alittleblogofwritings

[alittleblogofwritings]

Short Stories #3: Perfumed Chicken

SS done for my creative writing class.

I sat down in the breakroom, microwave chicken in front of me and the screeching voice of my co-worker, the one I hated, walking in behind me. She strutted in, as if the white, bland tile floor was a runway. Her blond hair curled at the end with pink tips, it screamed tacky and I had to stop myself from thinking bitch. She whirled around, purse hanging over her arm and smiled at me, her teeth white and bright and in my face.

“I didn’t see you there! That smells good!”

“Yup.”

She wrinkled her perfect nose and shrugged, moving to her locker to disposal of her belongings. I looked down at my watch and see that she’s five minutes late from her shift, and I think bitch, because it seemed justified.  I was never late, I was always early, I was never so damn perky.

“So, I made a spa appointment for Friday morning,” she said, but I don’t look up from my chicken, hoping if I don’t answer she’ll stop talking. Except she doesn’t, instead she snaps a finger in my direction and I’m forced to look up. “Dork. I was wondering if you could take my morning shift. I can’t miss this appointment.”

I wanted to ask why she would make an appointment when she knew she had to work, the schedule was posted weeks in advance, but I just smiled at her and said okay. I need the money, I always need the money, and god knows, I need a spa day.

Bitch.

“You’re the best!”

I go back to my chicken, stomach growling in anticipation as I used my finger to pull at a piece of white meat when I hear it before I smell it. The sound of something being sprayed and the smell of over chemical perfume filling the air and dissolving every bit of my appetite.

“I better get going! I’ll be late,” she squealed, leaving the breakroom, her scent lingering in the air and in my throat.

I glanced down at my chicken and pushed it away. “Bitch.”

[alittleblogofwritings]

Short Stories #2: We Still Got Time

A/N: Wrote this on the bus a few weeks ago, it’s about being a teenager and realizing you don’t have to grow up so fast.

Midnight- everything felt magically possible under the midnight moon. We met on the corner of Sherry and California. He stood there, looking a bit lost, blanket tucked under his armpit. I moved off to the side for a moment, a contained smile on my face. He was the embodiment of all the gorgeous actors in the teen magazines I pretended I didn’t read anymore. From where I kneeled, hiding behind an electricity box, I could see his sharp jaw line.

We planned this meticulously for weeks. My father was a light sleeper, so we had to wait until he was out of town for business. My mother, well, that was nothing a little wine couldn’t do. She had given me a thoughtful smile when I suggested she relax, watch Steel Magnolias with a large glass of that terrible red wine she liked so much. And that was that. There were no interfering siblings, a benefit to being an only child.

I watched as he gave a quick glance at his watch and figured he waited long enough. A dating column in the teen mags I no longer read, said something about keeping the opposite sex on their toes.

“Hey Keith,” I called out, appearing from behind my hiding spot.

Relief flooded his face and he asked why I was behind there.

I shrugged. “I thought I saw headlights.”

“There’s no cars.”

I adjusted the strap on my backpack and shrugged again.

“Whatever. I didn’t sneak out to chitchat. Are you ready?”

Keith gave a swift nod, moved aside and told me to lead the way. We walked side by side once he caught up to my fast pace. He chuckled quietly when he mentioned the condoms.

“It was pretty embarrassing - had to ask my older brother.”

“You didn’t tell him who, right?”

“No.”

He was lying, I was sure of it, but we were almost to the opened part of the golf course. I could feel my cheeks burn at the thought of him telling his brother. Did he mention how cute I was? Did he say he really liked me?

“Over there,” I pointed out to the unfenced area.

He stopped and I looked over my shoulders, glad to see the same nervousness on his face that matched mine.

“We don’t..”

“No, no. I’m good, are you?”

I gave a solemn nod and motioned for him to followed me. We walked in silence until he stepped on a twig and then the two of us laughed a little too loud. Scared we had made too much noise, I grabbed his hand and we ran, ducking behind the large trees, safe from any prying eyes. His hand felt warm against mine, then empty when he let go.

“I think this is a good spot,” Keith said, spreading the blanket out on the ground. I sat down next to him and noted the good view.

“The golf course looks peaceful.”

“Yeah, I like golfing,” he yawned, shifting closer to me.

My nerves got the best of me and all I could think about was the condoms he had.

“Why do you like golfing? Always seemed boring to me.”

He chuckled and scratched the back of his head. “I dunno, it’s slow.”

“Slow,” I repeated, pulling my backpack off.

“Yeah, I mean we’re only sophomores and people are already telling us to get our life figured out. Doesn’t seem like we have much time left.”

I sighed in agreement and pulled out two cans of coke from the bag. “Thirsty?”

His eyes lit up and he took a can, popping it open and taking a long slurp. “Ahh, that hit the spot.”

I laughed and asked if he’d like a sandwich.

“You packed a picnic?”

“I mean...sex makes people hungry, right?”

“How would I know?”

He laughed, which made me laugh and then the two of us fell quiet. I stared out at the golf course and envisioned all the old grumpy men in polos, swinging their clubs. They were old and it made me wonder if they ever had sex on a golf course with a really cool guy, because Keith, he was cool. He was nice, funny, and smart. Pretty popular, but in the way that everyone knew him and thought he was a pretty okay guy.

“Keith?”

“Yeah?”

He looked over at me with a lopsided smile and I held back a giggle.

“What would you think about a raincheck?”

Keith’s face relaxed and he nodded. “A raincheck for sex? Sounds good, besides this soda’s making me all gassy.”

I laughed and shook my head, giving out a loud sigh. “Yeah, me too. Plus, we got time, right?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, holding up his can to mine, giving it a little clink. “We still got time.”

[alittleblogofwritings]

Short Stories #1: Guess who died?

A/N: First original content post. Enjoy. A bit sad.

I sat on my couch, rummaging through my Facebook feed - mindlessly, while sipping on some apple juice, because coffee never held my taste. I was halfway through the bottomless pit of useless posts, when something caught my eye. It was a co-worker, from three jobs ago - they had posted about an older actor, the words “Rest In Peace” next to their name had made my heart drop.

Ever since I could remember, my siblings and I had this morbid obsession with being the first ones to tell our Dad about certain celebrity deaths. Who ever got to him first would walk up to his spot on the couch, while he watched Judge Judy, and tap his shoulder and say, “Guess who died?”

When we’d tell him who, he’d responded with a “Oh, man”, especially if it was someone he had admired or liked. Thinking about it now, it was sorta odd, the pride we felt when we were the one to tell him the news. 

Who was going to be the one to break the news to Dad?

I remember when Michael Jackson died, I was up North, a few hours away from my family, when I heard the news over the radio. Immediately, I phoned my Dad and he was shocked and I was happy. Happy to be the one to deliver the news, even years after, he’d bring it up and say how he didn’t know until I called him.

So as I googled the actor’s name to confirm his death, a familiar number popped onto my screen. I smile weakly and answered, it was my sister.

“Hey, did you hear about..”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard. So are we going today?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed quietly. “I’m bringing Abel, he got the day off.”

“Okay, I’ll see you guys there.”

…

Four hours later, my sister, brother, and I stood outside in the cold. Being the oldest, I stood in the middle and kneeled down beside the gravestone - it was always clean, we made sure of it. 

Always with fresh flowers too.

“I came the other day,” Abel said. “The rain left some spots, so I cleaned it up.”

“It looks good,” my sister smiled and wrapped a hand around his waist. I looked over my shoulder to my little sister and brother and smiled, before looking down at our father’s tombstone - it had been two years.

“Hey, dad, guess who died.”

[alittleblogofwritings]

Short Stories #1: Guess who died?

A/N: First original content post. Enjoy. A bit sad.

I sat on my couch, rummaging through my Facebook feed - mindlessly, while sipping on some apple juice, because coffee never held my taste. I was halfway through the bottomless pit of useless posts, when something caught my eye. It was a co-worker, from three jobs ago - they had posted about an older actor, the words “Rest In Peace” next to their name had made my heart drop.

Ever since I could remember, my siblings and I had this morbid obsession with being the first ones to tell our Dad about certain celebrity deaths. Who ever got to him first would walk up to his spot on the couch, while he watched Judge Judy, and tap his shoulder and say, “Guess who died?”

When we’d tell him who, he’d responded with a “Oh, man”, especially if it was someone he had admired or liked. Thinking about it now, it was sorta odd, the pride we felt when we were the one to tell him the news. 

Who was going to be the one to break the news to Dad?

I remember when Michael Jackson died, I was up North, a few hours away from my family, when I heard the news over the radio. Immediately, I phoned my Dad and he was shocked and I was happy. Happy to be the one to deliver the news, even years after, he’d bring it up and say how he didn’t know until I called him.

So as I googled the actor’s name to confirm his death, a familiar number popped onto my screen. I smile weakly and answered, it was my sister.

“Hey, did you hear about..”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard. So are we going today?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed quietly. “I’m bringing Abel, he got the day off.”

“Okay, I’ll see you guys there.”

…

Four hours later, my sister, brother, and I stood outside in the cold. Being the oldest, I stood in the middle and kneeled down beside the gravestone - it was always clean, we made sure of it. 

Always with fresh flowers too.

“I came the other day,” Abel said. “The rain left some spots, so I cleaned it up.”

“It looks good,” my sister smiled and wrapped a hand around his waist. I looked over my shoulder to my little sister and brother and smiled, before looking down at our father’s tombstone - it had been two years.

“Hey, dad, guess who died.”

[alittleblogofwritings]

“Everything’s a wheel, turning and turning, never stopping. The frogs is part of it, and the bugs, and the fish, and the wood thrush, too. And people. But never the same ones. Always coming in new, always growing and changing, and always moving on. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. That’s the way it is.” ― Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

[alittleblogofwritings]

New blog is up! Will be posting short stories, book reblogs, writing aesthetics, etc!