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bonegender · 3 years

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I'm deciding to respond to this in a separate post because I do not want to derail the original intentions of the post with my thoughts. You can read the article in the original post here and I recommend that you do before reading what I have to say about it in my post.

I think this article has the best of intentions, and like the tweets the writer critiques and admonishes for blowing things out of proportion and becoming biased, I think unfortunately that is what this article has done in turn. Often times, this is just the very nature of discussing hot topics and sensitive issues in online circles and even offline. What Isabel did was perhaps in good faith but needs to be recognized as a faux pas. People are sensitive to this sort of anonymity for a reason as it is weaponized by T*RFS and other anti trans groups on the regular.

I'm rather appalled at the stance posed by this article, questioning what harm would it do if there was another piece of transphobic media in a space that is supposed to be more welcoming of transness? What harm would it do? It would welcome more transphobia well intentioned or otherwise. What's to stop others from making insensitive short stories under the guise of good faith? What's to stop a wave of Sci Fi writers from flooding the scene with wombyn ideologies? Isn't there enough transphobic, homophobic, sexist and racist writers no matter the genre? But it's okay to excuse more of them because they could potentially be closeted?

Personally I feel this is an asinine take. I feel to allow for a margin of error especially with the mask of anonymity is just allowing for people to stick their xenophobic, transphobic, and potentially fetishizing fingers into places that are attempting to make themselves safe for other marginalized people. This isn't to say that there shouldn't be room for discussion of gender like Isabel attempted to do, and I think it was a very brave and brash move for her to make that her FIRST publication as her new attempted identity. However, her downfall is not single-handedly the fault of the twitter users that speculated her identity. She took a bat to a hornet's nest and then was shocked when she was stung.

I do not wish her harm and I do not think she deserved the level of backlash she got. I do think that she was misguided, and perhaps should have thought twice about making such a reactionary and problematic meme the title of her first work. That alone is a red flag and especially for someone with so little information behind them. It's really bizarre to me how one can cry out that they were shot when they were the one holding the gun to their foot. Perhaps "cancel culture" is a bit out of control on some level, of that I will concede, but did Isabel really live in such a bubble as not to expect potential backlash?

If this article was meant to put to rest the discussion around this whole debacle, it failed. To me this is further stirring of the pot when really Isabel should be left to heal and mend her relationship with her identity after the fall out of this nightmare. This opens the door for further dissection of her behavior, her motives, and what it means to be closeted and the way people handle transness and their expression of gender. Something that really spoke out to me is Isabel's comment about being sniffed out as potentially not being a woman because she didn't know how to write women and how that notion was potentially transphobic. I am a trans man. I will never claim to know how to write cis men, nor can I truly say I know how to write trans men either. I barely know what it's like to be trans and that is from my own perspective. Every woman is different, trans or otherwise, and there is no definitive way to write one gender or any for that matter.

I feel that this was a perfect storm of an inexperienced writer being published with potentially internalized transphobia working through that transphobic ideology on a grand stage for all to see. No one could have possibly predicted the outcome in full, but it would be foolish to say that none of it was truly expected. Ignorance is still ignorance, even if it's coming from those who are marginalized. We can forgive and we can move on but to give people passes simply because they are on the side of those downtrodden leaves room for others to cry wolf. I wish the best for Isabel, and hope she can recover and be something more of what she wants to be, but it needs to be recognized she made a mistake. A good-hearted mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.

I will say that yes, Twitter and other sites are very good at tearing it's users apart and keeping some sort of pecking order. I will admit that online queer spaces are becoming notorious for eating themselves alive and measuring and monitoring all behaviors to make us all seem more consumable and easy to categorize. There is huge issue to be taken with the way queer spaces shove identities in boxes where there should be room for expression and error. Where is the line? When do we call something a mockery or satire? Where does good faith end and malice begin and who gets to make that call? This may not be answered for a long time now, and things like this may continue to harm people, but perhaps there should be lessons taught to help people distance themselves from online dog fights like this. Maybe there should be resources to help oneself guard against backlash like this. It's a tricky rope to walk along, since so much of this borders on censorship, suppression of discussion and the ability to defend groups against those that would seek to disguise in order to push harmful agendas.

I don't know. The only thing we can say for certain is that a writer tried in good faith to express her conflict with her identity, the horror of what it would mean to have gender weaponized and exploited in literal combat, and ended up fighting a battle that ultimately could have taken her own life. What's worse is that she got to see the true face of her peers, and watched as they tore her apart from behind the curtain. That must have been very hard to stomach and I applaud her for seeking help. I hope she's able to recover, and wherever she goes from here I only hope that it's up.

#long post #cw: transphobia #cw: suicide #cw: internalized transphobia #I don't intend to go back and forth on this but I just kind of wanted to say my piece #I'm not a trans woman and I don't know what it's like to be one

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lgbt-stims · 4 years

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No hate but like about the transmisandrist flag: I can't help but feel you're painting transmascs as a whole as the main perpatraitor of transmisogyny when from what I know it's Terfs and Cis folks, like I read the tags and understand you're apparently joking but even so, it's painting transmascs as a group in a bad light and in my opinion playing right into terfs hands, we need solidarity not to be at eachothers throats. Not to be one oppressed group making jokes at another's expense, with that kind of logic a group of native americans would be allowed to make a racist joke about a group of black people, there's a massive difference between reclamation and just working for our oppressors, even on accident. For example, for the trans lesbian mod, all gender aside, howd you feel if a gay man made a "useless lesbian" joke? It's very much in the same vein, but anyways, thank you for your time, I hope you hear my opinion

A trans woman being accused of being a “transmisandrist” for just existing as a trans woman, and taking this and making a joke about it is not in any way even remotely on par with outright racism and lesbophobia. The flag compiles things that transmascs do to trans women to label us as transmisandrist, ie literally just existing as trans women and expecting to be treated as people, and making a joke out of the idea that trans women wanting to not be hurt by transmascs is somehow actually bigoted. The flag is literally “for when youre tma and youre an evil transmisandrist or transandrophobe because ummmm youre tma and dont like transmisogyny thats all that qualifies someone as being bigoted towards trans men apparently”. This is in no way comparable to a nonblack person being racist, nor is it even comparable to “useless lesbian” jokes. These two examples are just mockery of Black people and lesbians. This flag is a mockery of the idea that trans women are “transmisandrists” for wanting to be treated as human, not a mockery of trans men.

The idea that this is “working for our oppressors” (t/rfs in this case) is absolutely wrong. No, trans women joking about the way trans men mistreat them is not helping t/rfs in any way. The notes have literally been full of t/rfs vehemently defending trans men and being vile about trans women. If you think t/rfs saw that post and thought poorly of trans men, you’re dead wrong. Every single one of them has been defending them and praising them. You are not the object of t/rf hatred, despite the fact that you are an object of transphobic hatred. There is a major difference.

Furthermore, the idea that transmascs (both binary and nonbinary - mlm and wlw) are not a main perpetrator of transmisogyny could not be more false. Transmascs are absolutely one of the main perpetrators of transmisogyny, both online and in person, all tme trans people are. They are probably the most prevalent and most dangerous transmisogynists, because unlike cis people, they are inside the community and have an immense amount of leverage against transfems because of it. If a cis woman says “Trans women are predatory and scary, they try to infiltrate our cis women’s spaces and force us out so they can have a dickhaver only space. They’re so oppressive and they aren’t even that oppressed compared to us”, most trans people will recognize it as transmisogyny. If a transmasc says the exact same thing, it’s excused and even praised because they are also trans, and “you're painting transmascs as a whole as the main perpatraitor of transmisogyny when from what I know it's T/rfs and Cis folks”. Transmascs constantly traumatize and endanger transfems, just like t/rfs and cis people, but they do it while hiding behind the fact that they’re also trans and so they get away with it. Tme trans people often don’t care about the bigoted feelings of a cis person towards a trans woman, but they obsessively cater to the bigoted feelings of a transmasc (or other tme trans person) towards a trans woman. Tme trans people are still absolutely capable of transmisogyny, and often are transmisogynistic, and trans women have every right to talk about transmisogyny in the lgbt community without being accused of bigotry. Which, ironically, is exactly what the flag was talking about.

#this was a very long response. i hope this all explains it #ask #anonymous #mod rose #transmisogyny

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gatetoglimmer · 4 years

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Okay this is the last I’m going to speak on this for real. I’ve gotten a bunch of rude messages in the past few days because of a response to my post. I wish in hindsight I had fleshed my arguments out better before posting but that doesn’t excuse people calling me a r*pe apologist in my inbox.

To clarify my point about the Zelda/Marie contraversy.

For Zelda, she fell for a woman and was in a relationship with a woman.

That relationship is inherently wlw, regardless of later plot points, to Zelda. That’s what matters here.

The fact that Marie as a person was merely an avatar for a god is a problem because of the power dynamics inherent to that relationship and the lies that were involved. Zelda didn’t consent to a relationship with a god she consented to a relationship with a fellow witch and those two things are very different.

My original post had been in reference to a specific line of argumentation in regards to a lot of the reactions I’d seen online immediately following the reveal that closely mirrored a lot of t*rf talking points that should be cautioned against. The two big ones that I personally saw were:

“Oh it wasn’t real lgbt rep because one was a man all along.” Sounds like something said to mixed trans/cis couples where their relationship is ‘invalidated’ as lgbt because one of them transitions or had transitioned at some point.

“We lost a lesbian.” Is literally something that was said by t*rfs about Elliot Page when he came out. Zelda was still attracted to a woman and is still bisexual. Marie and Zelda both presented and were women to each other which means that it was a lesbian relationship. Even if you continue to ship it from here on out with this plot line in tact, so long as Marie is still presenting as Marie then she is a woman.

We can argue about consent and power dynamics. I still don’t know personally how to properly navigate the argument about Marie having possibly r*ped Zelda by deception. We can have that conversation and we can discuss this relationship in the broader context of how Zelda’s relationships have all been treated by the narrative. We can even all hate the writers together because wow this plot point was not thought through and even worse is that (like so many of the sensitive topics discussed on the show) was written haphazardly and without the depth or forethought to explain itself appropriately.

That leads to a lot of very hurt people left in the dust with narrative pieces that are written in an ultimately harmful and insensitive way. We can have all of these conversations. But I genuinely caution people in the way that those discussions are had because, much like how the writers carelessness has hurt a lot of lesbians, our own carelessness in how we discuss this topic will hurt a lot of trans people.

A lot of folks are hurt right now. It always hurts to have your trust betrayed by writers when they finally give you a crumb of representation. I have been sitting on this information for three weeks now. Everybody is just now experiencing these feelings that I’ve had to deal with already. In recognizing that, I also recognize that it was careless of me to write my post as I did. Much like the writing on the show it was slapped together without consideration for the feelings of others. I’m not going to apologize for my post but I will say that I wish I had written it with the consideration that wasn’t given to us.

And at this point any caos followers I gained already have unfollowed me so there’s no point in posting this but at least I’ll have said my peace.

#caos spoilers #caos part 4 spoilers #cw: rape

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valencitaflaherty · 5 years

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the absolute worst kind of t*rfs are the ones who aren’t like from america or the uk and use it as an excuse to be all “well sorry sweetie but that’s how feminism works over here!! uwu can’t help that we’re more cultured” when you know for a goddamn fact that isn’t true bc feminism isn’t a fucking monolith, which, y’know, anyone who doesn’t get their news from youtube would know. also going out of your way to tear down not only trans people/any woman who isn’t a r*dfem in your own country but those in other countries who don’t affect you in any way under the guise of being more “enlightened” is just genuinely so nasty.

#text posts #transphobia mention i guess #ugh

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nightcoremoon · 4 years

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t*rfs are fucking delusional if they think genital reductivism and vaginal worship is NOT the epitome of sexually objectifying women in the same breath as saying that all bisexuals are just attracted to "genders" to hide the fact we all want just as much pussy as they do, allegedly. congratulations, you hate the GBTQA+. idiots.

I like girls with vaginas, I like guys with dicks, I like guys with vaginas, I like girls with dicks, and I like people of any gender or any shape of genitalia. you're the ones who sexually objectify what you perceive as "womyn" because of your

white

western

imperial

christian

european

colonial

upbringing and cultural brainwashing. you think how you think because you're complicit in the genocides perpetuated against the cultures with different perceptions of gender than from the Catholic/Protestant bloodthirsty militaristic savage warlords who just murdered everyone with different idealogy about gender than them

you don't have a leg to stand on

and to the "actually I'm a terf who's african so that's not true" anon: no, you are either white and pretending to be black for discourse clout, or you've been successfully brainwashed and assimilated by the aforementioned White Western Imperial Christian European Colonists and your opinion doesn't count. "I'm black and I love cops and hate blacklivesmatter/staywoke and oppose affirmative action and don't see a racial bias in society and don't have a problem with white people saying the n word even with the hard r but I do have a problem with black people using it to describe ourselves and think that the black panthers were terrorists and love ronald reagan because the 80s gays and blacks were all hedonistic prurient sex fiends who all deserved to die from aids and crack and maybe if black people didn't wanna be lynched they should've just knuckled under and obeyed the white men" man shut the fuck up and clean the boot polish off your tongue before I smack the veneer facade off your twitter account to show you're literally just another rachel dolezal liar. either way there's still dozens of non-african cultures out there with noncisnormative views on gender (jews, native americans, indians, etc) and even if you WERE black, YOURE STILL A FUCKING BIGOTED ASSHOLE TOWARDS ALL THOSE OTHER CULTURES which maybe might not be the conveniently narrow definition of racism where all ethnicities have privilege over black people and therefore racism against non black poc isn't ~technically actually racism at all~, but if you're a bigoted asshole to an ethnic minority hellbent on erasing their cultural history from the world, YOURE STILL RACIST. and just because you're black doesn't mean you're excused from queerphobia either in the first fucking place, and even if you're a black western imperial christian european colonial bootlicker, you're still responsible for spreading that shit. you are equally as culpable. besides, marsha was black too. and it's because of her we have what we have. trans, gay, or otherwise. shitting on trans people is shitting on your own legacy as queer. you stupid fucking cunts.

so this isn't about me, society doesn't treat me like shit for being trans, I'm white, I have the privilege, the worst I have is shitty worthless people sending rude anons. but the two-spirits, the hijra, the il femminiello, the elagabalus, they don't have privilege. they exist, they get treated like shit, and transphobic pieces of shit like you are responsible for it. you're culpable. you're racist. you're queerphobia and you're assholes for it. t*rfs do not belong in the LGBTQ. you don't want to anyway. so I guess you can just

😎

take the L

...

well you have to share it with the lesbians who aren't insufferable garbage fire humans but I'm bi I can't resist a pun when I see opportunity

point is: you're wrong, i'm right, fuck off bitch :)

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bloojayoolie · 6 years

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Advice, Anaconda, and Ass: Time to get a mental health care plan and help What suburb are you in mate Is there any free house cleaning services? Cyou need help bud. Go to your GP and get a Due to my back and the stress I am going through my house has become so The NDIS were the ones and I need help badly. I over and over so l Im my money badly I can't pay someone to come out here and do it next week So I need options badly... and I mean badly cause Im tired of my house up cory that has been the case for you. You profile? You had no right need help. can try another agency to provide the services if your not happy. There must be a goveming body to report the agency passed away last year but it never happened and now because of me l've can get. Anyone who doesn't mind a very messy house and smell 50-755 on tuesday? It's not much but I'm very desperate i also did and agree with And Im so scared now. I will take any sort of helpI They do thatl Im a dew. Get her to email them See a doctor. Commit to it and you can get what you want. It one last time. And then the local member Thanks. . Also don't ask me to take pictures the house is too messy and I'm NDIS are the ones who "pay the Are you stl need help? If yes please pnm If the client doesnt have funds-they wont get cover from an 91 already offered he wont accept Im a cleaner and i have never heard of a free Iif you're legitimate, you would qualify for help through So sorry you are mentioned she passed away last year and you say that? Nah uck you t gets easier for you! I cant offer any assistance but I can however offer kindness and I hope this helps some. Best wishes urely you can spare mate, I think it might be a good start to call beyond blue or a crisis hotline just to talk to someone. From the looks this is about more than a messy house. There are people around who care but you won't find them on Facebook. Best wishes. Take care where are you my own. Like I said above I was supposed to have had help with living on my own and it never happened so yeah m screwed and have no clue what to do. Website: https:ww.lifeline.org.au you if you tell me where you are i ahve to work next 2 days i could give you now after to be an asS 2h swear l see you every week asking for free stuff if you are as bad as you claim you would be getting dsp which is 900 a rude gestures best of luck i bried I hope s tuck me this must be a joke surely you find a nice big rope and put your neck into it and do the f you are injured you can go to your doctor and ask the right steps to take to receive help like you are asking for You will need a letter from your doctor to provide to centrelink with details of your injury and if they il have their own doctor look intoit as well If they think your injury is stopping your or much pain then they will put a plan into affect something like maybe an hours clean once a week or maybe 2 1/2 hour's once a fortnight wow this got nasty to0 being reported. That is NOT the way to get help and there are people who actually DO this everyday. It is NOT ok to tel someone to do that and I seriously hope you find some help Contact your local council and speak to your Doctor to Hif stil need some help depending orn Wow how rude are some of you.. and I'm sorry about for you Until that comment Too many video games and they can It's time to get yourself to a docior so you can get some therapy and a once off house painting wouldnt go astray either Let me know who would like to help. True I have seen this guy before asking or ou must be his friend your life out Get a job. Fix yourselfI laziness as an excuse not to get things done. Why should we clean your house for tree. wHat you SAID to him was WAY BEYOND what he said to you Jake. That is NOT ok, and NO it is NOT ok to say that no mater what he said to you. Do unto others what you want done to you, would you want someone teling you to do that? I think not. You need to have a cool down and THINK before you type anymore Either way i am reporting Admin So not necessary you may be eligible for help in the home, check wit be paid. Even for them to clean tour whole house is likely to be under $100. Sounds like you need help though .there are general services you can call like Lifeline or Sane who can tell you where to go next for help untl he commented. I had no issues until what he said d forbid people have disabilities jesus tucking christ hope none of you get injuries and need to rely on others e was told to call his mummy 2h and advice. It doesn t take much to be kind. Yes he is asking a lot and no I wouldn't do it. But he clearly needs help not taken the piss all have problems. God helps those who him don't worry about it. Probably gets off on comments liie ou up for a someday you suter the Borry to hear..call the council and see if they because they very well MAY DO IT and YOUR ass will be on s you that much just ignore it ine it against the LAW to tel someone to go off Also if you don t have basic living skills you may want avent you got any friends to help and you need a better attitude Try joining& posting in this group. They trade items for house as he sounds very aggressive and unstable leave it to eed the better attitude when he just told didnt insult my dead mother and I won't say nothing how does tha sound? ril let him run his mouth about her He can even take u can get help if u genuinely need it it sounds lke from what u said u havent had much luck with ndis in the past My son has a disability and has had success with ndis but we had reports from psychologists and many her if that's how you like it plan and get some reports. Once u have those reports turn up to then ndis office with the reports and ask nicely if they can please is that all you took from tnis post? Not that there is an exdtremely unwell person begging to have l also see a with very away, youre just a troll Unless of course, you're planning nasty responses of hoping they commit suicide that is online bullying and 100% not ok I understand u t not n a good place right now but please don't attack others and take the help that is offlered and use told that by an ex that hit a nerve. That comment was not There are ways to tell people to stop than telling them to kill themselvesThere are A LOT o people who feel for you and want to help you. You need to You were looking for free food last week No ones matter what they said. He should not have said what he did I agree but what YOU SAID was worse someone besides people who your getting cut at on a Facebook buy swap and sell page. You start abusing people when you dont get what you want its no wonder youre being called out njesus take the help mate rf you still have the cats then 100% you need the helpm is no worse than the other

#funny #lol #humor #memes #meme #memehumor #dank memes #funny pics #rolf #lmao #Advice #Anaconda #and

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jaewil25-blog · 8 years

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Jayla Auset please read this in its entirety.

My government entity is Jamar Rasheid Richmond. Some people call me Búba (pronounced Boo ba) or Jae Stylez because I represent fathers from many nations who have been falsely accused of being neglectful towards their offsprings.

Who Am I?

I am humble. I am altruistic. I am extraordinary. I am being of light who has transmuted that energy into a positive amalgamation of balance between failures & successes.

I was born & raised in the Southwest Bronx, 250 Anthony Avenue, and I grew up kinda introverted unlike the rest of my crew. When I was nine years young, I developed a scientific mindset called critical thinking which saved my life MANY TIMES. This is when you start analyzing everything around you, from family to friends, to conclude daily misconceptions about who you THINK you are and what life should really be like.

Jayla, do you ever feel like there’s more to life than what you see?

Do you ever wonder why school is soooo boring at times?

Do you sometimes feel like moving away somewhere far enough to experience what life is like somewhere else?

Well…I used to question this in school all the time; having me dazed and confused constantly offline.

My Early Scholastic Persona

I was never a book-smart student because truthfully, I didn’t care about the books I was reading. I could read words in a sentence now; I wasn’t illiterate. If you’d ask me what I just read I would just literally draw blanks. I was incomprehensible most of the time in class, but never incompetent. I was an C+ student growing up who couldn’t stand class participation. Why??? Because I never wanted to participate in a lesson if it wasn’t going to enhance my current condition. My classmates used to joke on me because I had a speech impediment causing me to misinterpret certain word structures. Most of our books were written in a format I wasn’t used to. Which made me dislike reading out loud in class. English made a lot of sense to me growing up. Why??? Because of its low vibrational frequency when spoken. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stand speaking English, yet alone, articulate it as my primary language.

I just want you to know that I’m here for you and nothing or no one will ever change that.

Bronx-Hood

My crew & I would travel all over the Bronx to interact with our environment like nobody else’s business and didn’t care who or what we came across in the process. (You would definitely like them all). We used to chill on the block engaged in everything from Manhunt, Off Tha Wall, Dodgeball - using a blue hand ballI, basketball - using anything with a hole in it as a hoop, football - using the street as our field dodging cars & tackles, bike riding like 11 deep up the Grand Concourse to Van Cortland Park, and many other activities I can’t remember at the moment. I tried showing your mother how much love & respect we had for her, nevertheless, she decided to not participate. I remember introducing her to some key components on the block to significantly increase her curiosity about hood life NOT that shit portrayed on tel-lie-vision. I’m talking men who protected women and finessed their celestial presence with greater appreciation for family.

Imagine, eleven guys - with their own personality - acting like big brothers & uncles making sure you were protected from parasitic rodents who would try & infiltrate you & your mother. My crew are creative geniuses who knows the importance of being 2G’s - Gangstas & Gentlemen. My crew have passions of auto mechanics, education, masonry, technical math, applied science & engineering, an eclectic mix of music, theater & art, entrepreneurship, creative masterminds, internal security, natural law, and my personal favorite…advanced technology. We are indeed well rounded. We never act like “tough guys”. We are warriors. We get along with everyone, just some people ironically hate us.

What Makes Me A Solitary Sol-Doer

I mastered the art of fighting WITHOUT REALLY FIGHTING. You maybe asking, ‘how is that possible’? Well, I’ll share some life secrets with you when the time is right. BUT, you must promise not to share anything I reveal to you with anyone; not even your closest love one. Only share it with your mother. What I can say is – some battles are fought in the third dimension, which is the physical realm that you’re able to conquer with your five senses (feel, taste, smell, hear, see). On the other side, there are metaphysical conflicts going on internally that includes knowing thyself first, mastering your level of abilities second, and tapping into unknown forces only activated by your Crown Chakra afterwards. Like I said, I will share more with you and how to tap into this naturally without trying when times presents themselves.

I Never Abandoned You

Jayla, your mother (Kenya) unfortunately never tried to get to know me in-depth when we were around your age. I, Jamar, am extremely sorry for many things I’ve NOT done in your life, but I hope you’re aware that I was VERY involved during your early development stage until I was forced to leave you in 2003 (that’s a long story Jayla). I used to spend the night at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in Manhattan when you were 2-3 months young just to learn about your congenital heart dis-ease. Ask your mother. I sacrificed my livelihood for you to live a comfortable life on taxpayers expense due to your implanted pacemaker. I always knew how important it was for that pacemaker to be removed because of its electromagnetic frequency waves that can be interrupted by RF devices. After work, I would rush downtown so I could speak face2face to nurses & cardiologists about your severe condition. I used to even talk to you while you were sleep making sure the sound of my voice resonated deep within your subconscious mind while you were courageously recuperating from your traumatic open heart surgery.

When you were just 13 months, your mother made a life changing decision regarding you & I finally getting to know one another. (Jayla, plz read very carefully)

Jayla, you’re my firstborn. You are my ONLY. When you were released by a plethora of doctors at NYU Medical, your mother & I had an epic disagreement. This was a very unhealthy situation for you. So, when you were 13 months, I gave in and allowed your grandma to take full responsibility in my absence because she had a scholastic background, Afrakan centered living conditions, and most importantly, a holistic approach on maintaining optimal health. Jayla I REALLY, SINCERELY APOLOGIZE FOR LEAVING YOU, but I had no other choice. What your mother was going through with her health I just didn’t want to make matters even worst for her. I NEVER - and I’ll repeat - I NEVER put my hands on your mother or anyone else for that matter. I didn’t fight with my body; I fought with my mind…

Your Grandmother Stole The Show

Jayla, I’ve always adored you. I even have your name tattooed on my arm (I got that tat in 2004 when you were 3). You’ve always been my world Jayla Auset. No matter who you currently view as your father or father figure. No one - and I repeat - NO ONE (besides ya moms) has sacrificed more than I have so you can have prestigious support from your environment. Your mother and I are both on your Certificate Of Live Birth which forever binds our lives together. Your grandmother Robyn benefited from a lot from it as well. She capitalized on the Order Of Protection more than your mother did. I was NO THREAT to your safety and well being. But…your grandmother thought if was removed from your life by authoritative force, then her position would be reinforced as primary care giver OR sole provider. Don’t get me wrong Jayla. Robyn sacrificed to take care of you as well, but her sacrifice is NOTHING compared to what your real parents endured during the process. She became legal guardian due to your mother’s medical condition. Your mother should’ve called me but she blamed it on an Order Of Protection that was filed in 2003 for the reason of not reaching out - which was a poor excuse. The real reason your mother didn’t want me to step in is because I would’ve caused to so much confusion, distractions, and down right dysfunctional behavior in your family. That’s the real reason they kept me a secret. So, your grandmother stepped in to care for you like her own giving her a second chance at raising her daughter in an image she wanted all along. Robyn thought her sacred knowledge was the reason for your eminent support. It was your mother’s (Kenya) tenacious attack on the battlefield of Lupus and my extraordinary prowess in the 3rd dimension that kept you safe from malicious intent. I work my mind everyday to provide quality service to the people making sure I don’t promote any cataclysmic behavior or activities. I’ve been secretively supporting you & your mother’s endeavors since you were ripped from her mortal portal.

(I’m deep and abstruse at times…I know.)

What I’ve Always Thought Of You

Jayla…

You’re phenomenally extraordinary!

You’ve always been.

From the little bit I’ve seen & noticed, we have some similarities regarding your personality. You can be a bit silly and intelligently witty like your mother. You also have quiet side - an introverted persona - instilled by your grandma who has taught you well gaining you access to unlimited data in your universe. In other words, you are ENRICHED with wealth generating principles! When we finally meet, I will train you on esoteric wisdom from underground circuits you should’ve learned way before anything else. The foundation of our ancestors will be communicating through our unison. The plan is simplistic but it also requires your mother’s undivided attention.

You Are Everything & Everything Is You

Remember, always influence your own outcomes…don’t allow the mind state of others to influence you. For example, if your colleagues or constituents force a ritual upon you because they are not aware of your delicate condition, you don’t have to fit in…EVER. Trust this…as you get wiser, people will become tactful. Meaning, they will persuade you to consent to something that has destructive tendencies in it. You don’t have to appeal to ANY relationship between you & your peers because of ritualistic behaviors like companionships, friendships, hardships, etc. I’ll teach you how to attract more responsive connections in your life. I’ll teach you how to remain positive in a world full of buyers, sellers, pimps, and hoes (figuratively speaking). Jayla, I’ll teach you lessons about life you could only imagine. Lessons that are not taught in school or any educational institution. Imperative lessons like how to create YOUR dreams into YOUR reality without the Internet. How to struggle smart and live long enough to embody your life’s mission. How to learn about yourself enough to never fear anything again. I’ll start off real slow and incrementally work my way into your respective governments. I grind. I diligently hustle. So, working through the abyss is child’s play for me. Your mother is welcome to tag along; I know she won’t let you out of her sights yet anyway.

YOU ARE THE CENTER OF YOUR UNIVERSE. Your mother & I have blazed a path for you to educate yourself on arcane knowledge, inspire your true inner circle (loyal families & synergistic connections) with intrinsic values, and motivate others to change society’s obsolete ordinances and convert them into your divine essence…Universal Power!

We Are The Afro-Related Trinity

I’m going to share something with you Jayla that I hope you have practiced as well…celibacy. Truth be told, I was a virgin when I met your mother. Your mother never believed me when I confessed this to her earlier. I hope you have very little knowledge on this subject - and if you don’t - I hope you’ve been schooled properly on both girls & boy’s pubertal development.

When I met your mother, back in Y2K, we were raised completely different. Your mother was raised by a strong-minded family of scholars & careerists whom followed everything by the book. I, your biological father, was raised by an eclectic family of hustlers & “go-getters” who did things “by any means necessary”. Your mother was brought up with both of her parents. I was brought up with only my mom & grandma. Your mother was book smart and into poetry. I was into extracurricular activities and technology. Your mother tried her best to fit in high school. I tried my best to stand out. The point is Jayla…your mother and I are something, on the esoteric realm, called quantum engineering. Your mother was involved with her own quantum entanglement and transition onto my side which was a more quantum computing power. In other words, she is like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. (ideology of unity) and I’m more like Malcolm X (implementation of unity).

We’re from opposite ends of the same source which is YOU. You are the reason, the beginning, and the only reason to amalgamate negative & positive forces synergistically generating electromagnetic power in abundance. You are the one, of many around the world, who will join forces together and create a better place for future generations of energy beings on this planet.

We must build our Prowess Society so all Earths’s energy beings can empower their environments with self love, global prosperity, and elemental longevity - humanity’s source code under Universal Law.

Wow! See how quickly I can get off topic Jayla???, especially when it’s concerning our planet’s future possibilities. Anyways, Jayla…your mother & I have failed our generation. We involuntarily surrendered our rights to have a lackluster impact on our Omniverse because we didn’t realize what was really important…US AS THE TRINITY - Positive (Kenya Simone 9/19), Negative (Jamar Rasheid 10/2), Neutral (Jayla Auset 10/24).

Nature needs us to showcase supreme consciousness through our inevitable reconciliation.

Time is calling for it.

How will we respond???

#jamar rasheid RIchmond #jamar rasheid richmond #jaylaauset #Afrotrinity #jamarrasheidrichmond

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[RF] Dear Brother

WARNING! THIS SHORT STORY CONTAINS FOUL LANGUAGE AND SOME SCENES THAT THE READER MAY FIND DISTURBING. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

[Author's Note] This was a short story I wrote when I was a junior in high school. Looking back, I love it, mistakes and all. It was an assignment given, and my teacher said I had made her cry, and she had given me full points. It's currently in development of an adaptation into a short film with the help of my friend's studio. I hope you enjoy!

The smell of the preservative burned his nostrils, the dank, musty smell of the fetal pig made Andrew’s stomach churn, and separating the intestines only made it feel like his breakfast was beginning to crawl up his esophagus. The sweat rolling down his brow only intensified as he continued to separate the intestines, and occasionally cut the mesentery with the fine edge of a scalpel. Scat from the intestines would pour out onto his plastic apron, and he’d wipe it off with the backside of his glove and onto a paper towel. “Hey Raye!” a thunderous voice shouted from a few feet behind Andrew. Andrew turned, only to be hit with a mass of intestines, sending blood and scat in seemingly every direction. Andrew’s stomach churned as the stinging smell of the preservatives, scat, and blood hit the chemoreceptors in his nose, and his breakfast began to rapidly travel up his esophagus, and through his pharynx, and the mass of food and bile was expelled from his mouth, and poured all over the mass of intestines and all over his Khakis. As a wave of sickness began to spread like wildfire in the classroom, the teacher ran over to young Andrew Raye, and escorted him to the nurses office. As he was leaving the classroom, he noticed that Wilson Sidd, the kid who had continued to bully him throughout his years in elementary and middle school, and throughout his freshman year in high school, gave him a sly smile. Andrew, now sitting in the nurse's office drinking water and recalling the previous events to himself, the school nurse came in with his belongings, along with a change of clothes from his P.E. locker, which smelled of sweat and grime. In silence, the nurse gave him his clothes, and he walked into the restroom, where he changed out of his outfit, which was now covered in blood, vomit, and pig scat. He looked at himself in the mirror, wondering how someone could bully an innocent, introverted boy such as himself. He looked at his fine, medium length brown hair, his small, weak, wimpy frame, and his semi-defined baby-face. He stared at the reflection of his own, piercing blue eyes, eyes which he got from his mother, and admired them. He saw himself as cute and handsome, but in a humble way rather than a narcissistic way, unlike Sidd. As he walked out in his black shorts with the Harlem High emblem printed on the bottom right leg, as well as on his grey t-shirt with mint green dye, he grabbed his stuff and asked the nurse if he could leave. “Are you still feeling sick? We can call your parents, and we can get you home if you’re still sick.” “No thanks, I think it was just the intestines from the fetal pig, it was really gross. But I really do appreciate the offer, I think I’ll be okay.” He smiled at the nurse. “Okay then, well I’ll just write you a note so you can get back to class, yes?” “Of course.”

2. Andrew, note in hand, walked out of the nurses office, with his photodegraded Jansport backpack, he made his way toward his next class, knowing that the bell would ring any second now. As the bell rung, he galloped faster and faster toward his Social Studies class. He was suddenly shoved forward, and fell in the crowded hallway, and as he was getting up, he had his left hand stomped on twice, leading to the constant, throbbing pain that continued to haunt him throughout the rest of the school day. As he entered the classroom 130-B, he put in his airpods, and pulled out his phone. He opened up spotify and began to stream Nujabes. The peaceful sound of lo-fi hip hop began to flow through his ears, and soon after, the soothing, emotional rapping of the artist Shing02 began to produce a warm wave of happiness and calmness. As he sat down in his seat, he began to produce a notebook and a pen from his bag. As he opened the nearly pageless spiral notebook to an empty page, he began to write in his messy cursive.

Dear Brother, How are you? I know it has been awhile since we talked, but I just wanted to check up on you. I’ve really missed you, and could really use your advice right now. I’ll probably just deal with it, I know you’ve been busy. I hope you are doing well, Momma and I miss you terribly, and we hope to hear from you soon. Your Favorite Brother, Andrew Oliver Raye As the words from his mind flowed through his hand, into the pen, and into the smooth, thick ink from the nib of his fountain pen, he finished his letter to his Brother, Oliver. When his mind began to fade into reality, and out of his own world, he quickly became aware of his teacher, Mr. Williams, was staring at his profile, with a passive aggressive look. “Mr. Raye, do you know why you’re failing this course?” He aggressively whispered. “No, sir.” Andrew replied, straight-faced. “It’s probably because instead of doing your work, you’re out playing around with girls and writing them sappy love letters. How about you put that away, that way you can work on what you need to, putting you on the path to actually graduating High School?” “Yes sir.” As Mr. Williams walked away, the voice in Andrew’s head spoke his feelings. “Officious little prick.”

3. Andrew found himself sitting alone underneath the shade of a big tree on this seemingly awful spring day during his lunch break. After the events of not only getting bullied by his peers, but his instructors as well, the neurons in his brain fired, bursts of electricity shot rapidly through his head, like a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier. His mind was processing the previous events, and the other events preceding them. He sat there, suffocating in his own isolation, while trying to keep calm and convince himself that everything would turn out alright. He hated where he was at in his life. He missed his brother terribly, and thought about him everyday, even though he knew that he would be coming back. His only true friend, gone, like a leaf in the wind, carried away. He still had his mother, but after his brother had left, their relationship had become distant. The same could be said about his group of friends, although due to the underlying drama within his friend group, his choice to leave didn’t phase him much. As Andrew sat, peacefully eating his apple and drinking his water from his HydroFlask, he noticed someone walking toward him. A sense of animosity overcame him, almost as if he was cringing watching him with his lumbering stride. “Andrew, we need to talk.” “Hi Casey.” Andrew responded dryly. “Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” “What do you care?” “Because I’m your friend.” “I’ve just been busy.” “No you haven’t, why aren’t you returning my calls?” “I just don’t wanna talk to anybody right now.” “Listen dude, I’m your best friend—” “I’m sorry, when the fuck did you care?” “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you serious right now? I’ve been your best friend since the 3rd grade, and now one day after a ‘fun’ vacation you just stop talking to me? You cut off the entire friend group, led on Natalie and shat on everyone else, and your excuse is that you just dont wanna talk?” “I can do whatever I want.” “Is this a joke to you? Do you just find fun in hurting the feelings of other people? Do you know the kind of shit I go through? Who the hell am I supposed to talk to? I’ve never met anybody in this world that actually gives a shit about me until I finally had the courage to tell someone, and that person is you, and you’ve helped me every single time I asked for it, and now when you’re in trouble you cut everyone off? What kind of sense does that make?” “Can you just shut the fuck up? Leave me alone, I don’t wanna talk to you.” “Get off your ass and come down here.” “Why?” “Because I wanna have a face to face conversation where I don’t have to look up at you and feel like--” “No, leave me alone Casey.” “Andrew seriously come down here now.” “You’re not the boss of me, I can do whatever I want.” Casey felt the rage slowly building throughout the conversation, and anger has continued to gradually speed up, like bubbles from a bottle of champagne. Now the bubbles had made their way to the backside of the cork. Casey began to lose control, and now the anger began to physically manifest itself in the form of his fists clenched together, making his knuckles white, and the veins in his neck and forehead beginning to protrude through his skin. Without thinking, fueled by his unrelenting anger, he began to walk up the grassy hill toward an unsuspecting Andrew, who went back down to thinking and eating his apple. Mindlessly, he grabbed Andrew and pulled him up to his feet by his shirt.

Andrew dropped his apple from his right hand and out of pure instinct, he clenched his small boney hand into a fist, and swung as hard as he could at Casey, making him lose his grasp and drop Andrew. Before Casey could return the favor, another student came up to them and separated them, not seeing Andrew’s previous swing and thinking that they were about to get in a physical altercation.

“What the hell are you guys doing? Quit trying to fight each other and piss off!”

Casey stormed off as the other student finished his lecture, and Andrew heard the sharp piercing bell go off as his peers left his side. He grabbed his stuff and packed up, and continued onto his next class.

4. Andrew’s mind began to race as he was processing the situation, he was scared, no beyond scared. Andrew was terrified. He had simply been wandering down the street, and he had looked up from his phone, only to see Wilson Sidd standing against the brick wall of a Harlem apartment. He tried to look down at the ground as he walked past, but it failed to trick Sidd. Andrew felt a strong yank from the back of his backpack, and he fell to the ground like a brick. After trying to get up, he was met with a large, matte black boot forcing him down to the ground and grinding into his chest. “Hey you little faggot!” Sidd exclaimed, his hyena-like grin stretching across his face into a disturbing expression. His face and his shaggy brown hair had struck fear into Andrew ever since he was a kid. Andrew always thought he looked like a hyena with his evil smile and his large ears, skinny face, and beady eyes. His slim, muscular build made him tower over Andrew, and his strength had always been the scariest part of him, especially if you were on the receiving end, as Andrew had been in his years in elementary and middle school. As Sidd’s boot continued to put pressure on his sternum, saliva and mucus made its way forcefully onto Andrew’s face from Sidd’s mouth. The pain and pressure from Sidd’s boot continued to increase, and Andrew began to scream. Suddenly, a deep, masculine voice yelled at Sidd from a few feet away. “HEY KID! PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE! GET THE HELL OFF HIM!” the man screamed angrily at Sidd. Sidd looked down at Andrew, and spat on him one last time as he fled the scene. Andrew began to get up and wipe the spit off of his face, and as he was doing so, his bones groaned in protest. “You alright kid?” The samaritan asked. “Yeah, just a little shaken.” “You gotta learn how to fight, someone might not be there next time, go to the gym and show him who’s boss.” “Thanks man, I really appreciate it.” Andrew shook the man’s hand, and the two departed. 5. Andrew painfully made his way toward the Douglas Park Apartment building, and walked in, taking the elevator to the 3rd floor. He made his way down the hall, and he found apartment 308. He clumsily fumbled the keys from his bag, and the pain in both his hand and sternum radiated through his body as he tried to enter. He unlocked the door, and threw his bag on the floor. The apartment was messy with trash and clothes. Pictures of his athletic father and brother, David Jesse Raye, and Oliver David Raye, were hanging all over the walls. He walked over to his cluttered living room, and passed out on the couch. Andrew was awoken by his mother, telling him to get ready. The woman was in her late 40’s, her curly brown hair had streaks of grey, and the wrinkles on her face weren’t quite pronounced, but very much noticeable. Andrew noticed she had been wearing a black dress and heels, along with a black overcoat. “Mom, where are we going?” Andrew asked, sleepily. “Trinity.” She responded, in a monotone manner. “Okay, I’ll be back in a minute Ma.” Andrew made his way to his small, cramped room down the hall of his apartment, and he went to his desk. In the bottom drawer, he grabbed a mass of letters, about 300 to be exact, which were all held together in a bundle with the help of a large rubber band. Andrew undressed from his P.E. Uniform, and he threw on a wrinkled black dress shirt, and slacks, along with a pair of black dress shoes. He then grabbed his black overcoat and black trilby. He returned to his front door where his mother was waiting for him in silence. Andrew stared at the the names engraved into the marble in the mausoleum. Pain rushed through his system, and tears began to well up at the corner of his eyes. The names, on top of each other, read; David Jesse Raye - August 23, 1972-September 30, 2016 and Oliver David Raye - June 22, 1992-May 12, 2018

Andrew placed the bundle of letters in the steel vase attached to the marble plate, and he noticed that the most recent letter on top read, 05/13/19. One year, he thought to himself. His mind couldn’t help it and it took him back to that night. Andrew had been hacking up a nasty case of influenza in his bedroom and his brother was looking for some cold medicine. After informing Andrew that there wasn’t any, Andrew asked Oliver if he could go down to the convenience store and buy some, and initially Oliver refused, he said it was too late. But Andrew begged him to, and he eventually gave in. Oliver made his way out of the apartment, and later, Andrew awoke to police knocking at his door. They had explained that the store that Oliver went to was robbed, and the cashier, Oliver, and another civilian were shot. Oliver and the Cashier were killed instantly. Tears began to well up in Andrew’s eyes, and he was transported by his thoughts from the past back to the present. What am I doing? His mind spoke to him as he stood there in silent emotional pain. Why am I here? Why is this happening? What is wrong with me? Was it really my fault? Yes… it's all your fault. It’s your fault that Oliver is dead. It’s all your fault. His mind was arguing with itself, and suddenly, a rush of calm went over hm. He stopped crying. Although his mind was still enveloped in darkness, he wasn’t panicking. A dark thought rushed into his head like a car going 90 down the highway. Andrew, in terrifying silence, walked calmly and swiftly back to his Mom’s car and waited for her.

6. After a car ride of silence, Andrew made his way home with his mother. His mother had made his favorite dinner meal to try and cheer him up after their visit to the cemetery. As he and his mother ate at the dinner table, it seemed as though all of Harlem was silent in mourning with the two Rayes. As the two both finished their dinner, they departed to their separate rooms. Andrew laid down on his bed and began to cry. The empty walls seemed to scream at him, and the silence in all of Harlem pushed him closer to what seemed like his impending doom. Andrew cried and cried, until his tear glands lacked the ability to produce tears. After he had nothing left to cry, the darkness that had been circling his mind since his cemetery visit swooped in. Andrew’s hands found their way into his desk drawer. He fished around and found what he was looking for. He pulled out a pocket knife with a red handle, and a black textured rubber grip in the center of each red plastic slate. With a swift flick of his wrist, the knife opened, and the razor sharp blade gleamed with the light of his beautiful sunset showing through his window. Andrew’s thumb ran itself along the fine edge of the blade, and it cut through his thumb, and blood began to slowly drip down his hand and onto his wood floor. His mind spoke softly to itself. Satisfying… it said. Do it. No. Do it. Don’t. Do it. Andrew please... Do it. It wasn’t your fault Andrew. It is your fault. It was. Yes. Do it. I’m gonna do it Yes… Andrew don’t. Mom needs you, your friends need you! Put the knife down. No. Don’t listen to it. It’s better off this way. Andrew quit it! None of us blame you! Remember how much we loved you! Damn it Andrew! Don’t listen to it! ANDREW PUT IT DOWN! YOU’RE WORTHLESS! NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOU! THAT’S A LOAD OF BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT ANDREW!! DO IT! DO IT YOU LITTLE FAGGOT! ANDREW DON’T! PUT IT DOWN, I NEED YOU TO REMEMBER! DO IT ALREADY!!! ANDREW REMEMBER WHAT I SAID TO YOU ON YOUR FIRST DAY!

Andrew’s mind silenced itself, and he recalled a distant memory. Andrew remembered being driven to the front of Democracy Prep Charter Middle School in East Harlem. After a car ride filled with songs from Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly, he and Oliver had finally arrived. “Alright bud, this is where you get off.” He said in his usual, happy tone. “But what if I get beat up again?” “Listen, you need to fight back.” “But mom said--” “Forget what Mom said. If you don’t do anything to shut it down, its gonna keep happening.” “I guess…” “Listen, life has a funny way of doing things. There will be times when life throws crap at’cha. In those times, you have to fight for what you need. I love ya bro, I gotta leave, tell me how it goes when you get home, yeah?” “Yeah, for sure. Thanks bro.” And with a quick fist bump, Oliver had drove away in his 2002 Corolla. Andrew was brought back from his mind and into reality, and he found himself holding the knife on his wrists, ready to cut swiftly upward to end his own life. Andrew out of pure shock dropped the knife and began to cry.

7. Andrew woke up to the painful sound of his alarm the next morning, and began to get ready for the day. As Andrew walked out of his apartment with his coffee, the words of his brother echoed through his mind. You have to fight for what you need. As Andrew recalled the previous events to himself, he noticed a kid in a black hoodie with a familiar, Hyena like grin. Sidd hit his travel mug upward, splashing hot coffee onto Andrew face, making him scream. Andrew tried to wipe off the remnants of the coffee from his face when he received a bony fist to the gut. Andrew hurled over, and fell to his knees. “Hello again, faggot.” Sidd’s grin stretched across his face like a madman. “F-fu-huck y-you S-Sidd.” Andrew responded in a shaky voice. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me… faggot…” Andrew grinned for a moment, but it was wiped clean off his face when a kick from Sidd sent him rolling on the sidewalk. Andrew’s nose began to bleed, and he got up. You have to fight, he thought. Okay! Andrew clenched his fists, and as Sidd was approaching to strike him again, Andrew hit him as hard as he could right in the jaw. Sidd staggered back, and grew even angrier as he charged at Andrew. He swung and missed, and Andrew countered with a knee to the gut. Out of instinct, Sidd elbowed him and as Andrew staggered, he kneed him in the gut, and as he hurled over, punched him in the jaw, sending his head looking straight up. Andrew fell on the ground unconscious, and Sidd continued to pummel him.

8. Andrew awoke in the hospital, pain surged from all over his body periodically like a wave. He realized that the painkillers he was on were wearing off, and he called the nurse. After drifting in and out of consciousness for what seemed like an eternity, he finally managed to find his way back into reality. He sat up in his hospital bed and saw his mother. His mother began to cry, and Andrew comforted her in his arms. Andrew had to stay in the hospital for three days. Sidd had broken his nose, left arm, and a false rib. Andrew later found out that Sidd had been spotted by a police officer, and had been arrested. As Andrew sat alone in his room thinking of his victory, a girl walked in. Andrew became confused. This wasn’t his nurse, or anyone he knew, it was just some random girl. “Hey…?” “Hi. My name’s Emily! My mom is in the room across the hall, and she told me what happened with you. She said you don’t get many visitors, so I thought maybe I’d say hi, since she also told me we were around the same age.” A pleasant smile came across her face. “Thanks, that means a lot! I don’t have many friends, so it's good to meet a new person! I’m Andrew.” “Hi Andrew!” Andrew and Emily continued to talk through his hospital stay. Everyday she went to go see both her mother and Andrew. Andrew felt at peace. He had finally gotten what he had so desperately needed; a friend. After a few months, they began dating. Andrew thought about marrying her often. I wonder who I would have as my best man… Oliver came into Andrew’s mind. A wave of depression rushed over him. Andrew had stopped writing the letters, and hasn’t visited his final resting place in almost a year.He began to recall the events leading up to meeting Emily, and he remembered his flashback. He remembered the voices. At the time he had never pieced it together why he was stopping himself, but he now realized that it wasn’t his voice that was battling the suicidal thoughts.

Andrew realised that the voice belonged to Oliver David Raye.

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[RF] Leo

The years were blazing fast for Leo. Riding down the highway on a cool 40mph, he sat there only half paying attention to the road. The night was young and looking for trouble, and who was he to not take the moon to the bar with him. After what he would consider a hard days work he would usually relax and unwind at the local bar, usually with a terrible headache afterwards. The resented tax for the night of waste scolded him in the morning; he knew it was bad for him, but where was he ever going to go with his life? He was content with his twin lovers.

He knew he would eventually get what had asked for with his life of envy and sloth; and if that resulted with and eternity in hell so be it. From his point of view he was doomed since birth. God something or other. Chewed up and spit out onto the lonely streets, he made his way.

No one could tell you how to live your life and this is how Leo lived his. Using his funds to fuel his background character lifestyle. Never for the benefit of anybody. But i'm not saying he never cared or felt raw emotion. He usually spent the sober hours with the moon on wet cotton. Often in his own self pity, it never lasted long. He had a heart, even if it was drowned out in salty liquor.

Leo was in a sort of mopey attitude that day; going through the usual movements he slid his way into the bar. Where he sat alone at a booth, wondering what the bottom of the glass looked like. Of course it was just glass as he stared thinking his drunken thoughts alone. The bar was usually dull on weekdays but this was something different. The empty atmosphere was uninviting to anyone looking into the bar from outside, and especially to the people looking out into the street.

Leo sat there in deep thought. For some reason his drunken state seemed to dissipate and he became very aware of his own mortality. Looking down on his body he felt a deep, raw sorrow and started to fill up his own cup with his tears. He stopped very abruptly and looked down to the table. He shouldn't be crying. His body became heavy and he had no intent to get up. He got up anyway and stumbled his way through the door.

The moon welcomed him and shone bright in his appearance. The empty street was lonely and accepted the company to dull the pain of being driven on. Leo kept his head down and was warm even though he only had a t-shirt on. He kept walking to no destination something that was new to him. Looking up he realized how bright the night was. He could see even without the street lights. That made it easy to spot the kid in the alleyway.

The familiar sound of spray paint hissed through the silent air. Leo called out and the kid went off running; dropping his backpack and leaving everything where it was. Leo just wanted to say hello, but he stood there watching the kid run away. The kid turned the corner and was out of sight. He stood still staring into the dark alley. The night slowly went quiet again and forgot all about the events prior.

The black alleyway beckoned him, sang to him better than a siren. He looked left and right like a little child that just stole some candy. He walked quickly and energetically toward the bag and spotted a couple of spray cans sticking out of the little kid’s pack. This nothing out of the ordinary sight reminded him of a better time. Without the stress of an adult. Saturday morning cartoons and sugary cereal. He always knew that he took everything for granted but never showed his gratitude. He figured that it was too late to thank his parents, but he was used to being too late. He had a knack of procrastination and what seemed like bad luck.

He knew everything that was wrong about him, and he didn't know himself as much as he thought he did. He couldn't care what was wrong with him. He sat; a lazy sack of excuses and regret. A perfect victim for the steal claws of the bar. He knew he was trapped and sat there, wasting his life away. To him he couldn't believe that he could do anything. To late, pretending life is meaningless to satisfy his conclusion. A fatal conclusion but name a conclusion that isn't. A decision isn't going to give someone immortality. So why bother making one if you can't escape the inevitable?

At this moment Leo despised himself. Taking a good long look at himself, he got a sudden sickness in his stomach. He didn't want to be this husk anymore, but he was afraid of change. He knew he needed to or he would die an early death (something he always seems to gloss over). Going all the way back to his childhood he could remember all the after school specials and lessons to prepare him for adult life. Did he look like a guy that paid attention? The only class he had ever had an A in was art.

Suddenly, something came over Leo. A wave of his own despair? The urge to become someone different? He never gave an answer. But I do know that Leo went down to pick up one of the Spray cans. Leo took a long look at the wall which had a large red line going straight down the center of the empty space that the kid had made. Something about this line sent Leo a message.

He wanted to change. A calm and collected mind found him in a sea of clarity. He scolded himself for wasting his good years. No, his good years were in front of him. Still, why was he so oblivious to his ability of change? He was told to follow his dreams, he was told to make himself happy. He still could. This marked the moment when he decided to have his revolution.

The hiss of spray paint flew through the quiet night once again. Even though its been years since his last art project , Leo still painted like he was a professional. Naturally of course, he had no time to practice his craft. He realized now that he did have time. It was again stolen from him. All of his time he wasted with the devil daughters did nothing for him in the end. Just gave him a headache and a death wish. He couldn't stop lingering on how much of a weak baby he really was. If he had any ounce of manhood he would stop and make something of himself. Somehow the paint painted with more determination.

The moon stopped dead in its tracks and laid down its bright blanket so her friend could see. Leo didn't realize it at the time but the moon really was there for him. Minutes or hours passed, he couldn't tell what he was thinking about. The hissing drowned out any and all of his senses (or he just wasn't paying attention). That made it exceptionally shocking when the police officer tapped him on the shoulder.

Leo jumped up and dropped his can in surprise. He turned to see the officer confused and intrigued at the paint. The officer started talking but I couldn't catch what was said over the siren. He pulled out a breathalyzer and had Leo breathe into it revealing to him that Leo was drinking earlier. Of course he was drinking earlier. He had Leo get into the back of his police car and drove off. Then the night was still. The wall accepted the new work of art that was hung up on it. The street winced when the car drove over it. The moon continued over the horizon letting the sun peak at whatever Leo got himself into during the night. Letting the crowd of daywalkers swallow the remains of whatever peace the night held. Including Leo who was getting fined and charged to two weeks of community service.

(Found this from a while ago, my first ever story. Go little me!)

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[RF] The Muse Three Doors Down

Pulling into the driveway felt like the first drag of a spliff after a tiring day. It’s one of those moments where you switch realms. It was a transition from a mundane upper-class neighborhood into a pristine lakefront oasis, and it never ever got old.

“You got here fast,” Sully said as the car door opened. Nick, still disoriented from the view and the non-stop two-hour drive, emerged to greet him. The driveway wrapped around the side of the house, with Lake Butler about 50 feet from where the driveway ended, next to the beach volleyball court; Sully was staying in the guest house, which opened onto the driveway and a quaint picnic bench/sun umbrella setup, which they had stolen from a pizza shop years ago. It was one of those places where you stay once and never really want to leave, which was what Sully had been doing since graduation, and Nick couldn’t blame him. He had no real occupation to speak of, but here he was king of his own realm — natural lakefront view, 60-inch TV, proximity to a mid-size city, and of course a boat. It was paradise by anyone’s standards, and he was just lucky enough to have a blood relation to the owner.

“Well, that’s what happens when you do 85 the whole way.” Nick dribbles out, stretching in hopes of shaking off last night’s episode. The hangover, combined with the confinement of the ride, had him grasping at singular thoughts. “Well, I’m glad you called this morning. I needed an excuse to party. I just got an oil shipment from Colorado, and I need to whoop your ass in FIFA again. Not to mention this Tinder chick wants to hang tonight, and she said she could bring a friend,” He lingered on the last word, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Nick fiddled with the coin in his pocket and rebutted “Whoa whoa whoa. First of all, I torched you in FIFA last time I was here. You just can’t accept that. And second, that’s always the famous last words before we go out. ‘Oh yeah bro, she’s bringing a friend and she said she’s so hot’ and then flash forward to 11 pm, when it turns out her friend is a sophomore at Valencia State College, who’s trying to focus on her social media presence, has ‘the cutest’ Pomeranian, and is 20lbs heavier than her Facebook pics.’”

“…….so you don’t wanna go?”

Nick paused for a second, then shrug apathetically, “I mean, no. I’m down for whatever. Just saying. Alternatively, if we’re going near Lake Eola, Victoria and her rave friends will most likely be around, so that’s always Plan B.”

They head inside, and Sully brings out the hash oil at his desk. He ignites the souffle torch and begins heating the bowl of his Winnie the Pooh bong. The whole scene resembled the office of a Mexican cartel’s lawyer, Nick thought; loose papers neatly strewn across the surface, with a special compartment below for the illicit articles. Nick portioned off the tiniest piece of wax onto the dabber, as he knew well the potency of the oil Sully liked to smoke. But resistance was futile because as the flowing, transparent yellow wax melted onto the glass, and he inhaled, his mind and any semblance of a care melted with it.

After multiple games of FIFA and Super Smash Bros, Nick needed a change of scenery from Sully’s surprisingly dark guest house, so they changed into boardshorts and headed out on the lake with the paddleboards. It was a perfectly clear day, the type where a cloud would not dare defile such a virgin sky. The wind was light but constant, blowing parallel down the shore, but that didn’t matter; they were stoned on the beauty of the landscape, and all they wanted to do was catch up on each other’s lives.

“So, what’s the plan now? I mean, you’re living large in George’s guest house, but what’s next?” Nick asked, not really probing for an answer, but trying to reconnect with the person he’d shared a bathroom with for three years.

“I don’t know. I don’t wanna get a bullshit job in insurance or something like that. I’d just get bored and end up loathing everyone in the office, one-by-one systematically, until I blackout at the Christmas Party and try fighting some the office manager’s husband.”

“I mean, that’s basically the American dream” Nick added sarcastically

“I was thinking I might go to law school, considering I know the law so well with my multiple run-ins,” Sully continued. He had been carefully taking out a cigarette and lighter from a plastic sandwich bag that also held his phone, taking every precaution balancing over the water, but still smoothly executing the maneuver; he did it with the practiced ease of a longtime smoker and frequent wakeboarder, the perfect balance of aplomb and cravenness. “I could see that, and I’ve heard that you can have up to three DUI’s and still get accepted to the bar.”

“Yeah, that’s one reason I’m looking at it, but my GPA from FSU sucks, so I think I’m gonna take private-eye classes and work in that industry for a minute to fill up on my resume with relevant experience.”

“Really? Like a Private Investigator? Do a fedora and trench coat come with the class, or is that sold separately?”

“Ok, but like, I need something to do, and I’ve always been pretty good at investigating people, so I thought, why not?”

In truth, he had. One of Sully’s notable skills was stalking social media and piecing together true but farfetched theories about disloyalty to argue with his girlfriends. It was a common trait from children of divorce and made relationships difficult. Nick related to this and tended to overlook his complex attitude towards women, as it never really affected their friendship in any way, and it made good conversation after the fact.

Drifting idly, the hash oil had erased any perception of time and space. They laid on their boards under the dry spring sun and floated down the lake with the wind, letting the ease of the day wash over them. After what seemed like hours, Nick was jolted awake when he rolled over and saw they were about to be blown into a dock. They stood up and tried to paddle against the wind back to the middle of the lake, but were effortlessly pushed back toward the shore. Eventually, they began paddling along the shoreline, just outside the end of each dock, using them as cover from the violent wind whenever possible. This went for about 20 docks — Nick still had no concept of time — until Sully shouted that they could take a break at his neighborhood’s public dock up ahead. They rounded the final dock, and maneuvered onto the shore, beaching their paddleboards and jumping off to catch their breath. Nick went about securing his paddle to the board and going for a drink of coconut water in the small cooler in tow, casually asking Sully for details about the rest of the journey and their whereabouts. He shot back curt answers, and when Nick turned to ply him for more information, he observed Sully was talking with a girl that had been standing onshore the whole time — Nick was utterly unaware of her presence while they “made landfall,” but once he caught sight of her… holy shit.

She was immaculate. Nick had run into many beautiful girls during his time at FSU, and most were attractive, wearing makeup and outfits that made them look gorgeous, but once those layers had been shed, they were merely pretty. This girl, on the other hand, was absolutely stunning; while only wearing a workout outfit including yoga pants and a semi-loose fitting t-shirt, she looked like a goddess. Her flowing golden blonde hair hung down to the middle of her back, and was pulled up in a meticulous ponytail, utterly smooth without a single hair misplaced; its gossamer mass swished with her level of excitement in the conversation. Her face was sunkissed and vibrant, just as anyone under the age of 25 looks in Florida, but her body was what shook Nick. She was petite yet muscular; her toned lower abs produced a contour through the yoga pants – something Nick thought could only be conjured in Photoshop, and not in the physical world. She was immaculate, but he paid no attention.

“This is my friend Nick,” Sully said, gesturing to him as he drank the coconut water he had bought at a Fort Pierce gas station earlier. Nick surmised that it had been at least two hours since they smoked, and he still hadn’t come down. So he did what he always does when he was uncomfortably stoned in social situations: stayed mostly silent.

“Nice to meet you,” Nick said, unsure how to proceed any further. Still in a fog, Nick also noticed that she was not alone, as a little girl around the age of 7 and a dog with a curly blonde coat were splashing along the shore — some sort of golden lab-poodle mix, Nick was sure of it.

Sully continued to chat, and Nick began to infer they were neighbors and had met once or twice before. While they talked, Nick paid little attention, mainly watching the child play with her dog, and as the coconut water lost its refreshing appeal in the warmth of the day, he switched to cold beer. Nick stood there drinking, and couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of joy fill his stomach as he watched this admittedly adorable little girl playing with her happy-go-lucky dog while their beautiful 20-something babysitter watched over them. Nick thought he was watching a Hallmark TV movie, but really, he was just violently high.

Suddenly, the little girl marched up to him, while Sully and her babysitter were engaged in light but entranced conversation, and declared with authority, “Do you want to buy some Girl Scout Cookies?”

“Uhm, let me think…. Of course. I would like two boxes of thin mints, but I don’t have any money with me.” Nick said, trying but failing to match her level of cuteness.

“Oh yeah, her Girl Scout troop is having their cookie sales, and the competition is fierce.” The babysitter said, “We can just drop off the cookies at your house after we leave, and you guys can just pay later.”

They both politely declined in unison, but she insisted, and since it was Girl Scout Cookies, and they were stoned, they quickly gave in. A few minutes later, the little girl sneakily climbed on the beached paddleboard and was pretending to ride, using her arms to “balance.” Nick leaned over from his beer and whispered, “You want to take it out?”

The little girl nodded emphatically, and without the babysitter noticing, gently pushed the paddleboard off the beach. She then shot a look at the babysitter, and then back at Nick, showing a wry smile and letting out a hushed giggle. The warm joy in Nick’s stomach began to grow as she repeated this process, maneuvering zigzag into the water, and out to the middle of the alcove.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” the babysitter said, laughing casually when she saw the little girl kneeling on the paddleboard in the water. The dog had been barking excitedly at the little girl, clearly wanting a turn. After one lap to the middle of the dock, the little girl went back to shore, where the dog jumped on, and they floated about the water, detailing the perfect picture of what a full life would look like. This movie had a great writing staff, Nick thought to himself.

Eventually, he woke from this blissful daze and realized they had been standing on that shore for the better part of 30 minutes — he was finally coming down. He looked at Sully, and the girl talking with each other and had a feeling this was no longer a neighborly conversation. There was something more here, and after spending years observing Sully, Nick knew this was going to lead to an exciting conclusion.

“So, you live nearby?” Nick said, trying to get his facts straight.

“Yeah, I live like 10 houses down from here, in the brown one opposite the lakefront houses,” She said, her velvet ponytail bobbing as she spoke. “I’m living with my parents, but they’re actually in Aspen right now.”

“She lives like catty-cornered from me,” Sully clarified, trying to give me a frame of reference, as well as conveying that any late-night hangout would be very convenient.

“Yeah, it’s pretty boring. I’ve been cooped up inside all week watching these two. Don’t get me wrong, I love them and all, but I need a break.” Nick got hung up on her being cooped up with the little girl all week. Was it her sister? Why would she be babysitting all week?

“What are you guys doing tonight?” Her innocuous inquiry seemed to jut out into the conversation.

“We’re going downtown, probably start at Church St and then wander from there. You should come. We’re thinking of doing some dancing too”, Sully rattled off. It came to him with such ease, like Harry Potter speaking Parcil Tongue , sounding so smooth, yet sinister when out of context.

“Well funny enough, I do actually have plans to go downtown with one of my girlfriends tonight. We were gonna go to Stardust. Have you guys ever been there?” This is precisely the response Nick was expecting, and yet he was still genuinely surprised the conversation had gotten this far.

“Is that the place below World of Beer on the lake?” Nick interjected.

“Yeah, it is. Have you been?”

“I’ve never been, but a friend of mine lives right next door, above the wine bar.” Sully shot Nick a look, knowing that’s where Victoria lived.

“It’s a great place, I love it! They play disco, and 80’s pop hits, so it’s perfect for dancing, and last time we went, the owner kept giving us free shots.” She exclaimed, but still maintaining her poised cheerfulness. “If you guys are in the area, you should come by.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Sully said with calm intent, “What’s your number? I’ll text you when we finish pregaming at our buddy’s place.” They exchanged numbers, and Nick thanked God one of them had brought their phones.

She rounded up the little girl and dog, and floated up the shore and along the mulch path to the street, lofting back a “See ya later.” Once she turned the corner, Nick hazily turned to see Sully, who was wearing his signature shit-eating grin. Nick paused for a second with a puzzled look on my face, then all at once blurted out “Dude… what the FUCK just happened?!”

Sully responded simply with, “Right!”

“No, but seriously, who the fuck is she and how is she so goddamn beautiful? I know you’ve said there something in the water around here that makes girls crazy hot, but this is something different enti…” Nick trailed off, still perplexed at the events that took place. “Ok, first answer me this: is that little girl her sister, or is she like a live-in au pair? I couldn’t figure it out.”

“That’s her kid, bro,” Sully stated, emphasizing each word as he said them.

“…wait, she’s a mom?” Nick questioned, not able to deal with the information he was just given.

“Yeah, man. Apparently, she was married to the lead singer of the Muse, and they had a kid, but recently got divorced, so she moved back in with her parents here and has been like working out the divorce shit I guess. I met her a month ago when I was running the neighborhood.”

“Two things. First, you were running? Outdoors?”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to lose some extra pounds I’ve put on since graduation.”

“Okay, fair enough. Second, what the actual fuck? You can’t be serious? So she’s essentially a single MILF that just happens to live three doors down from you.” Nick asserted, grasping for answers to this dizzying realization.

“Yeah, bro, I know. I kept going out for runs, hoping to see her, but never did until just now.” Sully confessed.

They got back on their boards and paddled back to Sully’s house, but Nick’s mind had not left that shoreline. He was reexamining the events in this new light and felt remorse and kinship. She seemed so well composed for a single mother going through a divorce, he thought. She was moving on, having the time and resources to pursue a second act in life. She had taken what she had left — her health, her child, her youth — and tried again. Maybe talking to them, who had no predispositions, is precisely what she was looking for. If he were in that situation, that moment of normalcy would be enough to sustain him for a few weeks. It was also enticing to ponder why she would want to go out with young men like themselves. He could already see the dim ending pursuing that notion would have, but nevertheless, follow it they did.

The rest of the journey was dull in comparison, as the wind had died down, and the house wasn’t that much farther. Once they arrived, they brought the boards up and were sitting at Sully’s picnic bench when he got a text.

“Left a present at the front gate :-)”

Simultaneously confused and giddy, Sully went to check it out and came back with a box of Girl Scout Cookies. They were beside themselves. “Holy shit, this is huge.” Nick bellowed. “Like, I couldn’t tell who she was hitting on between us. I’m down for a threesome if you are, only if we can hold hands, though.”

“Ok, pull back from a sec there bud. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m obviously down for anything, but let’s play out the situation first.” Sully said through the cigarette in his mouth, trying to keep his cool. “I’ll start texting her, and we can say we're gonna see where the night takes us.”

“…but in reality, we are beelining for that bar as soon as we’re sufficiently hammered, right?” “Yeah, duh.”

They watched as the sun began to dip below the horizon, sending iridescent beams of red, gold, and pink across the mirrored lake surface. It was a satisfying sunset, one that reminded Nick of sitting on the roof of their house at school, where they would watch the sinking daylight explode into the sky, capping off a successful day of doing everything and nothing. It was a feeling of blithe torpor that washes over you, which most people have to fly to Tahiti for, but Nick received for free. He thought this must be what heroin feels like.

They got ready to go out, mainly by playing a Rick and Morty drinking game while they watched an episode. Eventually, Nick wandered into the shower, and upon getting out, put on a shirt for the first time since he had arrived here. Sully did the same, and it seemed that throughout their friendship, they were beginning to dress alike — button-down shirt, jeans, and Vans sneakers — and the resemblance was striking. They kept drinking after they were dressed — some awful rum and Coke mixture Sully had created — and listened to the new Kendrick Lamar album to get excited for the night. By the time the TV read 8:00 pm, they piled into Sully’s black Ford Explorer, which had turned into more of a mobile recycling center than an actual SUV with the comical amount of empty plastic bottles, and made the 20-minute drive to Don’s house. By the time they arrived, Nick’s hash oil high from earlier in the day had transformed into a healthy buzz that had him energized, which Sully noticed.

“Oh shit, it’s time to resume regularly scheduled programming, because Nick at Night is here and ready to go.” This was the name that Sully had given Nick in college, because in his words, ‘you change into a different person when we go out… not in a bad way, just more aggressive and basically shameless’. Nick couldn’t fight him on that. Drinking always brought out a forceful side of him, as if he was about to run into a tied lacrosse game with 30 seconds left – full of adrenaline and ready for anything. But alcohol does that to everyone, so he wasn’t too worried. “Don! What’s up, shitbag?” Nick said with endearing force as he leapt out of the Explorer. “You will not believe what happened to us today… we bought Girl Scout cookies. Crazy, right? Oh yeah, and we met the hottest MILF of all time, and we’re going to meet up with her and her friend later.”

Don was their neighbor in college who was an insouciant guy like the rest of them. He had a shaved head and stout build, but very athletic; much more than Sully and Nick — the guy ran triathlons for Christ’s sake. He was standing on his stoop, smoking a cigarette when Nick walked up. Don paused for a second after hearing him, then with a look of malaise, replied, “so what you’re telling me is you guys got seduced into buying Girl Scout cookies?”

“Joke’s on her. We never paid for the cookies,” Sully shouted from the car.

They all shared a laugh and walked inside, making their way to the back, where a few of Don’s work friends were playing beer pong on the porch.

————————————— The plastic cup beaded with sweat as the hot spring night drenched all of its inhabitants. Nick fixated on the droplets, then reached for the cup from the bar, and turned to face the writhing crowd in the street. The city was alive, having some sort of festival that shut down the road to set up drink stands and speakers.

“Bro, where the fuck have you been?” Sully yelled as the humid crowd gave birth to Nick’s friend.

“I’ve been taking laps. You know I like to wander.”

“Well, you might want to wander over to Stardust because the MILF just texted me.” Nick could tell that Sully was focused because where he might typically be wearing that shit-eating grin, was now replace with a concise half-smile while he drafted a reply.

Without saying a word, Nick turned and began to walk away from the street-side bar. He walked to the end of the block and sat on an elevated planter, flipping a coin in half-time with the hip-hop playing nearby. After three minutes, Sully came down the street exasperated and said, “What are you doing?”

“Waiting on you,” Nick replied blankly. He slipped the coin back in his pocket, lingering on the triangle etched into its surface.

Sully shook his head, and the two continued bumbling down the street. After passing numerous street signs Nick couldn’t be bothered to read, they arrived at a basement bar with a small red neon sign that read “Stardust.” The dimly-lit venue was relatively empty for a Friday night, with only a handful of patrons standing at the bar, and a few people dancing near the DJ booth. Nick passed the bouncer and headed straight for the bar, ordering a vodka-tonic-lime, without so much as glancing at his surroundings. After paying for the drink, he turned around to survey the bar, and his glazed eyes illuminated at the sight of sleek golden hair glowing magnetically in the aged club spotlights. It flowed like fresh honey in synchronous with the resilient body it was attached to, moving with the precision and poise of experience. She twirled and gyrated along the dance floor, beaming while she sang along to the Bee Gees’ “Night Fever,” flaunting her youth and wanting all to witness. In his fugue state, Nick was paralyzed by her vitality, and it wasn’t until he saw Sully shimmy into his frame of view that his trance was broken, and he regained his focus. With the sheer force-of-will Nick’s stupor provided, he followed suit and bobbed his way toward the dancing group. She was with a friend who looked much more her age, though still held that same playfulness which the goddess exuded. Nick moved and swayed up to the group, after saying hello with a very European kiss on the cheek to both, focused on the friend — the die had been cast, and he was now the wingman. He stirred from side-to-side, in unison with his partner, being conscious of his own body for the first time in months. They moved together, and he eventually took her hand, spinning and twirling each other, aptly drifting through the music of an era that chased euphoria at all costs.

Time slowed around Nick as he shrugged off all of his cares once again; any responsibility or suffering that had occupied his mind was gone. The blurring lights and hypnotic music combined into a force that began to overwhelm him, and moments around him started to come in as clips, like the unused scenes for that made-for-TV movie — the knowing glances from friend to friend, the twirling of a perfect stranger, the creepy guy trying to cut in. All the moments that Nick knew would stay on the cutting room floor of his mind after tonight. Nick continued to jive and spin to the music but glanced at Sully and the goddess every so often. And as buoyant rhythms played and his head swam in a puddle of dopamine and pheromones, he could distinguish Sully moving in to kiss her, and her moving back slightly. Sully then whispered a line that she countered, but Nick could only see one word on her lips.

———————————- “NO NO NO NO NO!” Michael Scott yelled. The Office episode played loudly on the 60-inch TV. Nick opened his eyes a sliver as the daylight through the ragged bamboo shades assaulted him. The hangover had followed him to the next day, and again he was sprawled in his own disgust. He pawed for his phone on the coffee table and checked to see if he had called Kelly again, but all he found were pictures of Don completely asleep on a barstool and a text from Danny that said “Pizza at Joe’s. Come.” Nick was definitely still drunk, because his head didn’t hurt and his stomach was still full. That would all change after he inevitably vomited in an hour. As he laid there wallowing in his filth, pieces of the night began to come back to him. Before “Pizza at Joe’s,” he remembered Stardust and the gyrating body of the goddess. Nick sat up on the battered secondhand couch, peered over the bed to exchange information about the events of the night, but Sully was gone, and Nick was left there wilting, as the disinfecting sunlight burned away the deep layers of his protective shamelessness. He more remembered the rest of the night.

Nick got up slowly, unsure his dehydrated legs could hold his weight, wobbled his way to the door and opened it. The morning sun, though assaultive and blinding, cast a soft hue over the lake and the horizon; the frogs croaked, celebrating the new day, as the faint sound of a bullhorn drifted with a crew team streaking by. He eased his way into one of the Carolina chairs facing the lake, taking in the scene before his body turned on him. His mind had already given up. Nick sat there as he recalled more and more from the night before, and fell deeper and deeper into the abyss.

He recalled her saying something to Sully and twirling away as her friend followed suit, gliding across the dance floor and away from the two children in an adult’s bar. He recalled feeling a jolt of shame in the moment, but then moving robotically out of the bar and down the street, into a blackout. This was the third time in a week, and Nick didn’t know how much more he could take. He couldn’t have fun for the sake of fun anymore; there was always a motive, an underlying theme, and he couldn’t escape it. Nick thought of all the times he brought home a great report card, and after 7 seconds of congratulations, the next question would be “Ok, now what’s next? What are you going to do better next time?” Progress for the sake of progress, and never celebration of what was achieved.

Nick sat inert, starring at the coin from his pocket and moving his fingers over the words “to thine own self be true”. Just then, the black Explorer rounded the corner and parked. Emerging from the mobile recycling center was Sully, whose 1000-mile gaze made Nick feel in good company.

“Sup butt?” Sully threw at Nick, meandering to the adjacent Carolina Chair. “Chick-Fil-A?”

Nick admired the delicate pink sunrise and said, “Yeah sure. Hey, Law School’s good for you. You should do it. We’ll have the grad party at my house.”

EDIT: here’s the link to the story on Medium. Any feedback would be great. This is my first time writing fiction.

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