It's the Resurrection Blogfest!

Mina Lobo over at Some Dark Romantic is celebrating the second anniversary of her blog by hosting the Resurrection Blogfest.  The idea is to resurrect a post from the past year that you really liked but just didn't get enough lovin' the first time around (or that you just feel like re-sharing for whatever reason).  Make sure you stop by Mina's to wish her a happy blog-o-versary and say 'Hi!" and then hop through the list to visit your blog friends and leave comment lovin' on their posts.

My post is from not too long ago- May 21st, to be precise.  I'm re-sharing it because I just really, really liked how it came out and would love some more comments on it.  It came from an excercise in Brian Kitely's 3am Epiphany (which I seriously recommend to any writer wishing to improve their craft, BTW)- the challenge was to write 500 words in which you put the reader in the protagonist's shoes- make them think their thoughts, feel their feelings, see the world using their five senses.  This is was what came out of that when I gave it a try- I hope you like it.

The Days You Wish You'd Stayed

Look out into the blinding orange glow of the sunset through squinted eyes and think of creamsicles melting and that sticky sensation between your fingers.  Wonder why the hell memories that are so obscure come back to you so easily while you can’t remember what day it is.  Note that a lot of days, lately, seem to bleed into one another without you noticing.

Walk back to your ratty apartment doing your best impersonation of a zombie and repeat the mantra of the day: as if it matters.  Sense in a vague and detached way that you’re hungry and wonder when was the last time that you ate.  Think about this for far longer than it should take you to recall such a simple fact.

Smell the fumes of the truck driving past you and recollect, with startling clarity, the sound she made when she laughed.  Replay the lilting, titillating sound in your mind as you drag your body along the route that’s programmed into your steps.  Wonder why you keep thinking of her when you know with certainty that you’re glad you left.

Repeat the last fight you had and remember that detached look she had in her eyes- the look that made you feel like an ant who’d wandered onto her picnic blanket and ruined the whole damned spread.  Bask in the warmth of your anger, still fresh in your blood, and rest assured that you really are so much better off.

Lose that feeling immediately upon turning the key in your lock and opening the door to your achingly empty living room.  Sigh louder and more dramatically then you intend to and then kick yourself for being such a morose bastard.

Throw your keys down on the coffee table, littered with empty drive-through cups and cigarette butts and feel heavier.  Seriously consider the possibility that you’re headed for an early heart attack if you don’t get your shit together and stumble over to the refrigerator praying that there’s an apple or a cup of yogurt of at least a carrot in there.   

Wilt at the sight of the empty shelves and that box of baking soda stuck in the back and momentarily allow yourself to sink deeper into the gloom that’s taken hold of you.  Linger in the unnaturally white light while questioning how the hell you let it get so bad and then shake your head and swear that you’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow.

Grab a can of spaghettios from the cabinet and open it into a plastic bowl.  Toss it into the microwave and hit the buttons.  Think about the smell of her hair as it draped over you in bed, the way her skin felt when you brushed up against her under the covers, the weight of her as she slept on your chest.  Stir to the sound of the ding and hate yourself for drifting off again.

Stand there alone in your tiny kitchen in your shitty apartment and wish that you’d stayed.

First Ride

“I don’t want to go,” he said.  He folded his arms over his chest in the most defiant manner he could muster and pouted at her.

“Ok, you don’t have to,” she smiled at him. The light in her eyes made the smile spread across her face.

“I’m going!” he said, stomping his foot and turning forward.  He stood there perfectly still for a moment and watched the tall girl in front of him play with her ponytail.

The sun beat down on them as they waited and the smell of cotton candy and fried food made his thoughts wander. She had packed them healthy turkey sandwiches and carrot sticks for lunch and he hated her for being so organized. If she had just forgotten the cooler bag along with her sunglasses he could be eating french fries and pizza by now.

The screams of people plummeting several stories startled him and his eyes shot towards the chaos. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the coaster dive down the track and then shoot back up into the sky towards an impossibly large loop.

“Mom!” He turned to face her again and arched his eyebrows at her.

“Sweetie, we really don’t have to go if you don’t want to.  We can just ride the carousel or go play in the fountain.”

“The carousel is for babies! Besides, I’m too tall for it!”

“Oh, Jacob- you’re never too tall for the carousel! You know that's me and your dad’s favorite ride.”

“You guys are old,” he laughed.

“Thanks, Bud.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Listen, just because you’re tall enough to ride doesn’t mean you have to.   It’s not going anywhere- we can go walk around the park and come back later if you want,”she said, giving his shoulders a squeeze. 

“No, we have to go now!” he pulled himself out of her grasp and nearly collided with the girl in front of him. He caught himself on one foot then threw his weight back and landed against her belly.

She steadied him with a firm grasp and kept her hands on his shoulders until he started squirming.  As the line moved forward the railing separating the flat yard from the ramp approached them.

“We better make a final decision here…”

“We’re going!” His voice broke through the chatter around them and a few heads turned to look at the source of the ruckus.

As they approached the platform he reacted like someone had turned him on turbo; hoping up onto the railing and climbing across, jumping down and hoping onto the next, looking and listening and straining like a racehorse in the pen. She couldn’t help but grin as she watched him.

Finally, they were standing on the platform waiting for their car to arrive.  She leaned over him and whispered “You ready?”

He nodded, breathless and wide-eyed, and stepped forward as the seats opened in front of them.

The Days You Wish You'd Stayed

Look out into the blinding orange glow of the sunset through squinted eyes and think of creamsicles melting and that sticky sensation between your fingers.  Wonder why the hell memories that are so obscure come back to you so easily while you can’t remember what day it is.  Note that a lot of days, lately, seem to bleed into one another without you noticing.

Walk back to your ratty apartment doing your best impersonation of a zombie and repeat the mantra of the day: as if it matters.  Sense in a vague and detached way that you’re hungry and wonder when was the last time that you ate.  Think about this for far longer than it should take you to recall such a simple fact.

Smell the fumes of the truck driving past you and recollect, with startling clarity, the sound she made when she laughed.  Replay the lilting, titillating sound in your mind as you drag your body along the route that’s programmed into your steps.  Wonder why you keep thinking of her when you know with certainty that you’re glad you left.

Repeat the last fight you had and remember that detached look she had in her eyes- the look that made you feel like an ant who’d wandered onto her picnic blanket and ruined the whole damned spread.  Bask in the warmth of your anger, still fresh in your blood, and rest assured that you really are so much better off.

Lose that feeling immediately upon turning the key in your lock and opening the door to your achingly empty living room.  Sigh louder and more dramatically then you intend to and then kick yourself for being such a morose bastard.

Throw your keys down on the coffee table, littered with empty drive-through cups and cigarette butts and feel heavier.  Seriously consider the possibility that you’re headed for an early heart attack if you don’t get your shit together and stumble over to the refrigerator praying that there’s an apple or a cup of yogurt of at least a carrot in there.   

Wilt at the sight of the empty shelves and that box of baking soda stuck in the back and momentarily allow yourself to sink deeper into the gloom that’s taken hold of you.  Linger in the unnaturally white light while questioning how the hell you let it get so bad and then shake your head and swear that you’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow.

Grab a can of spaghettios from the cabinet and open it into a plastic bowl.  Toss it into the microwave and hit the buttons.  Think about the smell of her hair as it draped over you in bed, the way her skin felt when you brushed up against her under the covers, the weight of her as she slept on your chest.  Stir to the sound of the ding and hate yourself for drifting off again.

Stand there alone in your tiny kitchen in your shitty apartment and wish that you’d stayed.