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babysuccubus278 · 4 years

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So i remember in like 9th grade i had to write a creative story or something sooo here it is :)

Introduction

Hi my names Willow. This is my story. It all begins in a new neighborhood. In this neighborhood I felt safe. I felt welcome. I thought i could trust everyone. I always got a weird feeling around him but I always pushed it away. People were always right when they would say to ‘Trust your gut Willow, It’s the most credible source’. My mum would love to take me to the neighbors. She was good friends with all of them. What she didn’t know before all of this happened was that she was friends with him.

Chapter 1

This story shall begin when I was fifteen. We moved to this beautiful city. The trees bloomed so well. The house had two floors. My bedroom was on the top floor, it was the very back room. It had drawing my little brother Anthony. He loved to draw cartoons for me. He was very talented when it came to realistic drawing. Well, talented for a six year old. He can cook cause our mum and dad are always busy. My mums name is Susie and my dads is Mike. I loved them very much and listened. I was a star student in my new school. I always helped around the town. I was too young to get a job so I volunteered around. I would read to the little kids and tutor some. They enjoyed being around me. I would also mow other people's lawns. This town felt like home to me.

***

“Wake up Willow, time to go to school!”, My mum always would yell the same thing to wake me up. Banging on my door and coming back five minutes later to say it again ‘cause I would fall asleep. “Ughh, fine mum.” I would groan out dreading to go to school. I hated waking up early just to go to school.It’s so boring there. I mean, yeah I like my friends and I like my classes but it’s just the same old thing everyday. I finally get up and put on my clothes. A pair of black skinny jeans, my nemo shirt, a pastel hoodie and some black checkerboard vans my mum bought me last year. I go out and see mum cooking breakfast. I notice the time is five forty-five. I go and wake up dad, he has a business meeting today. I go in and wake him up.“My little Willow tree!! Good morning lovely!”, He wrapped me in his arms and pulled me onto the bed for cuddles before we all had to leave

***

I miss those times. Being able to hug my dad and mum. Being able to see Anthony’s cute smile on his birthday. I miss my friends. I miss being able to through rocks on the rainy days in the summer. We would always go to the creek and through the pebbles and see which ones skip. I wish I could go back and see them and tell them what happend. They seem so confused of why I’m dead. I mean, Mr. Ainsley was always on the news for stuff. They never listened when I tried to tell them. Mr. Ainsley was their best customer. They loved to deal with him. He would always tip them even though he didn't need to. They never saw anything wrong with him. Our dog did.

Chapter 2

This is the second part of my story. I was super naive when I first met him. I thought he was trustworthy when I met him. He treated me nicely. Always ruffling my hair when I would help him.

***

“Hey Willow! Get over here and meet Mr. Ainsly” My dad yelled at me while I was working on a painting outside. I loved to paint on the canvases my mum bought me at the store. I walked over mumbling something. I got over there and smiled.

“Hello Mr.Ainsly, Im Willow.”, I said forcing a smile and a hand shake wanting to go back to painting my sunflower on the canvas.

“Oh, Willow. I heard alot of good things about you in the newspaper and from your mum.”, He smiles and I smile back feeling creeped out. That statement made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. No one really reads the newspaper. I understand why he would. He does seem to be in his late fifties or early sixties.

***

If only I would’ve listened to my gut. This would've never happened. I watch over my mum and my sunflower canvas to this day. I miss being able to hold that paint brush and brushing that golden yellow onto the cloud whiteness of the canvas while music plays in the background. Of course someone had to take it away.

Chapter 3

The next thing in my story shall be my camera my dad bought me. Now this thing needed film and I had a bunch from me liking how they looked. It was my favorite color, light blue. It had a strip of gold in the center going horizontal.

***

“Woah! Dad this is for me!”, I was so happy when he handed me it. I wanted to scream but mum would’ve got mad so I just hugged him. “Yes my love. All yours”, He chuckled and rubbed my back as I hugged him. He pulled away and grabbed my jacket. “You wanna test it out?”, He asked; he looked more excited than me so I gigged. “Yeah lets go!” I ran outside and got on my bike and took a bunch of pictures within a few hours dad had to go again “Bye sweetheart, you know dad only has so many hours off today” He slightly smiles. It’s obvious he hates his job but he does it to feed the family. Anthony does like to hog food. I wave good-bye. “Bye dad! Thanks for the gift, I love it!”, I yell to him while he pulls out of the driveway in his Orange 1969 Pontiac GTO Judge. Since dad did all the work around the house he normally got the better stuff.

***

I miss that car. I miss riding in the passenger seat with dad to the gas station. I wish stuff was back to normal. I miss mums Jeep too. Being able to go offroad with that thing was the best thing we’ve ever done. Anthony would always stick his hand out the window and mum would yell at us and we’d laugh. I miss those times but he had to take them away. He was so creepy and I didn’t listen to my gut.

Chapter 4

This part of my story is about when I took a picture of him. It never got printed until after I died. I was so happy that my dad got me that light blue camera I took pictures of everything. I would take pictures of the sunset, our backyard, Cooper our dog, Anthony, and sometimes even mum and dad. I didn’t mean to take a picture a picture of him really. It just happened and now I’m grateful I did.

***

“Mum! Dad! Look at me” I giggled and clicked my camera as I rode my bike in the summer afternoon. Mum is trimming the roses while dad is working on his car. He always would grumble bad words when he got hurt and mum would help. That’s what she was doing when I clicked my camera. “Be careful honey! You know we can’t afford a hospital visit. Your dad like to waste money on his car.” Mum explained while she looked over at dad seeming angry. “Susie! I do not waste this house's money!” He yelled back and lifted his head up slightly and hit his head and mumbled a few curse words. I always knew not to curse like dad did. “Whatever Mike. Let her get hurt” My mum stutterd out. She seemed to be hurt that dad yelled at her. This was when I fell off my bike, skinned my knee and accidently took a picture of Mr. Ainsley. I got up and took my bike and went inside. I cleaned off the knee and put a few band-aids on it. “Willow? Are you there sweetheart?”, My dad called throughout the house.“Yes dad, I’m in the bathroom upstairs!”, I yelled back to tell him where I was I finish putting my last band-aid on.

***

Don’t worry, that's all you really needed to know. The next part of my story is the really main point. You would always think as a parent you can trust the neighbors around you with the kids. Apparently not Mr. Ainsley.

Chapter 5

This part of the story was my worst idea I’ve ever had, ever. I got invited to tea with Mr. Ainsley. I would’ve normally said no due to my gut feeling weird about this but mum and dad said it was okay.

***

I bicycle over to Mr. Ainsley’s house. I feel nervous. He’s always is very nightmarishly nice to me. I rode up and parked my bike into his driveway behind his old, rusty, black buick wrangler and knocked on his door. “Mr Ainsley? I’m here!” I yelled. He ran to the door and opened it and ruffled my hair. “Oh hey Willow! The teas not ready yet. You can come in and explore though.” He smiled and held the door open for me. I walked in biting my lip feeling uneasy from the smell. His couch was yellow. It smelled like cigarettes and febreeze. I walk around as he heads to the kitchen. I head up the creaky stairs. I notice as I look down that a board is missing. There was a book. I pick it up and ran outside to put it in my basket and cover it up with my coat. I go back in quickly and ran into Mr. AInsley. “You’re leaving already?” He asked intimidating me.“N-no sir. I just needed to check my bike.” I said gulping “Good. I’d have to do something if you leave.” he grins creepily. A few hours pass, the tea is drank. I am walking around in the basement alone. I feel a presence. Suddenly, my mouth gets coverd and I’m shoved down onto the ground. I don’t remember anything else

***

I wish I could go back in time and just ride my bike home. Sadly I didn't. I feel guilty. This will be the last piece of my story. I never woke up pass this. Now, I am watching over my family Mr. Ainsley. Mr. Ainsley got put away for murder thanks to them finding my body and the book. This is my story of how my neighbor made me leave our new neighborhood, maybe not the way I wanted to.

#short story #creative #writing #creative writing #free write #writblr #written #writeblr #reading #cars #carstory #fashion #fashionstory #darkstory

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chordstrvck-blog · 5 years

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sharp gray eyes size up their unwanted companion through a lung-staled waft of smoke. “ ‘ey. ” a tip of the chin. cigarette ash darts to pavement. crunch. eddie grinds that shit in, real good. nothin’ like a pair of trusty docs to do the trick. “ what the fuck’s your damage ? ”

or alternatively : yo, yo, whassgood ? the name’s liana ( she/her/hers ) and i am so friggin’ hyped to bring you my spoopy lil’ music man, eddie williams !! below the cut you’ll find a big hodge-podged mess of facts, potential connects, and other delicious chips of info. his favorites are hoppin’ jalapeno crunch tators, thanks for fuckin’ askin’. ( imagine how heartbroken he’ll be when frito lay discontinues them in the 90′s... rest in spaghetti never forgetti. )

— ❝ wait is that THOMAS HAYES ? or is that KEITH EDISON “EDDIE” WILLIAMS who arrived in las vegas TWENTY-THREE years ago? HE is TWENTY-THREE years old. last time i checked they were a GUITARIST IN CRIMSON & CLOVER / ARTIST AT ATOMIC TATTOOS . rumour has it they’re very BEGUILING and very HARUM-SCARUM. the CISMALE reminds me of SAY WHAT YOU WILL BY FASTWAY.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH, DOMESTIC ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG USE/ABUSE, MENTIONS OF ADDICTION.

eddie is the lovely ivy williams [ @poiseonxivy ] ’s older brother ! they grew up in a contentious household here in vegas, with an abusive alcoholic for a father and a complacent/despondent mother. fed up with the abuse and chaos, their mother walked out on them when eddie was 13. he and ivy caught her in the act, and this savage kid called her out for being a coward and opened the fuckin’ door for her. “ die in a ditch, ” is the last thing he ever said to that sorry waste of a woman.

naturally, things with their father only got worse. he was quick to provoke and impossible to please. the williams siblings had to step up to upkeep their home, make sure bills got paid, etc., all while receiving the worst of it from their father. ivy, as the youngest, was blamed for the family’s downfall. eddie got berated and slurred at for his tendency to peruse his sister’s things, paint his middle fingers interesting colors, ask her to do his makeup on halloween. his father was the first person to ever look eddie in the eye and call him a faggot, and, well... that shit dug deep.

it’s not that he’s overly concerned about it. hell, labels are fuckin’ dumb, alright? he’d sooner be gagged with a spoon than told he has to live his life all boxed up. he doesn’t care that the lady at the bar’s stunning and so is the guy pourin’ her drink, alright? what he does care about is... what if he is that thing his dad said? what if he... what if he is the man his dipshit dad saw in him ?

guitarist in el’s band, crimson & clover ! the band formed several years ago and has been playing gigs ever since. it’s definitely made him grow as a guitarist : you can frequently find eddie chilling on fire escapes experimenting with new riffs and the like. he’s absolutely got that band aesthetic –– distressed tees, tight pants, leather, leather, leather. doc martens. beat up sneaks. jaw-length hair, wavy. usually teased on stage and left to its own devices off-stage. music has always been an escape for him, especially from the hellscape that was his childhood home. catch him chillin in el’s record shop, cig in hand, blissed out to the latest rock releases blasting in his headphones.

jake wheeler’s next-door neighbor / best friend ! we have yet to plot about this, but that’s a wc eddie fills & we could do something with that, too!

tw: drugs, abusive tendencies, mild violence. eddie’s genetics do predispose him to addiction. and, unfortunately, this bitch way more than dabbles in a haphazard lifestyle. he’s BIG into psychedelics, stimulants. alcohol. acid. he’ll pulverize the occasional bar asshole’s face. make fights out of nothing. but s’not a problem, alright ? he’s cool. he’s cool. ( this guy’s a sinkin’ ship in heavy ass denial. )

art. tattooing. art has also played a pivotal role in eddie’s life. from a very young age, he created edgy doodles: skeletons in their sunday best, ghost cartoons carrying guns. the late 60′s/early 70′s saw his school notebooks filling with vietnam-inspired strips, doodles, and sketches. he used to draw “tattoos” on his fellow delinquents during detention in sharpie ink. gave himself his first poke tattoo on his ankle ( a scrawled so what ? ) in eighth grade. now, he works as a tattooist at atomic tattoos. always flirts with the clientele. and they always leave happy.

tw: death. wears a dharma wheel pendant at all times, tucked beneath his shirt or, if he’s shirtless, just out in the open. he’ll say he found it in the street, but it actually belonged to a guy he started seeing his senior year of high school, in secret. glenn farley. he was older, around 27, but he offered up the first safe place eddie’d ever known. dude disappeared close to eddie’s graduation. eddie stayed angry for a long time, until his photo turned up in the obits : glenn was killed in a hit-and-run outside a dive bar.

on the topic of sexuality & gender expression : eddie honestly couldn’t give a flyin’ shit. he’s of the belief that existence shouldn’t be coded or explained. so, yeah, he’s male. and yeah, he’ll be attracted to whomever he pleases. but in a time where that shit’s not too common? not too accepted? he does feel like he’s playing hide-and-seek. it’s exhausting. and... there’s still something that nags him, at the back of his mind, when he decides to hook up with a guy. it’s all tied up with his family history ( see the stuff about his dad above ) .

eddie is very outspoken & unfiltered. he won’t mince his words; he’ll speak bullets without considering the exit wound.

he’d much rather have coffee and cigarettes than a meal. but if he’s gotta have food? and you’re forcing him? cinnamon waffles with ten gallons of syrup. delicious.

wears rings because hell, if he’s gonna punch you, he wants that shit to hurt.

smells like tobacco and amber and fresh-fallen rain.

likes makeup. tends to get away with some eyeliner/eyeshadow on stage, but typically doesn’t wear any day-to-day. maybe some eyeliner on his waterline, but... he’s learned how to get by.

cross his sister and he’ll eat your face for breakfast.

default greeting: blinking at you like you’re offending him by taking in the same air.

honestly he’s never thought to leave vegas. he likes it here. his crew? they’re good people. as in reckless. fun.

has almost a full sleeve on his left arm, and two bands curling around his right bicep. one ear pierced, but doesn’t always wear an earring there.

can he offer you a winter green lifesaver in this trying time ??

goes by eddie or williams. call him keith and he can’t be held responsible for what happens to you. the only person who’s got keith privileges is his kid sister.

thomas hayes has brown eyes but eddie’s are a staggeringly light blue-gray. they look like ice. he’s 6′1 and that type of lanky that tends to look sleek, enticing, and mildly emaciated. he does have muscle to him, but the guy doesn’t eat very often and he’s on a steady diet of destructive habits, so... he’s got that matty healy circa 2012 vibe going on

potential connects.

chaos crew. they hit the clubs. they try their hand at scheming and tricking the best poker leagues. chug beers, crush the cans, and toss ‘em in front of cars. experiment with drug cocktails and haunt the town. all laughs and dilated pupils and forgetting, forgetting, forgetting the cracks in their ribs, the scabs on their knuckles. nothin’ hurts when your blood pumps this quick.

diner pal. eddie rolls up to his favorite diner in the wee hours of the morning. 2am, 3am. when he can’t sleep or he’s comin’ down from a heckish night, he’s there, whole pitcher of coffee and a stack of waffles. mussed hair. an entire encyclopedia of wild stories. one night, he stumbled into this person’s booth high as all shit, and they’ve been inviting themselves to one another’s tables ever since. could be a romantic connection. could be platonic.

ex on bad terms. kid’s got commitment issues. i’d love to give them a source.

fuckbuddies. they could just be friends who get fucked and do the deed. maybe there’s feelings. maybe it’s a you service me, i’ll service you situation. either way, they’re indulgent. they’re reckless. and they’ve got no regard for any damage they’ll cause.

people he’s tattooed.

sworn enemies. acerbic words, gnashing teeth, icy glares. they’ll cross the fuckin’ street just to avoid being within a ten-foot radius of one another.

caretaker. a friend ( or even stranger ) who’s taken it on themselves to monitor this maelstrom. all i can say is... good friggin’ luck, kid.

obviously there are so many more but this is just a list to get some juices flowing !

if you want to plot, please feel free to message me !! i’m headed to the gym now but after that i’ll hit up the starter tags !! so flipping excited to write with you goons !!

#eightyintro #❖ – if i don't think i'll blow my mind ! psyche.#death tw #drugs tw

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xeford2020 · 5 years

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Hooked on Comic Books

Astonishing Tales, vol. 1 no. 29, 1975, featuring Guardians of the Galaxy - a reprint of their first appearance (1969) in Marvel Super-Heroes vol. 1 no. 18. THF305338

It started the summer I turned 14, when some neighbor kids told us they were moving and wanted to find a good home for their sizable stash of D.C. comic books. My four brothers and I had a hard time turning that down! The next thing we knew, several boxes of comic books arrived on our doorstep—opening a magical door into a world previously unknown to me.

Archie, vol. 1 no. 102, July 1959. THF100874

Up until that time, I’d only read younger kids’ comic books—like Archie, Richie Rich, and Little Lotta. But these were different, these D.C. comics that recounted the exploits of such larger-than-life superheroes as Superman, The Flash, and my personal favorites—the teenage Legion of Super-Heroes.

Adventure Comics, featuring Superboy and the Legion of Super-Heroes, vol. 1 no. 343, April 1966. THF 305335

My Mom was rather horrified when she learned of our new “acquisition.” She pictured us wasting our summer away reading these comic books rather than doing things that were—as she called it—more “constructive.” I must admit that I did spend many hours that summer immersed in the pages of those comic books. But in no way would I call it wasting my time. Through those comic books, I learned about how stories can be told through a series of pictures, how pictures can illuminate ideas and feelings, and how all of this can fuel a young reader’s imagination.

First issue of Spider-Man I purchased, vol. 1 no. 88, September 1970 (author’s collection).

One evening a few years later, my comic book world shifted. My best friend introduced me to the backstory of Spider-Man—a completely different kind of comic book superhero created by Marvel, a completely different kind of comic book company. Spider-Man had problems. And flaws. And continual feelings of self-doubt. Here was a superhero who was reluctant, questioning, always feeling like a failure even when he just happened to save the world. On top of that, he was a teenager—just like me! Who couldn’t relate to that? I was forever done with Superman. So long, D.C.! Hello, Marvel!

Spider-Man, vol. 1 no. 96, May 1971 – an unprecedented issue at the time. It did not display the Comics Code Authority stamp of approval like virtually all comic books at the time because it involved a drug-related story (author’s collection).

I soon branched out to other Marvel comic books. I became especially enamored with the stories of Dr. Strange, whose mystical world fascinated me and whose page after page of colorful psychedelic graphics captivated me even without the stories. I also went through a Silver Surfer period, appreciating his feeling of alienation from all human beings who inhabited Planet Earth. I tried many additional titles, but Spider-Man remained my perennial favorite.

Dr. Strange, vol. 1 no. 171, August 1968, displaying typically striking graphics on the cover (author’s collection).

As I entered college, my passion for comic books came along with me. I rode my new 10-speed bicycle down miles of back roads to visit used comic book stores and attend the occasional comic book show. I joined a comic book enthusiasts’ group with fellow students, where we traded likes, dislikes, and back issues. I made inventories, kept needs lists, bought enthusiasts’ magazines, and traced the lineage of my favorite titles by searching for back issues. This was all in the days before the Internet, eBay, and Comic Cons, and most communication was accomplished through the mail.

Silver Surfer, vol. 1 no. 1, August 1968 (author’s collection).

When I began my job as a curator here at The Henry Ford in 1977, my interest in comic books finally waned. Maybe I didn’t need that brand of escapism or that kind of outlet for my imagination anymore. Maybe I was too busy to take the time to delve into the stories. Comic books themselves changed. I remember feeling frustrated by Marvel’s trend, during the late 1970s, with story cross-overs throughout the entire network of their comic book titles to encourage more comic-book buying. Who had the patience and perseverance for that? Or the money, as the price of comic books soared at that time, from 15 cents in the late 1960s to 40 cents by 1980? This is also about the time that Spider-Man went mainstream, with a newspaper comic strip (starting 1977) and a Saturday morning cartoon (premiering 1981), both aimed at kids much younger than me. It seemed weird that, suddenly, I shared a common bond with my little five-year-old nephew—although he acted suitably impressed when I pulled out some of my old Spider-Man comic books for him, which by then seemed like ancient relics.

I might have let go of my comic book passion for good, but some project at the museum would always pull me back. For example, during my writing of the museum book Leisure and Entertainment in America (1988), I acquired a group of early comic books for the museum’s collection.

Tales from the Crypt, vol. 1 no. 43, September 1954 - an early 1950s horror comic book title whose shocking content alarmed parents and helped lead to the comic book industry’s self-censorship board, called the Comics Code Authority. THF141540

When we decided to include a section on how people imagined the future in the Your Place in Time: 20th Century America exhibit, I acquired a range of comic book titles that focused upon futuristic themes.

Spider-Man 2099, vol. 1 no. 1, November 1992 – a futuristic re-imagining of the original character (note steep $1.75 price by this time). THF305334

To my delight, the topic of comic books will be included in the upcoming filming for The Henry Ford’s Innovation Nation. And next summer, the Marvel: Universe of Super Heroes traveling exhibit is headed our way in 2020. Here I am, more than a half-century later—and still hooked on comic books!

Back when I was a kid, many parents (including my own) worried about the harmful effects that reading comic books had on youth. In retrospect, I’d have to say that they were completely wrong. For me, comic books expanded my world immeasurably. They encouraged me to read, to write, to draw, to tap into my imagination. Maybe this started with those early Archie comic books. It certainly grew when that stash of D.C. comics landed on our front doorstep. But it blossomed and permanently formed who I am today when I entered the Marvel Universe.

Happy 80th birthday, Marvel!

Donna Braden is Senior Curator and Curator of Public Life at The Henry Ford.

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