This is an old creative writing project of mine. The assigment was to descriptively write about 10 memories. 4 which were real and took place in the past, two which were optional and within 6 months, and 4 which were made up and in the future. Every story must be connected through some small transistion. Enjoy and please comment. Just tear it apart-anything to make it better
10 Memories
I could hear from my room my parents shouting. “There it is!†“Get it.†They yelled. I ran out into the light of the center room. That small monster. Green ridged legs long, and ready to hop out of my sights. I just stared straight at it, motionless. It twitched like cat’s wiskers as it watched me. I was stiller than I had ever been in my life. Its little raisin head bobbed up and down watching something in the distance. I leapt forward and trapped the small monster. It tickled its way across my fingers, looking for an escape from its dark encasement.
All the lights have gone out. The water pounding all around won’t stop despite my screams. “mooom, mom!†My mind races through as many scenarios as I can think. A man coming through the window, up the stairs, with a knife, gun, axe, to murder, kidnap, rape. I can’t see my hands or my legs for that matter. I kneel in the corner and curl up in the fetal position for safety. I feel my way to the nozzle. The water drips down my vulnerable body and I yell for my mom.
“MOM! What does f-u-c-k mean?†“faaaack†I had tried to sound out. “no,†they would say “F-U-C-K†but I had only just learned to spell, “Fuke?†They knew so much more than I did. I looked up at them, so tall, graceful. They already knew their multiplication tables. Colin pulled me in closer--his hot breathe on my cheek. They made me promise never to repeat it again. Like a soft breeze the word swept by my ear… “fuckâ€. “That’s not really a bad word!†I protested. My brother looked uneasy, “yes it is, so don’t say it to anybody†But I had to ask.
“…are you experienced?†Jimi bowled over one more time before the small tick sounded and the cd played on repeat again. All the shades had been pulled shut. The song started over again: “Not necessariliy stoned, but, beautiful…†It was the forth hour. Each time I had been put in this situation in the past this song wound up on repeat in my player. Every three minutes and forty-four seconds that click would come again. It was always so comforting to know that the cd player would sound that quiet spin. It was always consistent, and always right when I expected it. Then my mind regurgitated the problem that had gotten me here. The thought I had managed to suppress with Jimi’s help. He had dumped me. I rolled that nugget of information back in my mind. A hard ball dropped to the bottom of my stomach and my larynx swelled up in my neck.
All the blood rushed to my head. Standing, I watch my dogs watch me until the whole of my eye sight is taken over by darkness. I awake with my dogs, still watching me-but from a whole new angle. This had never happened to me before. Their wet noses pressed to my face as the little brown one starts licking my cheek. My brain feels likes it’s pulsating against my ears. Then I realize that I am on the floor, looking up at my dogs, the light is right above me.
That damned flourescant lighting. Every single day I would just stare at that light. At 2 o’clock people would arriving and Katie and I would turn on the ice cream mixer. Every 20 minutes that thing had to be turned on. My job was to sit there and flip the switch-every twenty minutes. The rest of the time was spent with my best friend Mr. flourescant lighting fixture-or frank-as I had come to name him. That light was so warm and calming. And one day frank and I slept together. It was amazing. After a long night the mid-day nap was so welcomed. However, the boss didn’t like it too much.
But who cared what the boss thought? I had been working here 12 years now. I deserved that raise. If he wasn’t going to give it to me there were other places that would. Yet, that pink slip was hard to fill out. Plus, handing it to him was like sealing a fate I wasn’t sure of. My fingers were still shaking for minutes afterward. My dense clay throat had hardened and dried up and I didn’t think I would ever be able to speak again. It was over, and I was free. I took my lunch, with all the practice pink slips inside it, and left to eat under a tree in the park.
“want some more Pringles?†Emily asked. We sat in the woods for the forth time that year. On our adventures in the search for the great frog, Moby Flip, we had wound up hungry and opening up our pack. I stared at the suspicious water running below the slanted log we were resting on. It all came from one large pipe running into a deep pool from further in the woods. But here, in this small stream, the water looked pure. It seemed to clean every stone and broken tile it passed over. So many summer hours had been passed here that our steps had begun to show in the muddy bank of the water. Emily continued on with the plans for the great Moby Flip. She started opening some rice krispies. I rested my warm soda and kicked off my sandals.
I noted that my toenails were painted my favorite tangerine color and added that into the sketch. This had proven worthy of my 3,000 dollars. Every penny had been well-spent. After two summers and a school year of work I had enough money to attend. New York, all by myself. Every class was taught by a professional artist. We had excersises like this one every day. Walking around barefoot drawing whatever strikes us. This time we needed to include ourselves somewhere in the sketch. For once, I didn’t care how well the teacher had explained everything. I was at the Pratt institute. It would take someone a lot of work to disappoint me now. I pick another colored pencil and continue with my drawing.
When I had lifted my hand the whole thing was perfect. The paint brushes were cleaned and the easel was left out. It was exactly how I had imagined it. Every color ran perfectly together. His face, which I had spent more hours on than the rest of the piece, was perfect. No matter the inch of the painting you picked, everything in that inch was flawless. I left the painting to dry overnight. The next day was father’s day and I couldn’t wait. I was jittering all day and raced ahead of him to my room. “what do you think?†I pulled off the towel I had draped over it. My father’s eyes began to shine. They covered with tears that each took turns dripping down his cheeks. “I love it-and I love you. You’re gonna make it†he whispered, “…you’re gonna make itâ€