didn’t lock or hips

Hadn’t swayed like they did. Well, then a plan

Wouldn’t be hatched. And our secrets not told.

Perhaps we wouldn’t have danced in the light

On June 18th. Maybe I wouldn’t hold

On like I did two months later. And fight

My way into ruining it all on

January 4th. I would have never

Seen the tears you shed. Nor the dewy dawn

In which we held hands again. Forever,

You will be. A soft glow in my small heart.

And you will be, even if we’re apart.

[vukprodanovic]

In House Submission

Honey - By Vuk Prodanovic

That one, the fairest of all hands, loved it

As she strode through a tough crowd, head held high

Her eyes, pure, her touch, kind, her manners, soft.

Smoke could not distract the truest of hearts

Distance could not break the strongest of bonds

Fingers dance in pools of honey, slowly

Broken glass factors into brittle trust

But, the one fairest of all hands, loved it

Together - Vuk Prodanovic

A creation of love.

A manipulation of feelings from one to the next.

A young man with crooked teeth.

A new friendship.

A broken mentality about how it should be,

how it was.

A simple promise now broken.

A phone call not answered.

A panic ensuing.

A formation of gloom.

A fading memory of what we used to do,

Together.

[vukprodanovic]

3 Journal Entries

That One

That one, the fairest of all hands, loved it

As she strode through a tough crowd, head held high

Her eyes, pure, her touch, kind, her manners, soft.

Smoke could not distract the truest of hearts

Distance could not break the strongest of bonds

Fingers dance in pools of honey, slowly

Broken glass factors into brittle trust

But, the one fairest of all hands, loved it

Only Love

only love,

when the lights are low

and convenience is yours to own.

broken glass covered in honey

won’t mend by words.

thoughts occupy broken space

in between provinces of past lover

and scars stand still on

bloody knuckles of punches

never thrown.

flame burns only in front

of mouth.

Oops 

Motionless movements collapse all trust

A steady clip, clap, beats of a drum pop

Buddies cornered now bleeding from an oop

Disgusting movements

[vukprodanovic]

New Shoots

Together

A creation of love.

A manipulation of feelings from one to the next.

A young man with crooked teeth.

A new friendship.

A broken mentality about how it should be,

how it was.

A simple promise now broken.

A phone call not answered.

A panic ensuing.

A formation of gloom.

A fading memory of what we used to do,

Together.

Two Blind Travellers

Her hand acted as a glove.

Orange section of light under street lamps we drove by.

Both hands occupied by greater goods,

doing different things

A blind audience behind us entertained themselves.

Opposite destinations,

our s the same.

The glow of her skin offered a light beneath cotton sheets.

Two blind travellers trekking across each other.

Two blind travellers who found each other.

She (Alisha)

Shes confused

She doesn’t know

Who to choose,

Or where to go.

She doesn’t listen.

She moves to quick.

She never answers.

She plays tricks

[vukprodanovic]

Poem-Nouns Verbs

Dam delay crash function label matter make man mean. Reasons show sin, times up.

[vukprodanovic]

Query Letter

February 7th, 2018

Short Story Submission Request

I am requesting permission to submit my short story project for your feedback. I have been working on my short story titled: ‘Lone Boy’ for quite some time now. It follows the adolesent pre-teen, and teen life of our unnamed “protagonist”. I took inspiration from the classic novel ‘Catcher in the Rye’ by J.D. Salinger in aspects of the protagonists views towards: women in his life, his high school life, and overall sense of being compared to other children his age.   

The demographic this 3 page story will most likely appeal to is the teenage soft-boy type. Like many young men reading works of Salinger or Wilde hopefully my audience will have a greater understanding on their own actions meaning different things to themselves than others. This short story will hopefully serve as a tool to reform the usual teenage problematic boy.

I look forward to hearing from you,

Vuk Prodanovic

[vukprodanovic]

View Finder

     It was the first sunny day after a six month long rain spell and the sky appeared to be an azure abyss sprawling over the city. It's splendour, however, was marred by an block of apartments with a crumbling facade. The building was rotting and its walls were crawling in mildew and the odd termite. The shabby appearance of the blocky building seemed to taunt the people walking on the sidewalk below. It's fading brown exterior smiled smugly as if it knew it was covering up the most splendid sky the citizens of Vancouver had witnessed in half a year.

      Wilbur Gray was a hard working man. He enjoyed the simple things in life: a cold beer, a beautiful woman, and a night out at the local pub. He did whatever he could to get food on the table and a roof over his head. Wilbur was proud to admit that he had worked every job in the book, from the cleaning service at a dinghy motel downtown to a foot model for a toe fungal cream. And even though he was deathly afraid of heights, that wouldn't stop him from climbing to the top of a ladder to power wash the side of a building. It was good cash, and Wilbur needed that.

Soft smoke rises slow,

Soft hands meet in the dark

Breath weighs more at night

Hands depart, yet smoke stays

[vukprodanovic]

Journal Entries

March 2nd

On the 2nd day of the third month I questioned.

I looked at myself through water and was comforted

by a distorted image.

I thought about hurt, and something new,

and the blocks a former member of myself placed.

I tried to write a song but the words wouldn’t budge.

I looked for sets of golden locks and almost wept in between

pages.

A progression of tension rang through my ears.

I tried to take a breath but the water was too high.

On the 2nd day of the third month I questioned.

Not Real

She is strolling

Cross the park

Baby looks peaceful

While the dogs all bark

She’s too cool

She’s not real

At least to me

At least to me

She is crossing

Crossing my mind

My heart is so broken

Baby be kind

She’s too cool

She’s not real

At least to me

At least to me

And my mind be racing

Through albums of you

Know its not real

But what can I do

She’s too cool

She’s not real

At least to me

At least to me

Calling Me 

I am made

Of skin and bone

So you cant trust me

My diction or tone

Ill paint a picture

Of you and me

With water colours

Us in leaves

Didn’t mean to mislead you

Or break your heart

Im sorry when I

Break your heart

I had a dream

Of me and her

Cool tones of yellow

Her pleated skirt

I dream of blue

Of oceans and seas

But in the reflection

She seems to be

Calling me

Calling me

Calling me

Calling me

[vukprodanovic]

Lone boy

She moved in August 14th, 1983; I remember because it was the day my younger brother Charlie fell in the front yard and chipped his tooth. Mum was consoling him and wiping his teats with a napkin, when a Green Volkswagen with brown trim pulled up to the empty house next to us. It was formally owned by a church minister and his wife. They never had kids and alway kept their garden meticulously clean. Anyway, from the car emerged a family: a dad with brown, curly hair and glasses that took up most of his face, a mum with behave haircut and paisley patterned dress, two twin boys wearing the same stripped shirt and blue jeans, and “she,” Francine Monroe. She had long beautiful hair and a ski jump nose. She looked at me and suited her eyes so the sun wouldn’t obstruct er view. We stared at each other for what seemed like ages, then finally her dad tapped her on the shoulder and beckoned her inside. he gave a friendly wave to mu mum looked his house up and down, and went it.

Four years have passed and I still haven’t spoken a single word to Francine, even though she goes to my school and is in the same classes as me. But still the most interaction I’ve had with her or her family is when they bring over the tradition neighbourly 4th of July casserole dish. Francine and I even sat beside each other in English class once. She has a scar in the shape of a heart on her left middle finger. I wanted to ask her how she got it, but I thought that might be to awkward. Everyone had a crush on her, including myself, I guess, but if anyone asked me about it I’d deny even knowing who she was. Sometimes at lunch some of the guys take turns trying to muster up the courage to go and speak with her. Was never one of them. One time Mark Reynolds, the best looking guy in our grade, went up to talk to her, and they ended up hanging out that weekend. Needles to say, Mark cam back and spread a whole bunch of rumours about them kissing and such, but I could disprove them all. I watched them the whole time; all they did was sit on the couch and watch Family Feud. I hated mark; I really did.

It didn’t get really bad till the beginning of freshmen year. After summer vacation it seemed as if all the girls had discovered jean skirts and shaving their legs. All the guys started playing football and wearing douchey letterman jackets. Everyone went to parties every weekend and came to school on Monday with stories of who they have slept with. Francine was the most popular girl in the entire school, so naturally she was the tip of the arrow for all the promiscuous activities. I even heard she once slept with a college guy while in the 10th grade, but its never been proven. I never had a taste for it all, you know, the parties the drinking, the sleeping around. I was scared of it to be honest. I still got really jealous and anxious when I heard anything about Francine though, but I’d never show it. Her family ate dinner every night at 7:30, you know… It was like clockwork, the twins would sit on one side of the table, the dad at the head with mum facing him from the other side, and Francine and a side. there was always a empty seat beside Francine and close to the door. Sometimes I’d wish that I’d be lucky enough to sit there one day, and talk with her family and what not, real respectful like I promise. Boys never respected her, except me, although she’d never know it. Mid grade 10 she started seeing Tom Hawnicky, the captain of the track team and the guy that every girl fawned over. He took MY seat at the dinner table most nights. Sometimes I’d even see him grab Francine’s though under that table, that pissed me off. It’s just that he only wanted her for her body! He didn’t care about her like I did, they went on long drives after their dinner, just the two of them. They’d be gone for hours and sometimes I’d sit and wait wondering where they have been. I hated all the possible scenarios I made up in my stupid head.

It was mid February of my grade 11 year when I got invited to my first party, I guess I had been hanging out with the “right” people. It was a mess, the party I mean, there was yelling and not one song could go by without someone bumping into the record player and accidentally skipping a part of it, that pissed me off. Francine was there with her stupid boyfriend, they spent the whole night sitting on the couch kissing. It was getting late, I spent the whole night talking to some girl whose name I don’t remember. We talked about our favourite movies and bands. She acted like everything I said was as boring as math class.

“What’s your favourite band?” she asked. it took a second of me humming and looking at the ceiling but I finally gave her a lousy answer.

“Umm,” I started “Probably the stones, I also like Elton John, and 10cc, I really like their synth stuff and—“

“Oh wow,” she interrupted, “you wanna know mine?”

“Sure I guess,” I tried to say as politely as possible.

“I love Stevie Nicks! She’s so hot and she has the best style—“ boy could this girl talk. I didn’t pay her much mind. I was more focused on Francine. She had stopped kissing Tom and seemed like she was sick. All of a sudden she shot up and stumbled her way to the wash room, Tom didn't follow her. He was too easily distracted and probably was staring at the lava lamp or something, I hate that prick. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself so I politely excused myself from my conversation and made my way over to see what was up. I pressed my ear against the door, all I could hear was her vomiting so I knocked…

“Hello,” I said “can I come in?” There was no reply so I turned the door knob and let myself in. There i saw her, the girl I had been helplessly in love with since the moment I saw her in her drive way, lying motionless on the floor. I dropped to my knees and tried to wake her. Two minutes had passed and still no response, so I picked her up and ran her through the party and into my car.

The nurse at the hospital wouldn't let me enter the room because I wasn't a family member. So I sat in the waiting room for what felt like hours. Her parents arrived and thanked me for what I had done and for “taking such good care of her.” They told me Francine had overdosed on some lousy coke. She would be fine but its still scary. It took her 16 hours to wake up, and she would have to stay another 10 at the hospital to be monitored. I went back a few times to see if I could see her but I still was denied access. I wanted to know if she knew it was me who helped her, I mean surely her parents would've told her, right? I wondered if tom could visit her or not, and if he would bring her flowers and whatever she needed.

She was released on Sunday, I watched her and her family walk up the drive way together. Tom was there, that smug son of a bitch. That night he again took my seat at the kitchen table, and again placed his hand onto her thigh. I wondered if she would come and thank me or even acknowledge me at school now, probably not but its nice to dream. Don't get me wrong I was ok with helping her from the shadows, I felt like her guardian angel or something. In the end it just sucked how I’d do anything for her, and she probably doesn't even know my name.

[vukprodanovic]

No Clue

Scene 1

(Lights up on a dusty Montreal apartment. Unframed photos and paintings sit behind a Karlstad Ikea sofa. A green Mexican blanket is neatly folded over half the sofa probably to cover a stain. The only other furniture in the room is a coffee table that sits above a dingy carpet. On the coffee table we see still lit cigarettes sitting in the pot of an aloe plant. 'Bleach' By Brockhampton plays in the background. Sleeping on the couch is a blonde haired blue eyed boy. His hair is bedraggled and his snores increasingly become louder. This is Luka. Luka ran from his middle class family last spring. He moved to Montreal from Ottawa and hasn't responded to his mothers phone calls since. The phone rings. Luka is woken up. He sits up and answers the call.

Luka: (Half awake) Yeah? (Luka grabs a glass of water that has been sitting on the coffee table in front of him) yeah I'd like that too... I'll see you soon? (Luka tenses up) Ok, see you then.

On the phone was luka's girlfriend sam, they have been dating for 5 months- 16 days - he knew this because she counted. She was short and liked to act like she didn't have money even though she did. She had been studying at concordia university working towards her bfa of acting. She was in her third year. she was one year older then luka. Recently their relationship has been rocky. Last night they went out, sam went home early, luka stayed behind and ended up cheating on sam. 

(Luka hangs up the phone and see's the cigarette ashed in the plant. He reaches for it, puts it into his mouth and lights it. Across the sofa his ipod is plugged into a set of speakers still playing 'Bleach' By Brockhampton. He takes out his phone and starts scrolling... This continues for a minute or so. He eventually puts the phone to his ear. Luka looks antsy. No one responds so he leaves a message)

Luka: Hey, umm... I know you're in class right now but last night was kinda weird for me. I know we didn't see each other a lot so maybe we could get pho tonight? (Luka pauses, he remembers he doesn't have enough money to go out) Actually on second thought you could just come and hangout later? I've been a shitty friend recently, I know. But I really need you... Sam is coming over right now and I don't know what's gonna happen with that... I'll call you later. (He goes white.) Fuck!

(Luka runs into a room presumably the washroom, dropping his cigarette on the floor as he does. We hear off stage vomiting. Toilet flushes. He stumbles into the living room. He stands over the burning cigarette contemplating smoking it. Then he picks it up, give it one last drag and puts it out in the aloe plant. Luka picks up a note book and short #2 pencil from the coffee table. He begins to write. A projection of a poem appears on the wall behind him. The projection is meant to mimic his writing.)

'Lone, so alone

Cold, so cold

Joy, no joy

Joy, no joy

(Luka cynically looks at his writing then scratches it all out. The projection mimics this. He sits for a moment looking bored. A pile of unopened mail sits judgementally on the floor in front of his door. He walks over and begins to leaf through the letters. One catches his eye. He brings it over to the couch and gently opens it...)

The letter contains an eviction notice to Luka's apartment. He has been living there since March 2nd of last year. The date today is January 15th. Luka had made money here and there working as a barista, free-lance graphic design, sound editing/mixing, and even medical research. He has not held a steady job since he ran from home. His family is still in Ottawa but Luka needed a break. The only things in Luka's possession is the ikea furniture he bought off craigslist, a few blankets, his mac laptop and iphone 7, a pair of audio Technica over ear headphones, and a White stratocastor with a Fender Mustang V2 amp.

(Luka begins to read the letter. The letter is projected against the wall behind him. This silence becomes unbearable for the audience as Luka begins to break down.)

*The actor playing Luka must be emotionally capable for the role. They must let the audience see what he sees. He must let the audience feel his pain.*

Luka: NO! (Luka continues reading the letter) Fuck, fuck, fuck! (Luka begins to cry and pace the apartment. Eventually he finishes the letter, pulls out his phone, and dial's a number.) Come on, Come on! (No one answers) Ugh, come on you fuck answer me please (Still no answer. Luka leaves a message) Hi! Hi Mark! Shit, I'm screwed Mark you have to help me. I can't make rent and they're gonna kick me out on the first of the month! Please, please, please as my brother please help me. I know I haven't called mom back but you know how she gets... She wouldn't understand... (Luka's crying subsides) Just, call me back. Okay? (He hangs up the phone)

Mark is luka's oldest brother. He is studying at the university of ottawa and doesnt plan on leaving home anytime soon. he has always regarded luka as "the wild child" and never quite understood Luka's tendencies. He wont help luka, but it was worth a try. 

(Luka paces his apartment. He walks to the corner of the room and begins to change out of the clothing he slept in. He awkwardly stumbles into a pair of wrangler blue jeans and a carhartt white t-shirt. The rugby shorts and stained joe fresh shirt are thrown into the corner of the room. Luka scrolls through his ipod and we hear "Get you" By Daniel Caesar play. Luka walks over to his make shift kitchen table, in reality it was a patio set that came with the apartment, but since it was January in Montreal Luka brought it indoors. He sits and crosses his legs, opens up his back of Belmont regulars and lights a cigarette up.) 

(Luka never thought he needed to smoke, he used to do it as a social lubricant)

(Luka scrolls through his phone again. He begins to tap his left leg on the floor as an anxious tick. The song comes to an end as Luka places his phone face down on the table. He stares out. After a few second he snaps back to his phone and dials a number... Again, no one answers. We hear a dial tone.)

Luka: Hi mom... I haven't been the best to you lately and I know that. Umm (Luka begins to tear up) I fucked up mom. I thought I was ready but I wasn't. I should've listened to you, I should've. (Luka's feelings overwhelm him and he is incapable of speaking. Eventually he composes himself). Do you remember when you used to drop me off at daycare? And I would cry and cry because I didn't want to leave you. Then eventually when I worked up the courage to let you leave the door I'd press my face up against the glass and you'd draw a smily face and blow me a kiss? Remember that? I do... (Luka takes a long pause) Montreal's nice. Lot's of pretty girls and places to go out. Lot's of nice art in this city... I really think you would like it mom. (another long pause) I have a girlfriend (He takes a deep breath) I had a girlfriend, I think. I screwed up last night and I don't know what to, mom. I don't know what to do... I miss you... I miss you a lot and I need you to blow me a kiss and draw me a smiley face I need you mom. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. (Luka hangs up the phone and weeps)

(He paces the apartment still smoking. Eventually, he collapses on the couch he takes the notebook in his hand and scribbles something:)

Im sorry

(Luka looks out into the audience weeping, trying to find something to latch on to. We hear a buzzer going off and a woman's voice faintly echoes through his apartment)

Sam: Luka? It's sam (Luka doesn't move) Luka? (He just sits still)

Lights down 

[vukprodanovic]

[vukprodanovic]

View Finder #1

A collision along the highway had set them back 40 minutes from their destination. Upon arrival everyone was exhausted and sick of being cramped in their Yugos.  A field of daisies acted as the base of what could've been a oil painting. The air smelt of cool mountain breeze mixed with smoke from Camel Blues and Chanel No.5. Nothing but mountains lined with clouds for as far as the eye could see. Everyone was silenced by the beauty of the view. Most have them have lived in the city as long as they could remember, only coming out to the country when a relative was sick.

They all went to elementary school together. Natalia’s older brother introduced them to Joy Division weeks prior, a band which had soundtrack the last bit of summer they held onto. In 8th grade Stephan began smoking which intimidated the others, but surely like everyone their age they joined in. Teodora was always late, Luka was always early, and Vladan was always talking about music. They all worked like clockwork. A perfect friendship born from adolescence and the pressure of their nation. This was their last year at the same school. 13 teenagers all having to choose professions at 18, all scared, but comforted by their peers.

He always stuck to plans. His family of 4 supported him always, and he got everything from his parents: his fathers eyes, mothers lips, and his fathers sense of humour. His letter came last week. It had a big wax stamp on the from marked: JNA. Other boys had been receiving throughout summer so he knew his was coming. His father was proud but his mother was afraid for him. He would never enter combat but he would train as his father did and if need be, he'd fight. Vladan had never been a fighter, and he never would be either.

[vukprodanovic]

Journal Entries Term 1

She (Alisha) 

She’s confused

She doesn’t know.

Who to choose,

or where to go.

She doesn’t listen.

She moves too quick.

She never answers.

She plays tricks.

Together

A creation of love.

A manipulation of feelings from one to the next.

A young man with crooked teeth.

A new friendship.

A broken mentality about how it should be,

how it was.

A simple promise now broken.

A phone call not answered.

A panic ensuing.

A formation of gloom.

A fading memory of what we used to do,

together.

Two Blind Travellers

her hand acted as a glove.

orange sections of light under street lamps we drove by.

both hands occupied by greater goods,

doing different things.

a blind audience behind us entertained themselves.

opposite destinations,

ours the same.

the glow of her skin offered a light beneath the blankets.

two blind travellers trekking across each other.

two blind travellers who found each other.

[vukprodanovic]

1 a place where children are taken care of 

2 a model of the  figures, that is often displayed in homes, churches, etc.

belief; faith; trust

1 a person who creates

crea-ture 1 anything created 

[vukprodanovic]

Where My World Began

Dirty shoe laces and sweet air. The sweat collecting on my palms began to emit a glow in the twilight. Our sweaters were draped over the corner of the bleachers we were propped upon. A soft pink hue covered the sky as children held on to the final moments of daylight before they had to return home. In front of us stood a baseball diamond with perfectly trimmed grass. Behind us a silhouetted city scape. Underneath us the ancient wooden bleachers began to give us splinters, but we didn't mind, we never minded.

She asked me what I liked about her: “everything” I said. Her hands gently lay across her lap. Her ski jump nose wrinkled every time she smiled, and her eyes told me everything I needed to know about myself. The shoes covering her feet were now dirty from today’s walk. Her unprotected legs were covered with cuts and bruises left by the countless rocks and bushes we trotted through. But she still maintained her smile. All day our jokes danced in harmony and our personalities fit together like a light bulb to a socket. My thoughts perfectly matched hers. We worked together like migrating birds, fuelling ourselves off one another.

She always wore the same corduroy black skirt with a little button on the left hip: it was too small for her but she didn't care. The band shirt she always wore to, I assume, impress me now stained because of her messy eating habits. Her fingernails, more chipped than painted, like a glass mosaic. I never felt nervous around her. She seemed to like the hand-me down shirts I always wore, and the way I used words I didn't know the meaning of. She didn't mind my crooked teeth or abnormally sweaty palms.

Her iPod sat between us, with a pair of eggshell white headphones attached to the base. Together we listened to whatever music decided to come on through shuffle play. Nothing could bother us, not at this moment. For a few moments neither of us spoke, and we were still, basking in the pure ecstasy we felt by each others presence. She asked me about my life and I asked her about hers, but everything we needed to know about one another was known already. She was special. “What’s your favourite drink?”

“Gingerale,” she said. I held onto every answer I was privileged enough to hear. At points the conversations stopped but it wasn't awkward. We were never awkward.

The twilight began to fade and the children on the field accepted defeat and ran home, but we remained. Like two statues we froze not wanting to leave each others’ side. Countless movies had prepared me for this moment; I was supposed to kiss her, wasn't I? My mind started working like a broken game of Mouse Trap. The day began to slip from my memory like soft skin against satin sheets. All of a sudden a shift in hand placement settled it, and her lips confiscated mine.

So it was there: on those bleachers, starring upon that green field with those children that the next 2 years began. But, as all things do it came to an end, but I didn’t mind, I never minded with her.