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angelpunswriting · 4 years

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Cicada

Will had always loved the hum of cicadas in the late summer. The warm, comforting hum was like music to his ears. The sound always stuck with him late into the night, keeping him awake despite how tired he was.

Tonight was one of those nights, the buzzing filling his head until he couldn’t take it anymore. He sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“ Pop?” He nudged the lump next to him, then did it again more urgently, “ Pop, I can’t sleep..”

The lump groaned, the van shaking and creaking as it rolled over to reveal his pop’s bearded face, nearly hidden in the dark of the night. The much older man sighed, the van creaking again as he shifted, lifting the blanket to let Will crawl in with him.

The boy did so, easily fitting into the pocket of his father’s arms. The buzzing continued, but as Will pressed his face into his father’s chest, the warmth that overtook him easily lulled him to sleep.

Will didn’t remember a time when they hadn’t lived in the van. His Pops had told him stories about a house. And a sister. And a mother. All things Wll had heard of but never really felt like he had. It had been just him and his pops forever and he wouldn’t mind keeping it that way. They woke early every morning, far before the sun was awake and far before the fog that rested around their ankles disappeared. They washed with wet rags and the little bit of soap they had. His Pops would start a little fire and make breakfast. Sometimes it was something delicious, like fish or ham. Most of the time, though, it was just an egg and a piece of bread, toasted just a little on the bottom. Will didn’t complain, though he yearned for grilled fish too often on those chilly mornings. They’d eat every last bite, before his Pops would take the plates and rinse them. Hed extinguish the fire. They’d pack up the remainder of their things and load up, Will sitting in the passenger seat despite being unable to see over the dash. His Pops always said it didn’t matter, as long as he had his seatbelt on.

They usually spent the day driving. Pops would turn on the radio and let Will pick the station, the two of them hardly speaking. Will had questions, as all children do, but he kept them to himself. He knew his Pops didn’t like questions. Sometimes, though, his curiosity got the best of him.

“ Where are we going?” He’d asked one day, glancing up at his pops, “ why is it so far”

His Pops always had the same answer for that question.

“I don’t know,bud…” he’d murmur, using his free hand to scratch as his beard a little, “ I just don’t know”

Sometimes they’d stop in a town to shop. He’d take his Pop’s hand and they’d walk into the gas station or the dollar store or the bank together. Strangers stared, but Will could never figure out why. He always wondered if it was his Pop’s beard or his funny clothes, but he never really had the guts to ask. They’d buy whatever they needed and pay, leaving without much small talk. Will had once asked for a toy, only to be shushed and told that they couldn’t afford it. He had no concept of money back then, but he was starting to understand as he got older.

Occasionally his pops would park the van a little off the road, hidden by trees and bushes, and tell Will to stay there. Will never knew where he went, but the older man would return by dusk, tired and sweating, and he’d cook them both dinner. Will asked where he went, but was always told the same thing.

“ You’ll learn when you’re older”

He hated that answer more than the ‘ i don’t knows’ that his pops seemed to spout constantly. He was older now, wasn’t he?

This all ran through Will’s head as he stared out the window of the rusty old van, the engine sputtering along like it might die any second. He was old enough to know by now, right? He could fry an egg in the iron skillet without burning himself. He could wash up on his own. He could remember which radio stations had the best music, and which ones his Pops hated. He could read the prices of the gum and candy and drinks sitting by the register at gas stations. Wasn’t he old enough now?

That night, as the two prepared to sleep, Will thought back to all the questions he’d been keeping to himself all this time. He laid there for a while, the hum of the cicadas drowning out any thoughts he dared to have all over again.

“ Pops…” He nudged the other’s shoulder, the male opening his arms like he did nearly every night, letting the boy crawl in and fall right to sleep.

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angelpunswriting · 4 years

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It’s Time to Take A Vacation

All he could do was lie there and listen to the crackle of the fire. Occasionally it would hiss, taking Mark back to a time when he’d grab at the family cat, hugging her to his body despite her hissing and clawing to get out. He’d never understood why she had run away, but now that he was older, he felt like he finally got it. Always someone to answer to. Always money to give. Always something to keep him from freedom, which was nothing more than a full night’s sleep and the occasional sick day. Maybe that was why he’d reached into that drawer in the kitchen. The one every house seemed to have. Filled with batteries that didn’t work anymore but no one bothered to throw away, fond of their place beside highlighters with no ink and pencils with broken lead. All nestled next to stray birthday candles from birthdays gone by. Amidst the junk drawer were matches. He’d pulled them out, reliving teenage years of letting the matches burn down to his fingertips just to feel something. He’d lit a candle that had been reserved just for decoration. Then he’d lit another two, three matches, letting them burn down to his fingers. He did it again and dropped the damned thing, the lit match burning through on his dirty, off-white carpet. Mark left it like that, heading up the stairs and crawling into bed with an ease he’d never felt before. He was finally getting a vacation.

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angelpunswriting · 4 years

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The Piss

The full moon glowed fiercely that night. Sparks floated so gently up from the fire, the orange flames a flickering beacon in the night. Jason glanced at it, the silhouettes of people just against the fire. They murmured to each other, the light just flickering on their faces. He was silent, his belly fur just brushing the tops of the grass beneath him. Waiting for one of them to break away so he could just take the one on without burden of knowing others were watching.

“I needta take a piss…” A man murmured, getting up with a groan. The shape next to him gently touched his arm, murmuring a ‘hurry back’. He grunted a response and left the fire, heading into the shadows and dropping his shadows.

Jason’s ears flicked up and back as he dropped into a crouch.. He watched the man’s pants drop, a twinge of guilt coming over him as he realized how vulnerable this man was. Jason knew all too well that feeling of vulnerability that came with being a human out in the middle of the woods. With no light. Barely any senses. But the raw, animalistic part of him was ready to lash out. So he did, pouncing silently, easily tackling the man and snapping into his jugular with ease, silencing him. He ate in silence. The black wolf was fed until the next full moon.

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

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A Whiskey with Amos Bailey

Sawyer Hill didn’t believe in love at first sight.

It was one of those things that Tony had told him was utter bullshit, like highschool and the old wives’ tale that jackin’ off would make you go blind. He certainly didn’t need his brother to tell him that, having figured it out on his own right around the end of middle school.

No, he didn’t believe in love at first sight until he locked eyes with Amos Bailey.

Sawyer’s father had been looking for a new ranchhand for the last month or so. After all, it was hard to harvest the crops without Tony around. Antonio -though he’d always insist that people call him Tony- had been sick for several weeks that summer. He’d finally�� been getting better when he suddenly passed away at the beginning of August, leaving Sawyer without so much as some witty final words. His father had barely given him and his mother time to grieve, heart set on getting the corn in before the Mid-October frost. He couldn’t blame the man, since he barely gave himself a day before he was back to asking around for extra work on their neighbor’s farms, wanting to distract himself.

The brunet had been closer to Tony than his parents. His brother had told him everything, they were practically inseparable from the moment Sawyer was born. Tony was always protecting him, like a brother should. He still couldn’t get it through his thick head that the other was gone, often finding himself in Tony’s room, left in the same condition as when he’d died. He was doing that very same thing when a tanned, dirty stranger showed up one dusty afternoon, standing at the edge of their driveway. He had hesitantly looked from the sign, to the house and then back again. He didn’t notice Sawyer watching him from the window, looking as if he were trying to decide whether or not to come up the driveway or just bolt.

Sawyer didn’t wait to see what the kid would do, quickly closing the curtains. He didn’t want to see what kind of trouble the stranger got himself into, knowing he’d get yelled at for not stopping him in time. Then again, his father’s temper had been flaring since Tony died, and he was sure he’d get yelled at either way. He lied on the bed in stark silence, mind swimming with memories of his now distant childhood with Tony by his side. In the stillness he fell into a dreamless sleep, not waking until his mother called him down for dinner. He headed down the stairs, dazed from sleep, his dusty brown curls more of a mess than usual.

His father was already at the table, his boots kicked off and placed next to his chair. His mother was still working at the stove, her own messy brown curls tied up into a loose bun. He went to take his seat, only for her to stop him.

“ could you take this soup out to the barn, baby? The new ranchhand is gonna be needin’ dinner too..” She asked, placing a tray in his hands before he could refuse, “ Be sure to ask if he needs any blankets or anything”.

He must’ve looked bewildered, the fog of sleep lifting with realization. He glanced to his father for some kind of explanation, but the man was already chowing down, ignoring the both of them. He looked back to his mother next, but her obvious exhaustion stopped him from asking .

He smiled instead, murmuring a ‘yes’m’ and heading out the back door. He slipped his boots on without tying them, easily feeling his way through the dark. The barn lights were still on, a shadow moving in one of the windows. He hesitated at the door, wondering if his father had really brought on a new ranchhand. He even wondered if it was the kid from before, but doubted it. The guy couldn’t have been more than twelve and his dad hadn’t let him work out in the fields til he was at least fifteen.

The brunet finally stepped into the building, immediately locking eyes with the stranger from before. He broke into a nervous sweat, realizing he’d made a miscalculation regarding how big this guy was. From the house, he’d looked almost twelve, but up close like this, he was several inches taller than Sawyer, looking much, much older.

“Ar...are you the new ranchhand?” he asked, giving the other a once over.

He was tall and tanned, straight black hair pulled back into a little braid. He was handsome, too, though Sawyer noticed he looked like he’d been in a fight, a few scratches on his face and arms, as well as several bruises. Sawyer could see the dirt coating his hands from the doorway, the other’s clothes a little ragged from wear.

“ yeah....that for me?”

Sawyer looked up suddenly, his eyes meeting the strangers. He nodded mutely, face heating up a little when he realized he’d been staring.

He handed the tray over, the other’s shaky hands making the spoon his mother provided clink against the bowl a little. The stranger was obviously starving, he probably hadn’t eaten or showered in at least a week, judging just from looks.

Sawyer watched him sit on an overturned bucket, fidgeting uncomfortably.

“ I’m Sawyer,” he introduced, awkwardly holding out a hand for the other to shake, “ we best be introducin’ ourselves...since we’re gonna work together from now on.”

The stranger stopped eating for a moment to shake his hand, shooting him a smile, “ I’m Amos Bailey….guess you all don’t get many visitors, huh?”

Sawyer was staring again, watching the other’s face as he spoke. He’d taken note of the way he smiled-a crooked little grin-as well as the gap between his two front teeth. It was kind of...charming, really. He shook the thoughts away, managing a smile of his own, “ yeah, not a lot of people ‘round here that can give an extra set of hands during harvest season.”

Sawyer shivered a little as a breeze blew through the open barn, the cool September nights soon to become cold with the onset of Autumn. He glanced at Amos again, knowing he couldn’t have been much warmer than Sawyer, especially in those clothes. He didn’t bother asking if he needed a blanket, knowing he’d need more than that to keep him warm tonight.

The brunet got up, heading across the barn and crouching in front of a stray hay bale. He pushed it aside, pulling up a loose floorboard with ease. Tony had always kept a bottle of whiskey here, for ‘emergencies’. Sawyer had never seen him drink it, but when he pulled the bottle out it was only half full, the amber liquid swishing around a bit.

He grabbed a bucket and flipped it next to the other’s, taking a seat as he twisted off the cap.

“I’ll bring some blankets after dinner, but this should warm ya up a little…” he murmured, handing the bottle to Amos.

Sawyer watched with an unwavering gaze as the other downed a few hearty swigs, a little surprised that he could drink so easily. The raven caught himself staring at Amos’ lips, his face growing warm. He didn’t know what was happening to him. Maybe he was getting sick in the same way Tony had. Sawyer hadn’t even noticed that Amos was handing the bottle back to him, taking it hesitantly. Almost afraid to drink.

However, he tipped it back and drank, his mind wandering to the other’s lips again and again, with each swig he took. He finally stopped, letting out a sigh as he closed the bottle.

The raven got up, putting the whiskey back and just hoping Amos didn’t steal it. No one was supposed to know about it, after all.

It didn’t take Sawyer long to gather up a few stray quilts for Amos, taking them to the barn and helping him set up a makeshift bed in the hay loft. They ended the night with a couple of cigarettes, Sawyer finally heading back inside with a warmth in his chest. He couldn’t really say if it was the remnants of the whiskey they’d sipped or the ashes of cigarette in his lungs, but it warmed him through that first Autumn night, his thoughts occupied with images of the new ranchhand.

***

Sawyer’s feelings didn’t stop accumulating after that first night. As Autumn dragged on, Amos came to fill Tony’s place on the ranch nicely. He was a strong worker and did whatever was asked of him, even insisting that he help Sawyer with his work too. He didn’t care about getting dirty or ending the day with a few more scrapes and bruises, assuring the Hills that he didn’t need weekends off. He was just happy to work. Sawyer couldn’t say the same.

He had never really minded working the family business, knowing his place in the world just like Tony had. But it was getting it tougher with Amos around, especially after Sawyer’s newfound feelings towards the other. He often found himself staring at Amos when they worked together. He’d glance over as the other was hauling hay into a wheel barrow, unable to rip his eyes from Amos’ lips, dotted with droplets of sweat. His eyes never traveled too far from them, always snapping back to reality just as the other look notice of his staring and glanced over.

Sawyer’s mind wasn’t always occupied with thoughts of Amos. He too often retreated to Tony’s room, usually looking for refuge from his father’s temper. He’d figured getting someone to replace Tony on the ranch would have calmed him down some, but his father was always yellin’ about one thing or another. His mother and Amos never said a word about it, but Sawyer knew they had noticed. It had also become an unspoken rule to never discuss Tony. Amos knew only what Sawyer had told him, that he had died of illness in August. Sawyer couldn’t talk about him more than that without feeling like he was using his name in vain. Like Tony himself would come down and curse him for feeling the way he’d begun to feel about Amos. Then again, Tony had never been one to judge folks too harshly, often becoming the advocate for unusual people that showed up around these parts. Sawyer had not only taken to staying in Tony’s room, but he’d fiddle with his things, too. He’d glance through old books, reading Tony’s messy notes in the margins like he’d be able to hear his voice again. He’d pry up floorboards, even though he knew he wouldn’t find any more hiding spots. Tony had always told him everything, even where he kept his most prized possessions.

However, every second spent in Tony’s room made Sawyer wonder if his brother really had been telling him everything. He already knew all of Tony’s hiding spots, but when he finally checked the one in his room ( an old bible with a hole cut into it ), he found something more than unusual. Tony’s illness had been treated by a nearby town’s physician, but he’d only ever prescribed rest. So it was a bit unnerving when Sawyer came across an empty pill bottle of cold medicine. He didn’t tell anyone about it, knowing not to bring it up to his parents. It wasn’t until Amos asked about his brother that he even began to realize how odd Tony’s death really was.

The two of them were alone in the barn one evening, taking a cigarette break just before dinner, when Amos brought up Tony.

“ I hear your brother was a real stand up kinda guy...that older woman down at the supermarket was real taken with him, “ Amos chuckled, tapping the embers of his half-finished cigarette into the bucket at his feet, “ she was holdin’ up the line talkin’ ‘bout him so much”

Sawyer didn’t respond, taking a long drag of his own cigarette. Amos kept going.

“Said it was a damn shame that he died like that…. She said your mother had come in the day before to get ingredients for a nice, big dinner since he was gettin’ better” he murmured, giving Sawyer a questioning look, “ He really just up ‘n died the next day, huh?”

The brunet flicked his cigarette into the bucket, nodding a bit. For once, he was avoiding Amos’ gaze, knowing if he looked into them deep brown eyes right then he’d spill everything.

“Yeah… Dr. Leonard said the pneumonia does that sometimes” he muttered, scratching at his arm awkwardly, “let’s up for a day and then brings you right back down..”

“ S’got me wonderin’, though…” Amos muttered, but trailed off. He flicked his own cigarette butt into the bucket, getting up and stretching his arms with a groan, “say, how ‘bout we share some of that whiskey?”

Sawyer agreed, if only to avoid talking about Tony. He let Amos get it on his own, the other knew where it was by now. They’d shared it a few times since that first night, the bottle near empty by now. He sat again, taking a swig and passing it to Sawyer. Preoccupied with thoughts of his brother, Sawyer didn’t even hesitate to take a large gulp this time before handing it back to Amos. It was mid-November now, the cold biting at his cheeks and hands, even with the warmth that had begun in his stomach.

“ where’d that come from?” Amos nodded to a row of thin bruises on Sawyer’s arm, taking a sip before he sat the bottle on the floor, reaching over to take Sawyer’s arm and get a closer look. Sawyer didn’t pull away, letting him look it over.

“Pops grabbed me earlier… I wasn’t payin’ attention..” he murmured, not wanting to go into detail. Ashamed that he’d been thinking about Amos when he was supposed to be listening to orders.

“ You okay?” Amos asked, voice surprisingly soft. Sawyer looked up at that, the other far closer than he was before. He ran his slender fingers over the bruise as he spoke, the place that he touched becoming warm. Sawyer was sure it was the whiskey.

His breath caught in his throat, the male hesitated to answer. If he said he was okay, wouldn’t Amos let go? Wouldn’t he pull away and sap the warmth away with him. Even as Sawyer lied to himself, told himself it was just the whiskey, he knew it was...more than that. He’d known before too, that it was more than the whiskey keeping him warm that first night. Amos moved closer, his finger still hovering over Sawyer’s arm, just barely touching. Sawyer himself felt the pull, ignoring every instinct that told him this was wrong. Every worry that usually held him back seemed to fade in the crisp night, the male leaning ever forward. Amos was so close that Sawyer could smell the whiskey on his breath, their lips almost touching. Amos was the one that leaned forward in that brief silence, his lips on Sawyer’s for only a moment before he pulled away again. Even in the dimly lit barn Sawyer could see the red on Amos’ cheeks and he was sure his own were red as well.

Sawyer clambered up from the hay bale he’d been sitting on, the bucket of discarded cigarette butts toppling over with a loud clanging of metal against wood. He glanced from the bucket to Amos, mouth open, but said nothing. Sawyer rushed from the barn without so much as a goodbye, Amos not bothering to follow.

It was business as usual the next morning. Like it hadn’t even happened. They took their seats on hay bales once again that night, smoking and sipping at whiskey without so much as a word about the night before. They didn’t speak of what happened until months later, on a brisk morning in January, when Amos was helping Sawyer clean out the barn.

***

It started out with another questioning of yet another bruise, this one having appeared overnight on Sawyer’s jaw. It wasn’t like the others dotting his arms that seemed to have become consistent since Autumn. Amos hadn’t asked about them before, but the one on Sawyer’s face was unavoidable. Sawyer claimed it was an accident involving the tractor, but Amos stopped sweeping up the loose hay and dirt on the barn floor when he heard that.

“That’s bullshit if I ever heard it..” he muttered, staring at Sawyer now, even as the other avoided his gaze, “Answer me this; you ever see Tony lookin’ like you are now? Ever here him say anything ‘bout accidents?”

Sawyer finally met his gaze at the question, thinking back on it. His first thought was that Amos didn’t know shit about his brother, but when he really thought about it, Tony had often been the victim of accidents when Sawyer wasn’t around. He’d occasionally come to dinner with a shiner, saying it was a fight. But who the hell would wanna fight Tony?

Sawyer didn’t answer, but Amos knew he was adding it all up.

“What about dyin’, he ever talk about dyin’? Or runnin’ off?” He asked, setting the broom aside and moving closer.

Sawyer shook his head, “never said nothin’...” He stopped himself, thinking back to the bible and the empty bottle of cold medicine that he’d chosen to forget. “ He ain’t like that...Pops ain’t never…” he trailed off, setting the broom aside for a moment and taking a seat on a nearby hay bale. Amos moved to touch his shoulder, but Sawyer stopped him.

“ What...what the hell would you know anyway?” he exclaimed, suddenly getting up and pushing the other away, “ I don’t even know where the hell you came from, you’re just an outsider!”

Amos didn’t even flinch, catching himself easily “ I know more ‘bout it than you think...why do you think I hauled ass tryin’ to get work ‘round here?”

Sawyer frowned, grimacing at the thought of it. But it added up. It all added up. Tony had really been sick, but it wasn’t the pneumonia that killed him. He really had up and abandoned Sawyer after all those years of protecting him, hadn’t he? He’d been so desperate to get away that he’d resorted to offin’ himself.

He slumped onto the hay bale, rubbing his arm anxiously. Silent. He didn’t move when Amos sat next to him, didn’t fight when the other gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, far different than the painful one his father had given him some days ago.

“ what the hell am I supposed to do now? “ he muttered, glancing at the other, “ can’t just leave..”

“Like hell you can’t-” Amos had never raised his voice before, the words shaking Sawyer to his core, “ get a bag together and get goin’, ain’t no one stoppin’ you!”

He pulled Sawyer up when he stood, shooting him one of those crooked smiles of his, “ I’ll cover for you, promise”

“ wait-” Sawyer stopped him, pulling away, “ What about you?”

“What about me?”

Sawyer knew what would happen if Amos stayed. His father hadn’t stopped when Tony died, he wouldn’t stop when Sawyer disappeared, too. Amos had become like his third son and he was sure to treat him the same way without Sawyer around. For all he knew, his father had been treatin’ him that way already.

“just...Run away with me” Sawyer muttered, cheeks heating up a little at the words, They weren’t in the least romantic, but Amos must’ve known by now how he really felt. Amos refused at first, but with insistence from Sawyer throughout the rest of the day, he finally agreed. They packed bags that afternoon, small ones. Amos’ things didn;t take up much room anyway. Sawyer packed the whiskey, too, a last reminder of Tony. The only one they could afford to take. Dinner was agonizingly long, Sawyer sure that his father knew their scheme. Since winter had begun, Amos had been staying 9n the house, eating dinner at the table. He often talked for the rest of them, but the table was silent save for the scrapes of forks against plates. It seemed to drag on and on, until Sawyer’s father finally finished and dismissed himself for the night, heading for the living room to lounge and await dessert. Sawyer and Amos got up all at once, promising to come back and wash their dishes after a quick smoke. Sawyer’s mother believed them, but he couldn’t say the same for his father. The two left through the back door, Sawyer slipping on his boots and lacing them up in a rush. Amos did the same, the two heading for the barn. They’d stowed their bags away for this moment, their freedom waiting just beyond the property fence.

For a dinner that seemed so slow, that night was a rush unlike any other. One moment they were gathering up their bags and the next Sawyer was running for his life, Amos shouting for him to keep going in the dark. His father had come out, shotgun in hand. He’d known what they were up to just by the looks of ‘em at dinner.

He’d reached Amos first and grabbed, easily grabbing and squeezing his arm tight despite their similar physiques. He’d taken shots at Sawyer as he ran, not once hitting.

“ I ain’t seen him since” An older, much weaker Sawyer murmured, voice soft with age and exhaustion, “ never met anyone else..”

The nurse by his side frowned, standing from her chair to check his vitals, “did...did he die?”

Sawyer coughed a little, nearly hacking up a lung in that hospital bed. It took him a moment to catch his breath and answer.

“ guess I’ll never know”

#writing #lgbt #lgbt short story #short story #story #writer #author #lgbt author #lgbt writing #gay #gay love story #gay cowboy #gay cowboys #cowboy #cowboys

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

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Raising Awareness for LGBT College Students

A speech on ways we can make the University of Kentucky a better place for LGBT Students

Raise your hand if you are a queer individual (Count and make note of how many people raise their hands)

In a 2015 National School Climate Survey, the ACHA ( American College Health Association ) found that ten percent (10%) of over 33,000 undergraduates sampled identified as queer individuals. In a classroom of 30 individuals, that calculates out to three students identifying as queer. (Make general remark about how this coincides with this classroom’s particular demographics. It does for a fact, but don’t be too specific) Many LGBT students, maybe even some in this classroom, have felt unsafe or been harassed because of their identity. Despite many Universities’ attempts to stop campus violence overall, violence against LGBT individuals has taken the back burner when it comes to actually discussing the issue. Universities aren’t doing enough to combat violence against LGBT students and they need to be taking more action to keep their queer students safe. While many campuses have implemented programs, clubs and protective laws for LGBT students, there is more to be done. Dr. Warren J. Blumenfeld, professor at the University of Massachusetts and author of many papers and books that focus on LGBT issues, came up with a comprehensive list of all the ways a college could improve in order to prevent violence against LGBT students. Inspired by the list, I took several of those ideas and backed them up with substantial evidence in this speech.

1: Incorporating a larger, more involved social scene for LGBT students and the general population to come together.

For many schools, GSAs (gay straight alliance) and LGBT Resource Centers are not a new concept. As the LGBT community works towards an inclusive and anti-discriminatory society, GSAs have become more and prevalent, both in schools and on college campuses. The University of Kentucky, for example, has both a GSA and an LGBT Resource Center that is pretty much available to everyone. In fact, “over 100 campuses have a dedicated office or resource center for LGBTQ students” (Henshaw). However these resources are often student run and completely overlooked by the general population. In order to achieve a more unified and overall safer campus for LGBT students, a larger and more inclusive social scene needs to be implemented. This means more all inclusive activities that aren’t specifically heteronormative or specifically for LGBT students. While these activities are a little more prevalent than they used to be, they certainly aren’t advertised as much as others. College campuses often have safe sex discussions and mental health workshops, but aren’t necessarily all inclusive. Uniting the LGBT community and the general population under one discussion would educate both parties and potentially prevent violence or sexual harassment of LGBT individuals. In a study published in the Journal of Interpersonal Violence, it was found that students who perceive their campus as more accepting of LGBT individuals were less likely to become victims of sexual assault. Although more and more universities are becoming LGBT friendly, environment alone isn’t enough to diminish violence and sexual assault against LGBT students.

2. Hiring University personnel that are educated and sensitive to LGBT related issues

While Universities often have programs to prevent violence and sexual harassment, how open are these for LGBT individuals? The divide between LGBT students and the general population is already quite wide and having personnel that aren’t educated or sensitive to LGBT needs only pushes the gap wider. LGBT victims often don’t feel like they’re getting the help or support that they need. University personnel often aren’t equipped to handle a situation in which an LGBT student, closeted or not, is reporting sexual assault or harassment and seeking support. Because of this, LGBT survivors are often silenced and are left with no support from the university. It is the university’s job to hire personnel that not only reflect a professional background in LGBT care, but are committed to helping students feel safe and heard when they’ve survived a violent interaction or sexual harassment. This brings us to the topic of counselling. The University of Kentucky offers free counselling to any student that seeks it, but what about other schools? How many of our universities offer counseling to the entire population of students and furthermore, how many of those universities actually have counselors with a proper education and a sensitivity to LGBT issues? If LGBT students cannot rely on the University to help them get out of a dangerous situation, then who can they rely on?

3. Change the curriculum to educate the general population on LGBT issues

Finally, incorporating LGBT based issues into a regular curriculum would not only help LGBT students feel less ostracized by the university, but would also help to educate the general population without having specific events that cater to only LGBT students. LGBT students often already know the statistics and stories of their fellow students, but the general population may not be aware that there’s even a problem. Which, of course, further increases the risks for LGBT students. Sure, many heteronormative students don’t actually care. But that isn’t to say that there’s no one that cares and that they can’t make a difference. I’ve actually observed this in my last semester. Several of my teachers asked the entire class what their pronouns were. What their preferred names were. Teachers apologize when they mistakenly use the wrong pronoun and when they say the wrong name. They ask students what they need. They incorporate LGBT artists into their teaching and specifically talk about their queerness and how it affected them. While this may be a consequence of a handful of good teachers, I do believe the University of Kentucky is taking the right steps in keeping their campus safe for LGBT individuals education wise. However, other schools often don’t teach about the LGBT community because of their curriculum and this needs to change if they want to keep their students educated and safe.

In conclusion, Universities are often unequipped to deal with LGBT victims and they don’t seem to be improving for several reasons, whether this is to focus on their budget, keep their ratings up or they just aren’t reaching out, there are even more ways than these select few that Universities can prevent LGBT students from becoming victims of violence or sexual assault. While the administration can improve the overall environment, it’s also up to the students help keep the campus a safe place for their LGBT peers, especially if they are part of the majority. Here are a few ways you can get involved and make your campus a safe place for everyone:

Go to https://endrapeoncampus.org and get involved

Go to https://www.thetrevorproject.org and get involved there. They have several resources for LGBT students and outreach programs where they’ve partnered with universities.

Use these and other resources to properly educate yourself on LGBT issues and other ways you can help.

Keep up with issues surrounding LGBT students.

Works Cited

Blumenfeld, W. “Check List: Making Colleges Welcoming for People of All Sexualities & Gender Identities and Expressions.” Academia.edu,

www.academia.edu/37464145/Check_List_Making_Colleges_Welcoming_for_People_of_All_Sexualities_and_Gender_Identities_and_Expressions. Accessed March 24, 2019

Blumenfeld, Warren J. “LGBTQ Campus Climate: The Good and the Still Very Bad.” Association of American Colleges & Universities, 29 Dec. 2014,

www.aacu.org/publications-research/periodicals/lgbtq-campus-climate-good-and-still-very-bad. Accessed March 24, 2019

Blumenfeld, Warren J. “Warren J. Blumenfeld | University of Massachusetts Amherst.” Academia.edu, umass.academia.edu/WarrenJBlumenfeld. Accessed March 24, 2019

“GLSEN Shares Latest Findings on LGBTQ Students’ Experiences in Schools.” GLSEN, 2015, www.glsen.org/article/2015-national-school-climate-survey. Accessed March 24, 2019

Henshaw, Ashley. “LGBT College Statistics.” Campus Explorer, www.campusexplorer.com/college-advice-tips/DC54CA9B/LGBT-College-Statistics/. Accessed March 24, 2019

“Prevalence Rates of LGBQ Survivors.” END RAPE ON CAMPUS, endrapeoncampus.org/prev-rates-lgbq. Accessed March 24, 2019

Seaman, Andrew M. “Campus Environment Tied to Sexual Assault Risk for LGBT People.” Reuters, Thomson Reuters, 29 Mar. 2017, www.reuters.com/article/us-health-lgbt-college-assault-idUSKBN170351. Accessed March 24, 2019

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

Text

A short selection of a One-Act Play

SCENE 4

RYAN

...she sloooowly opened the door and peeked inside, and there she found....

(the spotlight now shines on JOSH. everyone else freezes. he stands and begins pacing around the stage as he speaks)

JOSH

I-I just can’t believe I let him talk me into this! I told him i

couldn’t handle it and now i’m just freaking out! What if they notice?

They’re gonna be able to tell something is weird, I just know it.

(stops and looks at the group, seemingly frozen in their places)

What will they think? What would Ryan think? I know they’re my friends, but….

(he continues pacing, fidgeting with his hands as he walks)

I mean, they just wouldn't understand. They’d probably think i really do belong in a hospital… I should have taken my medicine before I left, what if I say something I don’t mean? What if I see something that isn’t there?

(he sits and covers his face with his hands, but the spotlight remains on him. A spotlight shines on RYAN as well. Everyone else is still frozen)

RYAN

...then she stopped, staring wide eyed at the ghost before her-

(stops and looks at JOSH with obvious concern)

..Josh? Are you okay?

JOSH

(nods)

Yeah...it’s nothing.

(RYAN looks skeptical, but continues. The spotlight turns off once again. Everyone continues what they were doing. )

RYAN

… his face seemed all too familiar…

SCENE 5

(The spotlight falls on JESSICA and MATT.everyone else freezes. MATT seems to be listening, but JESSICA is still texting)

MATT

(nudges JESSICA with his elbow and leans in close)

(quietly)

So, are you scared yet? I can hold your hand if you want....

JESSICA

(rolls her eyes and scoots a bit away)

Just leave me alone, Matt, I’m busy.

MATT

(still trying to be quiet, but visibly upset)

You’re always busy. Who are you even texting? Will you please pay attention to me for once, I thought we were gonna have a nice time tonight!

JESSICA

(sets her phone down, grabs his shoulders and leans in close)

Will you stop it? You’re acting like a kid, Matt! I don’t have to tell you anything, and I certainly don’t have to pay attention to you! When was the last time you told me you loved me, anyway.

(their bickering is slowly getting louder until they’re shouting at each other.UNKNOWN GIRL enters from the right while the stage is still dark and sits off to the left side. The lights come on )

MATT

This morning! If you ever looked up from your phone you’d know that!

(Grabs her phone and examines the screen. He doesn’t like what he sees. He tosses the phone to the side)

MATT

I knew it! You were texting another guy! I thought you were over him!

(Stands up and storms out, thesound of a door slamming is heard. Everyone unfreezes and watches him go. Jessica picks her phone up off the ground and sits back down, already texting again. )

#story #short story #writing #play #playwriter #theatre #theatre writing #creative #creative writing

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

Text

Sewer Magician

Josh sighed, hugging his jacket tighter around himself as he walked, the blistering wind making him want to get right back into bed. Then again, his latest client wasn’t really the sort to take in a teenager like that, even for a night.

Especially not someone like Josh.

The brunet had been kicked out of his home two years ago, his parents telling him to go fuck off into the woods when he came out.

He did just that.

The owner of a nightclub found him soon after and took him home, practically begging Josh to work for him.

He did, but now he was tired of it.

He’d do his job and then leave- no one was willing to let him stay even for a single night, They all had wives and children they were supposedly loyal to.

He didn’t get paid enough to flat out quit, he got tips and things so he could eat, so it wasn’t like he was a slave or something.

The male’s real dream was to be a singer. He wasn’t terrible, either.

Sometimes he’d sing to his coworkers and if he was feeling really brave- his clients. They didn’t always appreciate it, though.

Tonight was no different. He’d just finished with a client, and walking through the chilly streets of New York so he could just get in bed and stay there until Spring.

Unrealistic, but a nice thought in weather like this.

However, he wasn’t even halfway there when he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, glancing around to find the source of the bit of music he’d just heard. At first, he found nothing, but upon investigating the alleyway, he realized it was coming from the other end. Someone was playing the guitar and singing along. He couldn’t make out the words, but whoever it was sounded pretty great.

He headed down the alleyway with caution, knowing someone could be lurking in the shadows.

Before he could reach the other end of the alleyway, something skittered past. He wasn’t worried at first, until a swarm of rats soon went past, seemingly all headed in the same direction. He was disgusted at first, but opted to follow them out of pure curiosity.

They ran out of the alley and the street, Josh rushing after them. The music got louder as he ran, too, so he supposed it was in his best interest to follow. No one else seemed to see them, though they cursed at the brunet when he accidentally bumped their shoulders or almost ran out in front of cars.

He had to stop way too many times, almost losing the rats in the crowds, but after a bit, he finally caught up. They’d ran all the way to a run down cafe on the corner of the street, the warm smells and the music making josh stop and take it in. THe cafe was rundown, but the warm light from inside and the flickering neon sign on the window told him it was still open and in business.

A guy around his age stood near the door, sitting on one of the cafe’s benches and playing a sweet, slow song.

Josh stopped, watching him for a moment before stepping forward. The rats had disappeared. He honestly wondered if he hadn’t completely imagined them.

“You..the rats, did you see them?” he asked, figuring the guy had at least seen them go past or something.

He stopped, glancing up from his guitar with this confused look on his face,” rats?”

The brunet stopped, he must’ve sounded crazy.

“ uh.. N-nevermind. I….heard your music a couple of blocks over. you have a great voice…” He chuckled, figuring it'd be better for the both of them if they could pretns the rat thing had never happened. The brunet ran a hand through his hair, “....need a partner? If that's alright with you, of course “

“ I can always use an extra voice,”

The male before him grinned, moving over so Josh could take a seat.

“ I'm Daniel” the male greeted, already starting to play another tune.

“ Josh. Nice to meet you”.

The two ended up meeting everyday, and soon they were dating.

Josh never thought of the mysterious rats again, and Daniel never thought to question how in the hell Josh could've heard his music from so far away. They each knew it was better not to know what had brought them together like that.

#short #short sotry #story #writing #writer #author #writer's block #writing tips #creative writing #creative fiction #fiction #lgbt #lgbt fiction #lgbt writing #lgbt writer #lgbt story

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

Text

Domestic Life in The Dome

Micheal knew it was hopeless. Even as he wrote the letter, he knew it was hopeless to think anyone would ever receive it, but he wrote it anyway. He’d learned too much, but if he could just get someone his coordinates , they could help him. They could help everyone.

Earth was a mess. They’d killed everything and ended up having to ration out food an attempt to survive there.

As far as anyone knew, America was the only place with a population at this point. It was every country for themselves at this point.

The US Government hadn’t seemed to crack yet; they gathered everyone they could and moved them to the center of the country, building walls too high to climb with a dome over the top. To protect them and control the weather of course. Everything was rationed, plants were created in labs and planted. Houses were built, but everything was pretty much owned by the government. They didn’t have the resources anymore to live lavish lives. Everyone worked and everyone was paid in rations of food, soap and clothes. Many elderly people and young children died like this, so they set up a nursery system where people could care for the young and old, but still get paid.

It worked for a while.

People were so desperate they did anything the Government told them. They believed anything the Government told them.

There was always someone watching, but people only got punished if they spoke about the Government or the Economy. It was never anything too harsh- just a couple nights in jail. The laws weren’t really modified all that much, save for the ones concerning Government power. Murderers and thieves were sent to death- they couldn’t afford to give rations to the low-lifes of this community.

Micheal couldn’t even remember what it was like before the Dome. There were flashes of his life before- but all it was the occasional scream and flash of fire in his dream. He supposed that was what he remembered the night the Government had declared a national emergency. His mother told him there were riots and people dying everywhere. It just wasn’t a pretty sight.

She didn’t talk about it much- she didn’t have the time either. She was always up at dawn for work and home late.

When he was younger, the brunet would get into her shabby bed with her and ask about it, and she’d answer no matter how tired. She was older now. She was just too tired to do anything.

Micheal also had to work, but he knew it was much less than what his parents had to do. He was taught how to do his assigned job in the morning, then in the afternoon he and the other kids his age walked two prefectures away to take inventory for that day. It was usually the same, and there were a lot of them so it went quickly. They would usually go home early, but sometimes their administrator, an older man in his fifties or so, would open up a pack of old cards and teach them card tricks and how to play things from before the Dome. They always had a lot of fun, but he often told them it would soon be time for them to move onto bigger jobs.

They laughed it off, but soon michela and the others were separated and trained in a new job, from Dawn til Dark.

Micheal often stayed up late despite his new schedule, lying in their backyard and looking up into the Dome, the artificially starred sky making him wonder.

About before the Dome. About what was going on outside the Dome.

The Done filled his thoughts, but not in a good way. Questioning the Dome would get him a day in prison, but he managed to keep those thoughts to himself. It wasn’t until the day he decided to at least try and see what was past the walls that anyone heard what he’d locked away in his head.

It wasn’t easy, climbing the wall. He knew the Government was watching, and wondered if they would do anything. They didn’t, at least not until he managed to get back in and tell everyone what he saw.

Of course, everyone else thought him crazy, and he was thrown in jail for an extra to days, as if that would convince him.

But then he just kept doing it. He brought things back, too. Real food, Real plants. The Government did nothing once again, but he saw that as a challenge. He even went as far as cursing the Government and bringing a live animal into the Dome. They just kept putting him in jail day in and day out, as if that would deter him.

It didn’t.

But still, no one even blinked an eye at his words. They seemed too integrated into their daily lives to do anything. His mother was the only one who seemed to care. He often thought about giving up or even leaving. But he had her. He couldn’t just leave her like that.

Even on days he was crying uncontrollably, she’d managed to get her exhausted body out of bed and comfort him. She stroked his hair like when he was a child, gently kissing his head and telling him it’d be okay. That she believed him, she promised.

So why had she locked him up like this? She told him it was for his own safety, but he wondered if she’d been told to do it.

Even as Michael wrote the letter, he knew no one would receive it. He wrote his coordinates on the scrap of paper and slipped it between the cellar doors, hoping the wind would take it to someone who cared.

However, no one cared at all. Michael never left the cellar, and they say he’s still there to this day, waiting for someone to at least find his body.

#short story #apocalypse #apocalyptic fiction #fiction #creative writing #creative fiction #writer #author #lgbt #lgbt story

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

Text

Life in New York Under a Microscope

TW: Death, self harm

Carmen let out a huff, jamming his finger on the button to the third floor, his hands soon stuffed in his pockets with an unmistakable childish anger, despite being nineteen.

He’d been helping out with the Martinez kids downstairs for nearly three years now, asking for nothing in return. For the last year he’d been cleaning up the apartment as well in the hopes that Ms. Martinez might decide to pay him without him having to ask. However, today she had simply thanked him and sent him on his way. Again.

It was beginning to piss him off, but it wasn’t like he didn’t get enough money to live off of his other part time job.

He just thought it’d be nice to have a little extra cash and not have to worry about the rent.

The elevator dinged when it got to his floor and the raven shuffled down the hall to his apartment he shared with his dad. He was buying time, knowing that he’d open the door to reveal his father in the middle of one of his batshit-crazy ‘rituals’. He hesitated outside the door, hand on the knob. He just needed a moment of calm before he went into the hellstorm of a home.

A bang from across the hall made him stop, a shattering sound and a woman shouting following it. The neighbors were fighting, as usual.

He was quick to open the door and get inside when he heard their doorknob click, not wanting to get hit with a book again.

He’d gotten a black eye from the incident and had a hard time explaining to his dad that, no, he hadn’t gotten beaten up at school and no, no one was coming to take him away. It was just too much work to bother with, not to mention it had hurt like hell.

The unmistakable crash of a vase against the door came a moment later and he heard their apartment door slam, as well as the shuffling of feet going down the hall as Mr. Torres left to get drunk, again.

It was like this entire shitty neighborhood was in some kind of horrible time loop, their days just repeating until they all inevitably died or were kicked out for not paying the rent.

When Carmen stepped into the apartment, his dad was sitting at the kitchen table, poring over a large, dusty book with a magnifying glass, taking notes in a loose-leaf notebook with half of the pages already filed.

Of course, Carmen knew he was just writing the same thing he’d always write in that damned notebook. He was collecting words that begin with the letter ‘r’, simply going through all the books in his office and writing each and every r word, no matter how long or short. It didn’t matter if it was the same word three times in a row, he’d write it. It had become an unhealthy obsession, but Carmen would rather the other rip the entire r section out of their dictionary than get himself into trouble. Which he had done last week in a fit of rage during dinner.

His dad never seemed to leave the house, either. He’d get to the elevator and then come right back. His job had stopped calling and asking him to come in, and some people in the neighborhood even thought he was dead. Carmen let them think that, if only for the free dinners they’d send over. It was better than having to buy another meal from the gas station across the street.

The raven had barely managed to graduate because halfway through his junior year, his mother had died and made his dad absolutely snap.

He’d been so great before, too.

Carmen remembered the end of the month, when his dad would come home from his trips with some new story and artifact to show Carmen. He’d sit the boy in his lap and tell tales of far away places and fascinating religions. He’d once brought home a small sculpture of Ganesh, giving it to Carmen and telling the story of Ganesha’s birth.

He remembered it all too clearly.

His mother would be in their tiny kitchen, tired yet happy. The radio would be playing her favorite song, and she’d pull his dad up off of the couch and into a tango, dipping him to the floor despite the height difference. Carmen would try and join, the sculpture forgotten for a moment as they all laughed and danced around the apartment.

The neighbors used to complain about the noise, but nowadays they’d just give him this pitiful, heartbroken look, knowing that their home had gone from such a warm place to the likes of a cave, with trash and books and dirty old clothes just covering everything. His dad was too sick to clean, and Carmen barely had enough time to sleep and eat, let alone clean their entire apartment. He’d do the dishes and occasionally take the trash out, but then he’d be too tired to do much else.

“ about time! “ his dad suddenly exclaimed, pulling out his antique pocket watch and checking the time despite the fact that the watch hadn’t worked in years.

“ I’ve been waiting forever, i’ve got something amazing to show you!”

He got up and started for his room, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of Carmen’s stomach as he followed his dad. As worrisome as this was, he didn’t want to upset the man. He didn’t want to see him cry again, he’d made the mistake of asking too many questions back when he’d first gotten sick.

The man’s room was just as much of a disaster as the rest of the house, clothes and trash and just...stuff, everywhere. His shelves had once been full of the amazing artifacts and knick-knacks he’d bring home, but a lot of it was broken and on the floor surrounding his bed. Carmen planned to clean it all up one day, but he had to find the time to do so, first. Maybe he’d start with quitting is babysitting job.

“In here, in here!” His dad grinned almost wildly, leading the other into his attached bathroom. Carmen followed, soon gagging at the sight. The bathroom was just as awful, if not worse. He only came in here to help his dad wash up, but it hadn’t been this sickening before. That’s when he really almost vomited, spotting the fresh blood pooling in the sink.

He glanced between his dad and the sink, only then noticing the spot of blood oozing through his shirt.

“..Dad? Wh..what did you do?” he asked, quick to grab the man’s arm and push back his sleeves. There was one long, slim cut going down his wrist, a bit of dried blood going up his wrist as well. However, there was still a lot of blood coming out out of the cut itself, though it looked as if it had been done at least an hour ago.

Carmen felt sick, but tried to remain calm. He sighed shakily, gently pulling his dad to the sink and turning on the water.

“ t-tell me what happened...does it hurt?” he asked, gently washing the other’s arm with warm water. HIs dad explained as he continued to clean the cut, soon wrapping a bandage around his wrist so it’d stop bleeding at the very least. He wondered if maybe he’d need stitches, but it didn’t look too deep.

“ well, I was going through the drawer to find my knife. I’m working on this amazing carving, it looks so much like her, Carmen, you wouldn’t believe” he rambled, eyes still wild, though he was staying still for Carmen. “ I found that, over there. I thought maybe I could try and find her with it, but i think I missed the paper”

The raven glanced at the edge of the sink, where a letter opener sat, the blade crusted with blood. He shivered, sighing and shaking his head a bit, “ don’t mess with sharp stuff when I’m not here, okay? It’s dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt..”

His father nodded along with him, though Carmen knew he’d either forget or just not even process half the instructions Carmen gave him. He was losing his mind and losing it fast.

“ What do you want for supper? “ he asked, though he knew his dad would want the same thing and simply ignored him as he cleaned up the bathroom, trying not to gag at the smell.

He threw the letter opener away, as he’d done countless times with other sharp objects, or things that his father could hurt himself with. He simply threw them out as he found them, not having the time to completely dad-proof the house like he’d like to.

He considered taking his dad to a nursing home on multiple occasions, but they didn’t have the money for that.

And Carmen just didn’t have the heart for it. His father was the reason he came home every day, the reason he worked hard.

He was all the raven had left.

The male finished cleaning and checked on his dad before he made dinner. It was just pre-cooked chicken out of a bag, but it was the best thing they’d had in awhile, apart from the neighbor’s stale casseroles.

He soon served it up and brought one plate to his dad and took the other to his room, at least wanting to eat in peace.

His room was tiny, as this place wasn’t really meant to be a two bedroom apartment. It had originally come with a laundry room, but he hadn’t been able to bring their washer and dryer anyway, so he just used the laundromat across the street when he did wash their clothes.

His room was pretty clean, though the shelves were cluttered with stuff his father had brought back from various trips. There were statuettes and compasses, little instruments and jewelry. It was full of all these little treasures that he’d only kept for the fond memories.

Carmen didn’t eat for a moment, setting his dinner on his bed and slowly heading over to the shelf. He picked up a snowglobe with the word ‘Hokkaido’ on the front, a little city inside of it. He remembered how his father had explained that the factory had messed up and put the city of Seattle in it instead, and he’d bought it just for Carmen, knowing he’d love it.

And he did.

It was his prized possession, the idea that his father had thought of him on his trip making him so happy, both as a kid and now, years later.

He smiled faintly down at the globe before placing it back on the shelf with a sigh.

He sat on his bed and began to eat, but the longer he stared at the knick-knacks, the harder it was to hold back the tears that were seemingly always waiting to spill over. He hadn’t cried since his mother died, but the fact that his dad had gotten hurt again today made him wonder just how much time the other had left.

His worst fear would become a reality and he’d be all alone for real this time.

Carmen took a deep breath, swallowing back tears and finishing his dinner before heading back into the kitchen. His dad had barely eaten, his face already stuck back in the book, writing down ‘r’ words left and right. Carmen cleaned up both of their plates, saving the leftovers for a later date, he hated to waste food.

“Alright, dad, it’s time for bed. You can continue tomorrow, ‘kay?” he warned, gently helping his dad up from the table and coaxing him into his bedroom. He was glad to close the door and not have to worry about his dad anymore that day.

He’d already removed everything that his dad might hurt himself with as far as he knew, so he could go to bed without too much worry. His dad would never leave his room if Carmen didn’t get him up and going in the morning.

The raven changed into his uniform and headed out of the house, having to go his second job. He wouldn’t get back until midnight, and then he’d get about five hours of sleep before he had to go to work again, You’d think with the amount of work he did, Carmen wouldn’t have to worry about money so much.

But the world was different for people like him, even if he was only half hispanic, there was still that gap that kept him from helping his dad. It was almost like people were holding him back so he’d never get anywhere.

That night, he came home to the sound of sirens and the smell of smoke, people screaming and hanging out of windows, terrified by what he could only assume was his father’s doing. Time seemed to stop as he pushed past firefighters and paramedics alike, running into the building and up the stairs, wheezing as he breathed in smoke. His father wouldn’t leave his room unless Carmen got him.

He was gonna die.

Carmen raced into their apartment, having to kick open the door to get in, the handle was so hot. The male shouted for his dad repeatedly, hardly able to see through the flames. The fre had definitely started in their apartment, but luckily hadn’t completely consumed the place yet.

He ran through the apartment, opening his dad’s door despite how hot the handle was this time, considering he didn’t think he was strong enough to kick it this time. He was running out of time, struggling to get air as he breathed in the hot, stinging smoke. The raven spotted his father on the bed, holding a burnt out match and an old cassette. Like he was trying to burn it.

“ dad, c-c’mon, we gotta get out of here!” he shouted, tugging at his dad’s arm in an attempt to get him out of the apartment. ALmost the entire room was set ablaze, and Carmen knew neither of them would get out of this without some burns. His dad didn’t speak, obviously in the same situation as Carmen.The male could barely hear his breath, a soft wheezing sound that made him wonder if he heard it at all.

He spotted the matches that had caused all this, matches from the restaurant his parents had had their first date. Looking closer, he was able to read the cassette.

In a familiar, hardly legible cursive, it read ‘ To Dean, from Rosa’. His mother’s.

“ Dad, please, we-we gotta go..” he wheezed, beginning to get light-headed from lack of oxygen. He took the cassette from his dad and grabbed his arm at the same time, attempting to lure him out of the bed, but the man wouldn’t budge. When Carmen let go, his hand fell limp and he knew his dad was dead. That’s when two firefighters burst into the room, one of them grabbing Carmen and dragging him out the door, the male screaming for his dad the entire time, until he passed out from the amount of smoke he’d breathed in.

He woke in the hospital hours later, still gripping the half-melted cassette tape tight in his hands, the last reminder of either his parents.

He really was alone, wasn’t he?

#short story #writing #creative fiction #short stories #story #l;gbt #lgbt writing #mental illness #writing mental illness #writer #author #writing short stories #fiction

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

Text

The Ballad of Brooks Murphy

He didn’t know what compelled him to come here, driving for hours on a never-ending road.

His old chevy kicked up dust as he went and he wouldn’t be surprised if the white paint looked more of a red-brown color later, the dry New Mexico dirt foreign to him.

He’d regret this, he just knew it.

Brooks was used to the hot, dry sun but he certainly wasn’t used to driving this long on such a shitty road. It was straight, sure, but the nooks and crannies of it made him jump, scared him even. His truck was already roughed up enough, she didn’t need some shitty dirt road in the middle of nowhere to finally kill her.

Everytime he heard her motor start to scream or see smoke come from under the hood he regretted coming out here. But then he’d stop her for a bit, let her sit and then restart her engine and she’d be fine and dandy. She wouldn’t quit on him on an important day like this.

See, Brooks Murphy was heading West for a whole week. All to meet a potential cowhand. His first in years. He didn't trust other people to take care of his cows, to water his plants and pick his beans the way they were supposed to. But lately, he was getting’ too old and too damn tired to do it on his own anymore. He hated to admit, but he needed help.

He’d put an ad out with the help of his sister, who waa much more technically inclined than he could ever. A couple folks caught his attention, but they just weren't up to snuff. Finally, a young man that had just turned 16 applied, and he seemed like a pretty rounded out kid. However, he couldn’t travel the distance to make the interview, since he didn't have a car and his parents weren't willing to drive him. So, Brooks Murphy got in his truck not even a day later and began the six hour drive from Poteet, Texas to Rodeo, New Mexico. Well, somewhere a little outside Rodeo, actually. There was practically nothing for miles, the sight of the desert mind-numbing at this point. By the time he finally got tp Rodeo it was dark, the exhaustion quickly setting in with the onset of a chilly night.

The stars were a comfort, at least. They were beautiful, keeping him awake just long enough to get to the address the kid had given him.

It was pretty much the middle of nowhere, their neighbors had to be a few good miles away. The house itself looked a mess, much like something abandoned. It was an old trailer, with ivy growing’ up the sides and trash littering the yard. The little front porch looked just about as weathered as could be, like it’d fall apart at any second. He was apprehensive to even get out of the truck, worrying that this wasn’t the address he was lookin;’ for. Figuring he was wasting’ time, Brooks finally just decided to knock and hope for the best.

The salt and pepper red haired man strode wearily up to the door, dusting his pants off a little before he knocked. He wanted to try and be at least a little porefessional.

He knocked sharply on the door, hoping someone was still awake to answer the door. He didn't want to have to wait till morning, he had to get back and tend his farm.

The animals would be restless without hime, after all.

It was quiet for a bit, the desert uncomfortably silent, even with the chilly wind nipping at the back of his neck.

He knocked again, this time hearing the floor creak from inside.

The lock turned, and the door slowly opened, a youthful face looking’ out at him.

He looked scared for a moment, then recognition washed over his features.

“ you must be Mr. Juan Martin Garcia-”

“Quiet!”

The boy whispered, stepping outside and slowly, silently shutting the door behind him.

“ Now listen here, young man, I’m fixin’ to be your new boss, I don-” Brooks started, only to be shushed again.

“ Please, sir, keep your voice down!” The boy whispered, glancing back at the trailer, listening for that same creak of the floor, “ my parents, they’re sleeping. They might hear you..”

Brooks stopped for a moment, observing the boy fully. He didn't look quite old enough to be sixteen, and he certainly didn't look strong. He was scrawny, his baggy clothes practically swallowing him up. He didn't look like he could lift a heavy pillow, much less a hay bale.

He wasn't at all what Books had imagined him to be, the older male realizing that this kid had lied.

And then when that kid suddenly turned his head and Brooks Murphy caught a glimpse of that black eye, he forgave him.

“ Sir, please let me work for you. I’ll-I’ll do anything..” The raven before him begged, illiciating a sigh from Brooks.

“ i don’t see why not. You just takin’ the clothes on your back or do ya got a suitcase or somethin’?” he asked, running a hand back through his hair. This would certainly catch up to him in the future, but he figured it’d be better to just go with the flow of it. He needed a cowhand, and young Juan Martin needed somewhere to go.

“ no sir, thank you sir” the kid practically bowed, Brooks simply shaking his head and heading for his chevy. At this point he just wanted to get home and get some sleep, he’d worry about the repercussions later.

The drive back to El Paso was near silent, Brooks hardly noticing the boy was even there for most of the ride. Juan Martin only spoke when they finally stopped at a hotel in downtown El Paso.

“ I thought you lived in Poteet, sir” the boy murmured, hesitantly unbuckling his seatbelt as Brooks got out, “ We stoppin’ for the night?”

The older man nodded, “ I’ve been driving since yesterday, I figure this is a good place to stop for the night. Pretty damn cheap, too”

The two got a room, Brooks taking the bed and Juan Martin settling with the fold out couch. The rest of the journey back to Brooks’ home was similar to the night before. Silent, reserved. Neither of them wanted to speak, Juan Martin out of fear and Brooks...just because he was Brooks.

It was night again by the time they got back to his farm, a hell of a lot warmer than a night in New Mexico. He’d asked his neighbor to take care of his animal for the day, and he was discouraged to see that old coot hadn’t done it right, It was just as he expected. But it could wait til morning, at least they were all fed and sleeping’.

He led Juan Martin inside his old ranch house, leading him up to a guest bedroom that would be his while he worked here. It had a neat little bed, a dresser and a nice desk. Brooks liked to keep it clean for when his sister came down from New York.

“Alright boy I want you up bright and early. Dawn, before the rooster crows, got it? Change out of them clothes, too, there’s some work boots and jeans in the dresser” he explained, already starting back downstairs, “Meet me in the barn, alright?”

Juan Martin just nodded, watching the door shut behind Brooks with a sigh.

Brooks was quick to get to bed, knowing he’d have to get up early and undo the damage of his next door neighbor before he tried to teach Juan Martin anything.

The next day went just like that, Brooks having to teach Juan Martin the ropes as well as clean up the mess his neighbor made of his farm. The cows certainly weren’t happy and probably wouldn’t produce as much milk as they usually did. The chicken’s eggs hadn’t been gathered properly and they were already squawking up a storm before he and Juan Martin even reached the coop.

By the time the day was over, Juan Martin had proved he was a quick learner, even if he didn’t really have the strength to do the work, he still did his best. And Brooks Murphy admired that. As the days passed, Brooks awaited the news of a stolen boy, or maybe even the police showing up at his door. But it never happened. As the dry, Texan summer ended and fall began, Brooks offered to enroll Juan Martin into school.

Without realizing it, Brooks had become Juan Martin’s adopted father and the two of them wouldn’t have it any other way.

#cowboy #cowboy writing #cowboy story #west story #western #western story #lgbt cowboy #lgbt #lgbt story #lgbt writer #lgbt writing #creative writing #creative writer

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

Text

The Black Market and How It Fucks up Family Ideals

TW: Death and strong language

It wasn’t like he wanted to buy things like this, but Jeremy was desperate. His sister was sick and they didn’t have any money to begin with, so the slightly lowered prices were too tempting not to pass up. His mother wasn’t much help, considering she was never home and didn’t bother to make sure they were fed. She rarely even checked if they were alive, and he hated he for it. But he supposed he’d have to deal with her until he got enough money to get the hell out of there.

“Jeremy..? Can I play on the computer now?”

He glanced up at the weak, small voice of his sister, smiling faintly at the sight of her actually out of bed. She hadn’t been up and about in a while, so it did make him relax a bit.

“Sure, just let me get everything set up for you, “ he murmured, glancing back to the screen and logging out of his account and into hers, not wanting the seven year old to accidentally see something she wasn’t meant to. The only reason they’d managed to keep a computer this long was because of their neighbors, who hadn’t bothered to make sure their wifi had a password. God bless them.

He couldn’t pay them for it, but Jeremy cooked meals to make up for all the wifi usage. They had probably noticed their bill going up lately, as he’d been trying hard to find a job that paid a little more than his current one. He’d had no luck.

“ I wanna play the car game..” His sister was tugging on his arm, a racing game pulled up on the tiny computer screen, “ Let’s play together, like we used to….”

He frowned, sighing a little, “ sorry, Audrey… I’ve got to get going soon….next time, okay?”

She pouted, but didn’t cry, knowing that he had to get to work so they could eat that night. She burst into a flurry of coughs, her breath a soft, weak wheeze when she managed to calm down.

She muttered out a weak, ‘ be careful’, giving him a hug before getting back to playing her game, not bothering to try and stop him. She used to beg and cry, but she knew it was fruitless. Not to mention she hardly had the energy.

He gave her a kiss on the head before slipping on his shoes and heading out the door, telling her to be careful and get some sleep while he was gone. He worked at a bar part time despite his age ( fake IDs worked wonders), but it was never enough. He could work for hours on end and it wouldn’t be enough. He needed a real job and he needed it fast. He wasn’t going to let Audrey fade away just like that.

She meant too much to him, she was….all he had left.

So when Jeremy came home to his drunken mother strangling her, he just snapped.

Her tore her away from his sister, desperate for Audrey to be alright. However, when he checked Audrey’s pulse, there was nothing. He was just too late. He turned wildly to his drunken, giggling mother, tears already flowing as he desperately reached for her, letting out a strangled, broken scream of anguish.

“ y-you killed her! YOU KILLED HER YOU! You….” He sobbed, not sure what else to do. Here he was, holding his mother by her throat, desperate for revenge. But he didn’t do it.

“...get...out…” he murmured, voice shaking with all the rage he was trying to withhold, “ get..out..b-before I kill you..”

She didn’t move at first, like she hadn't heard him. Or she didn’t care.

He leapt for her, practically pushing her out the door, his rage exploding from his body in a fiery wave, “ GET OUT!” he shouted, voice breaking as he was reduced to tears again, using the last of his energy to slam the door in her face. He collapsed onto his knees next to his sister, sobbing desperately into her body. It took too long for him to finally call the police, his home becoming a crime scene within the hour….

“ And then he was taken into foster care and forced to live with all you little shits!”

The kids stared up at Jeremy with horror, before all broke loose and they were screaming and running and shouting for Jennifer, their foster mother.

Jeremy just sighed, smiling and shaking his head. He listened as their screams became distant, just waiting for the telling shouting that meant he was getting transferred. Again.

It was just a story, of course. He just wanted to spice up his life a little, opting to pretend he actually gave a shit about anyone. Opting to pretend someone had loved him, too, once upon a time. In reality,his parents had thrown him in, tired of him. They never loved him, and no matter how many stories he told, he’d always be an unloved little shit in foster care.

#story #short story #writing #lgbt #lgbt writing #lgbt story #writer #author #creative writing #creative fiction #fiction

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

Text

Miscommunication

Maria locked the door with a sigh, stepping out onto the sidewalk with her jacket bundled around her and a box of her things in her arms. She merely glanced at the cozy townhouse behind her before starting to leave, her heels clicking as she walked. The brunette didn’t want to miss it more than she already had the last three years, and she knew the moment she saw those peonies growing in the window sill she’d want to run back inside and warm herself by the fire.

So, she kept walking, not once looking back. She was about to get in her car when she saw Elijah, her husband. Though, ex-husband was more accurate now.

He didn’t see her for a moment, too busy fumbling with his keys to really look at the sidewalk ahead. She was struggling to unlock her car door when he finally looked up.

“ Maria?” his voice was soft at first, hesitant to believe his own eyes. But when she turned to look at him,face a mixture of horror and surprise, he knew it was her.

And of course, he was pissed.

“ What the hell….wh-what are you doing here!?” He barked, topping up the sidewalk towards her. She backed away, leaving her keys dangling in the car door and the box of her things sitting on the ground beside it.

“I….” She didn’t have time to think, spitting out the first thing that came to her. Though, she had to admit, it was the stupidest thing she could have said right then, “ I came back. For..for us.”

He believed it too easily.

Elijah ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, the grey starting to take over from stress. Though it had only been three years, he looked decades older. And still just as devilishly handsome.

“ i...you…” He struggled to find the words, voice wavering as if he might cry. If they were any closer, Maria might have seen the tears in his eyes, “ b-but….where have you been all this time? Do you even know how long I waited for you?”

His voice had softened again, the emotion behind it almost amusing Maria. He’d always been so emotional, it was silly of her to think he’d changed in that respect.

She looked away, fidgeting weight on of the buttons on her coat. Ot wanting to meet his faze, “ it’s been years…. And I don’t even get a hug? You didn’t even miss me, did you?”

She baited him so easily with that, the male pinching the bridge of his nose with a long sigh, his thoughts too disorderly to decide if he should even respond or not. Of course he did. Of course he missed her. Maria was his everything and then she just.He took a moment to take a deep breath, finally looking at her, “ of course I did...I just- you shouldn’t even be here, I mean...You were pronounced dead a month after you went missing! “ He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, sighing weakly, “ How can I even be sure you’re real…?”

He really was crying now, a silent tear dripping down his cheek. He looked away, not wanting her to see him cry. It didn't matter if she was actually there or not, he couldn’t break down like this. Not now.

Maria looked up at that, hands no longer fumbling with her coat, now clenched into fists by her side. “ dead?” she asked, voice breaking a little. She wasn’t...she wasn’t dead, how...how could they even..?

“Dead. The police finally gave up…..and...and you know what?” He sighed shakily, wiping at his tears, “ I did too!” He sobbed, lip trembling as he continued to stare her down, trying to make her feel guilty. Guilty for leaving him. For abandoning everything they had. For the grief and the heartache and the pain of it all.

Maria said nothing, biting her lip and trying to keep face. This was why she had come so early. She didn’t want to run into Elijah. She didn't want to see him all hurt and broken ,ike this. All fuked up. She didn’t want to feel like this was her doing. Like she was the evil one in this situation. After all, she’d felt like that their whole marriage.

She took a deep breath, standing up a little straighter, “ I couldn’t come home, I-”

This only seemed to piss Elijah off more, not even giving her a chance to finish what she was saying, “ YOU DAMN WELL COULD HAVE! “ he shouted, the tears flowing again, voice thick with emotion, “ I MOURNED YOU FOR THE LAST THREE YEARS WE...we...had this amazing life together and you..” He let out another heart-wrenching sob, taking a step back to calm himself again, “ YOU JUST HAD TO GO AND DISAPPEAR!”

He couldn’t even look at her anymore, sobs taking over his entire body. He shook as he cried, burying his face in his hands, “ why did you h-have to go….?” His voice was soft, broken. He couldn’t even pretend to be angry anymore, letting the sadness consume him. He didn’t even care whether she was real or not at that point, just wanting the pain to go away.

Maria turned away, biting her lip to keep in her own tears. She didn't think it’d hurt this much to see him cry. “ I...I was pregnant..” She murmured, voice strained with an effort to keep herself from bursting into tears as well.

Elijah looked up at that, face still red and wet with tears eyes wide with shock. He couldn’t even speak, the leftover sobs still wracking his body. A look of dread soon replaced his surprise when he realized why she was really here. He should have known from the beginning. The graying male swallowed the lump in his throat, glancing from the box on the ground between them back up to Maria.

God.

God, she was really leaving this time, wasn’t she?

“Happy?” the brunette asked, wiping at one of her own stray tears. She couldn’t seem to emotional. Not now.

Elijah was quiet, running a hand through his hair once again. He hesitated, the silence between them strained He finally let out a shaky sigh, glancing back up at her, “ ...why didn’t you tell me…?”

Maria scowled at such a question, digging her nails into her hand so she didn’t lash out at him.

“ Because you didn’t..want any kids..” she murmured, sighing shakily, trying to keep her cool despite the mounting rage, “ you...you wrerr always complaining about how loud they’d be! An-and you were always so...controlling..about it!” Her hand bled a little where she’d been gripping it, her teeth grinding when Elijah had the audacity to open his mouth.

“But-”

“BUT NOTHING!” she finally looked at him, face pinched and red with anger, “ I left so I could have our baby Elijah! And you know damn well I’m not bringing him back here!”

She suddenly grabbed the box of her things and finished unlocking her car, Elijah only able to watch helplessly.

“ He deserves so much better! I...I deserve so much better!” She shouted, practically tossing the box into the passenger seat.

Elijah finally moved to stp her, but she slammed the door in his facebefor eh could reach her .

Elijah could only watch as she drove off, the guilty pit in his stomach gnawing away at him. The pain he’d felt for three years easily resurfaced as her car pulled off, leaving him in front of their cozy little house. With her peonies still growing in the window sill. Even though he’d gotten to see Maria again, the feeling like she’d died still remained. As her car finally disappeared from view, Elijah slowly began to head inside. Just as the first snow of the year began to fall.

#short story #story #writing #creative writing #creative fiction #fiction #fiction writing

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

Text

Nonfiction Piece on Roleplaying

Role Playing: An unexpected way to live out the lives I wish I had.

Imagine being a fourteen year old and being told you could be anyone you want. All you had to do was write. Not only that, but someone could write WITH you. You could concoct any sort of story you want with someone else. Usually, writers begin with things like short stories, poems and the occasional beginnings of a novel they never plan to finish. I began with roleplaying. Most people see roleplaying as something sexual or they think of RPGs, like Dungeons and Dragons or online role playing games. My definition of roleplay is so, so different. The process is as simple as this: I write a starter, which is usually a few paragraphs long, that introduces the situation and my character. It also establishes the relationship between my character and someone else’s. Typically I leave these starters open and someone will reply to them or ask to reply to them. I keep them open by not saying character B’s name (character A being my character). Then it’s like a conversation, only we’re writing our characters action, dialogue and feelings back and forth. I wouldn’t say I’m great at long term writing because I’ve spent years and years and YEARS roleplaying back and forth. It’s always come easily to me and as I’ve worked at it I’ve only become better and better. It’s helped me develop interesting characters, better dialogue and more advanced storytelling all together. Nowadays when I need to write a story, I often think of it as a roleplay first and it really helps me keep the flow of the piece. Otherwise I lose the plot line and end up having a really fractured story.

There are some downsides, I suppose. You get used to relying on other people for a response to your dialogue, to your character’s actions. You get used to being surprised by the other character. That being said, I’m often surprised by the arcs of my own characters. I could talk about them and their rps forever, but I’ll limit it for now.

My favorite, most developed character is named Beau. While I can't remember the last name off the top of my head, he’s certainly the best, most realistic character I’ve ever written. I tend to love tragedy in my characters and Beau in particular has one of the most tragic stories.

Let’s start from the beginning. When they were around eight years old, he met his best friend August (my friend’s character) . Beau had just come from a fight with his alcoholic, newly divorced father and August had just told another little boy about his crush and been completely rejected. They met on the beach and became the best of friends from that day forward. As the years go on, the two only seem to get closer and closer. Beau has a growth spurt early (which means he doesn’t have one in his teenage years and ends up looking like a scrawny ten year old) and August just keeps growing and getting more and more handsome. Beau has no sense of grammar, hardly any morals and a very loose sense of right and wrong. He’s been stealing hawaiian shirts from a surf shop down the street since he was a kid and the only thing that stopped him was having August as a best friend. Beau is a sort of disgusting character that is loveable despite his dialogue and actions. It’s also worth noting that he doesn't have a set seuality or preference and is still learning a lot about himself. In one conversation with August, he talks about how he doesn't really care who he’s with, as he’s slept around quite a lot and been experimenting for a while. Part of Beau’s arc is that August is rich and his parents are never home, so they spend a lot of time at August’s house together. This somewhat spoils Beau, but in the end he turns out a better person. At some point, the two share a drunken kiss and soon after decide to try dating. They end up realising that they actually are in love with each other and go through many trials and tribulations (mainly Beau getting beat up and becoming anxious about being with August, along with him being so sick he could hardly move ) before getting engaged at the end of our roleplay. One key element of Beau’s character is that he has this sense of hatred for himself that’s always been there, he just tended to keep it really well hidden. In fact, it only starts to come out when August comes across a guy he used to like and Beau realizes that August could do so much better. His self esteem has always been low, it’s just that he never really openly expressed it or even really knew how he felt about himself. Beau’s first character arc in which he starts dating August is a steady incline, but from the moment he realizes how much better August would be without him, it begins a slow, painful decline.

Throughout their married life, they have lots of surrogate children and adopt a lot as well, their family growing and growing and growing over the years. August becomes a professional surfer and Beau is a stay at home dad, with the occasional catering gig. He often feels anxious and forgotten when August goes on trips to other parts of the country, his terrible self esteem and even worse case of jealousy negatively affecting his mental health. Beau’s arc begins to plateau when August retires and their kids all begin to move out, save for the few younger kids, them being in high school/college. However, Beau’s bouts of depression, jealousy and overall terrible mental health over the years ultimately kickstart the decline in his health. As Beau gets older and older, he begins to spiral into dementia, August being the only thing really keeping him afloat for a while. Of course, Beau’s downward arc only continues after August goes out surfing one day and drowns. Beau is never the same after that and ends up only living a few years longer before he goes to that very same beach and ends up killing himself. While this was never role played out, Beau’s downward arc was discussed between me and my rp partner for a long time. We ultimately wanted this to be an in depth rp that may even span generations.

The symbolism we decided on is also quite interesting. I read something once that fantasized about the idea of dolphins being the reincarnated people who have drowned at sea. It really stuck with me when thinking about Beau as a character and the terrible end of his life. So, I told my rp partner about it and she agreed that it would be an amazing symbolic ending to our rp to have Beau see a dolphin the day he kills himself. Later, their oldest child Sam is visiting that same cliff, she sees two dolphins in the distance and she just knows that her parents are finally together again and Beau is finally getting the rest he deserves. It gives the rp a satisfying ending despite all the tragedy throughout Beau’s life and the constant hardships he’s had to endure. This rp is long over, since me and this particular rp partner have about thirty rps that we need to finish up. This one certainly has the most in depth character development and thought process with symbolism and how characters would react to situations. I love Beau despite how much I’ve hurt him and because I’m so in sync with his character, I could easily, without a doubt, tell you how he’d react to any situation.

While this ended up being me talking about my favorite rp and favorite character from an rp, I think it illustrates how important role playing has become to me and how it has built my skills as a writer despite its drawbacks. I am a serious writer and while I cannot roleplay for a living, I think this is the one thing in life I feel truly skilled at and able to really have an in-depth conversation about. I often find roleplaying to come easily to me as a writer, even though my stories are often lacking. Hopefully over the course of time I’ll move away from roleplaying and into writing longer, better stories on my own, but for now I seem to do the most skillbuilding when I am roleplaying. I used to be such a terrible writer and this medium just helped me flourish. I wish I could make roleplaying easier to understand to an outsider, but maybe my skill levels just aren't there yet. One day I hope to explain it further and to really culminate my skills as a writer.

#roleplay #roleplaying #rp #gay rp #lgbt rp #lgbt story #lgbt writing #writing #writer

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

Text

Crossing a tightrope and Not Coming Back

Ari had made up his mind the eve of his 18th birthday.

He’d leave this place. He’d get the hell out of here and he’d make a life for himself. He’d cut his chest off himself if he had to, but he’d make sure he became a proper man. That would show the insensitive fucks he called parents.

He did it at dawn, knowing that they’d gotten absolutely shitfaced the night before, knowing that they wouldn’t wake for hours and hours and hours. He didn’t even bother to leave a note, didn't even bother to try and sneak out. He grabbed his backpack, stuffed to the brim with necessities, and just walked right out the front door. He tossed his bag into the backseat of his shitty little Ford pinto, planning to get rid of the car as soon as he was out of this city. He wouldn't need it wherever he was going. He would buy his own car, not some god awful hand me down from his old man.

Ari drove for hours, never looking back, never considering that living the life of a girl could actually be alright. He wanted freedom and he wanted it right then.

He didn’t stop until lunchtime, finally pulling into a broken down Denny’s just outside of Albuquerque. He planned to eat a quick lunch and get back on the road, knowing he had enough gas to at least get to Santa Fe for the night. He’d probably leave his car there and run off with whatever weirdos he met on the street. It was better than back home, at least.

That plan was scrapped when he saw an absolute goddess. She was beautiful. Tanned, with ebony locks curling just right on her shoulders. She was dressed in the damndest outfit, but Ari started because of her beauty, not because of the excessive ruffles and pink she wore. It wasn’t just her, either. A whole troupe of people were sitting at the bar. Eating and joking and laughing. They were so jovial that Ari was sure he was hallucinating, no one from this shitty city could be that happy. He went up to the counter and ordered his lunch, sitting at the bar between a particularly large, squat clown. You know, red nose, white painted face, the whole shebang.

He sat, silent, until the man suddenly turned to him with this huge grin on his face,

“ what’s up, kid? Travellin’ far?” He asked, his gruff voice not really matching his painted smile, “ where ya from?”

“Albuquerque” he answered without a second thought, the years of his parents teaching him to stay away from strangers forgotten in an instant, “ what about you? Are you all a travelling circus or some shit?”

The clown chuckled a little, sipping at his coffee. Of course, when the clown spoke again, he could smell the sharp mixture of coffee and whiskey on his breath, only then spotting the flask in the man’s front pocket.

“ yeah, we drove over from Amarillo. We’re just travelin’ through here to get to Vegas, Gotta gig there ‘n sure as hell can’t just take a plane….Ol’ Roxanne and the boys wouldn’t fit in cargo”

Ari nodded as if he understood, looking up when the waitress behind the counter set down his meal. A greasy, disgusting looking hamburger and a couple of shrivelled up fries. Not exactly a meal fit for a king, but it was what he got for the little change he had in his pocket. The raven began to eat, watching the weird, sideways folk around him. His eyes just kept going to the woman in ruffles, staring at her chest, her curves. She must've been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Amidst his staring, he was suddenly clapped on the back of the head, the old, possibly drunk clown next to him laughing. He leaned in, arm on Ari’s shoulder,

“ you like her? That’s Miss Angel. Star of the show, our only tightrope walker. People pay just to see her”

“ She any good?” the teen questioned, though he felt stupid for even asking a moment later, considering she wasn’t dead, “she gotta last name or is it just Angel?”

The clown wheezed at his mistake, “ you’re a right jokester, kiddo! Nah, she ain’t got but the first, she picked it out herself. We all did that back when this shithole of a circus was started. I just use my own. Rusty Schwartz, “ He held out a gloved hand for Ari to shake, “ pleasure”

The teen shook, despite the fact that the gloves looked just as disgusting as his own meal.

A crazy, stupid thought went through his head just then. The stupidest thought he’d ever had, even worse than running away.

“Say, “ he started, glancing around at the troupe of men and women alike, “ you all got room for one more?”

The clown before him burst into laughter, his bellows silencing the entire diner. The rest of his troupe glanced at him, and the few normal people sitting near the door finally scattered, they couldn’t take the presence of such a wild bunch any longer.

“ Hell yeah, we got room for ya! You runnin’ away from home, boy?” He asked, giving Ari a friendly, but powerful slap on the back. It knocked all the air outta him, but he nodded, coughing a little.

“ Then this is the place for you, my friend,” the clown suddenly grabbed a bag from the floor, shuffling through it quickly. The rest of the troup finally got back to their own meals and conversations, as if this kind of thing happened all the time.

Rusty finally pulled out what he was looking for, a stack of crumpled up papers stained with God knows what.

“ It’s a little contract, you don't gotta read the whole thing, it just says somethin’ ‘bout gettin’ injured’n all that.” he muttered, setting the papers next to Ari, as well as handing him a greasy old pen.

Ari hesitated, glancing over the papers and going straight for the place he had to sign. It was a choice between giving his life up to the circus or having nowhere else to go.

Rusty watched in silence, sipping his whiskey laden coffee without a care in the world. Ari glanced up from the papers, suddenly making eye contact with Angel across the bar. Her perfectly painted face, her hair. Even the way she held herself was beautiful. Without even realizing it, Ari’s hand moved to sign the contract, and soon he handed it back to Rusty, not even realizing he’d fully signed on until he pulled his eyes from Angel’s.

“ Welcome aboard, son!” The male cheered, giving Ari another jovial slap on the back, “ what’s yer name then, kiddo?”

He smiled weakly at the cheers from the rest of the gang, thinking a moment before shrugging, “ Just Ari is fine”

“Just Ari it is!”

The rest of the day was a blur. He locked his keys in the old pinto, grabbed his backpack and began the walk back to the train tracks with the rest of the crew. It wasn't far and soon they were on their way, celebrating and drinking and just having the damndest time.

Ari didn’t bother with drinking, positive he would be too much of a lightweight to even try. Instead he snuck to the cargo car, flopping back onto a pile of hay and old rags in the corner. He was exhausted, having partied himself out. Something in him worried that he’d made the wrong choice, but the raven figured it was this or his parents. He’d choose this crazy plan any day. The male jumped up when he suddenly heard someone come in, apologizing for being back here at all. Of course, when he looked up, it was her.

Angel.

In the dark cargo hold, she seemed even holier, the lights from the rest of the train creating a perfect halo around her. When she spoke, Ari could have cried.

“Ari, right? Aren't you a little young to join the circus?” she asked, her soft, gentle chuckle making him blush, “ it’s not easy, y’know”.

The slight southern lilt she had drove him crazy, the male’s face burning red at just her words. Thankfully it was dark enough that she couldn’t possible see.

“ I know…” He murmured, having to look away out of sheer bashfulness, “ I’m eighteen….I’d rather be here than home. My parents don't give a shit anyway”

She just smiled at that, taking a seat on a trunk nearby.

“ You seem like a sweet guy, Ari. Just heed my advice, alright?” She sighed, glancing towards the other parts of the train, “some people ain’t as friendly as they make you believe….”

After a long bout of silence, she finally got up and moved towards Ari, giving him a little kiss on the forehead before heading back for the door.

“ You take care of yourself, sugar. I wouldn’t want you as fucked up as this bunch, alright?”

With that, she sauntered off to rejoin the party, leaving Ari bewildered and confused.

Months passed. Ari worked hard, doing menial tasks for Rusty and the other clowns. Some were gross, but he respected the fact that he was the newcomer and he had to pick up a shovel every now and then and do some hard work. They seemed a happy enough bunch, but something wasn't right.

People kept going missing. Half the clowns had been either shot in their quarters or had simply disappeared without a trace. It was fishy, but when he asked Rusty, the old clown simply told him that shit happened. Clowns often killed themselves, he’d said, it ain’t easy being the funny one.

So, he went to Angel with his worries instead. As time passed, they'd gotten closer. Ari wouldn't say they were a couple, but she often climbed into his bunk and asked him to hold her. To comfort her. To wipe away her tears when she was crying. He never asked what made her cry so much, but simply held her close, letting her heartbeat lull him to sleep.

One evening, they were stopped for a rest somewhere near the Oregon state line It was cold and wet, but Ari had a job to do and he’d do it. The deaths and disappearances were coming more and more often there were only a small group of them left. Someone reported singing on the nights of the disappearances, like the angel of death herself was sweeping over their caravan. He worried for Angel and had her sleep with him more often, the male staying awake just in case. At this point, Angel knew he was biologically a woman, but she promised not to tell a soul. And she kept that promise.

This cool, wet night, Ari was in charge of cleaning out the elephant - Roxanne’s- cage. He'd gotten used to the smell and labor at this point, hardly worrying about that. He was more worried about Angel. Whether she’d disappear too. The caravan was silent, most everyone sleeping in their bunks. And then he heard it.

A soft, lilting voice singing out over the dessert.

Ari dropped his shovel, heading in the direction of the song. Slowly. Quietly.

He snuck out from the back of the caravan just to hear the gut-wrenching bang of a gun. Tears already stinging his eye, Ari looked out. Only to see Angel standing over one of the clowns’ bodies. Holding a gun.

She kept singing, not realising Ari was there. Ari didn’t even have a moment to think, running out from behind the caravan and tackling her. The two wrestled with the gun, Angel unexpectedly strong, her calloused hands grabbing at his wrists, his own slipping a few times on the gun before he finally got a hold of it. He realized his finger had slipped onto the trigger mere seconds too late, the bang resounding in his chest, ears ringing. Angel’s fingers became slack, the look of disbelief on her face similar to Ari’s own, the tears from before slipping down his cheeks so easily. He dropped the gun, moved to catch her, the world silent as he looked at his Angel. He screamed, but he still couldn’t hear. All he could focus on was her.

Ari let out a shaky sob, Angel’s form still in his arms. He couldn’t seem to breathe, sobs shaking his body, lips trembling out her name as if she’d hear. He didn't want to let her go. Even if she was the murderer, Ari knew she didn't deserve this. She was too beautiful, too angelic to die. The night seemed to go by too quickly after that, Ari still kneeling in the sand and cradling his angel when the first light of dawn began to peek over the horizon. Eyes red with tears, the male gave one last look and he could’ve sworn the early morning sunlight gave her a halo.

Knowing he couldn’t take her with him, Ari made his way back to the train just as it began to pull away. Rusty never left a moment after the sun came up, after all. They just had to go on, with ot without their angel. He told no one what he’d seen. Letting them believe that Angel was the latest victim. No one seemed to question it, anyway.

The murders stopped as abruptly as they’d begun, only Ari truly knowing why. The world without Angel just...went on. Just like that. Nearly a month after Angel’s death, Rusty and a couple of the others proposed that Ari become the new tightrope walker. They would teach him, they’d said, you’ll be the best around, promise!

They promised him a ne, more masculine wardrobe, but for now he’d have to wear Angel’s old outfits. He didn’t protest. He didn’t really care anymore, anyway.

Until one night, after most everyone had gone to bed, Rusty woke him and invited him to a late night poker game with a few of the other clowns, promising he could go back to bed once they'd played a few rounds. He could smell the liquor on the older man;s breath, but Are still stupidly agreed. He followed Rusty to one of the more remote cars, closer to the back of the train than he was used to.

The clowns drunkenly teased him, asked him to put on one of Angel’s dresses so they could ‘see the fit’. Too tired to bother protesting, he did. Ari had always been too easy to trust.

That night, he found out why Angel had really had that gun. Why she had buried her face in Ari’s arms late into the night, sometimes sobbing.

The drunken clowns found him out. The moment they learned he wasn’t a real man, well, they had no mercy.

Dirty hands on his arms, his legs, touching his chest. They forced him to drink. Forced him to do the worst things. The most disgusting things. By morning, Ari knew exactly why Angel had done what she did.

He weakly trekked back to his bunk, hiding his bruised legs, the marks on his chest and back. He reached under his pillow and pulled out the gun, unwrapping it from the handkerchief head so carefully hidden it in.

That night, he pulled out the gun, humming Angel’s lithe tune on his lips. He did as all tightrope walkers on this caravan eventually do.

He became an angel.

#writer #writing #fiction writing #creative fiction #creative writing #short story #death #sad short story #sad story

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angelpunswriting · 5 years

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Raising Awareness for LGBT College Students

A speech on ways we can make the University of Kentucky a better place for LGBT Students

Raise your hand if you are a queer individual (Count and make note of how many people raise their hands)

1: Incorporating a larger, more involved social scene for LGBT students and the general population to come together.

2. Hiring University personnel that are educated and sensitive to LGBT related issues

While Universities often have programs to prevent violence and sexual harassment, how open are these for LGBT individuals? The divide between LGBT students and the general population is already quite wide and having personnel that aren’t educated or sensitive to LGBT needs only pushes the gap wider. LGBT victims often don’t feel like they’re getting the help or support that they need. University personnel often aren't equipped to handle a situation in which an LGBT student, closeted or not, is reporting sexual assault or harassment and seeking support. Because of this, LGBT survivors are often silenced and are left with no support from the university. It is the university's job to hire personnel that not only reflect a professional background in LGBT care, but are committed to helping students feel safe and heard when they’ve survived a violent interaction or sexual harassment. This brings us to the topic of counselling. The University of Kentucky offers free counselling to any student that seeks it, but what about other schools? How many of our universities offer counseling to the entire population of students and furthermore, how many of those universities actually have counselors with a proper education and a sensitivity to LGBT issues? If LGBT students cannot rely on the University to help them get out of a dangerous situation, then who can they rely on?

3. Change the curriculum to educate the general population on LGBT issues

Finally, incorporating LGBT based issues into a regular curriculum would not only help LGBT students feel less ostracized by the university, but would also help to educate the general population without having specific events that cater to only LGBT students. LGBT students often already know the statistics and stories of their fellow students, but the general population may not be aware that there’s even a problem. Which, of course, further increases the risks for LGBT students. Sure, many heteronormative students don’t actually care. But that isn’t to say that there’s no one that cares and that they can't make a difference. I’ve actually observed this in my last semester. Several of my teachers asked the entire class what their pronouns were. What their preferred names were. Teachers apologize when they mistakenly use the wrong pronoun and when they say the wrong name. They ask students what they need. They incorporate LGBT artists into their teaching and specifically talk about their queerness and how it affected them. While this may be a consequence of a handful of good teachers, I do believe the University of Kentucky is taking the right steps in keeping their campus safe for LGBT individuals education wise. However, other schools often don’t teach about the LGBT community because of their curriculum and this needs to change if they want to keep their students educated and safe.

Go to https://endrapeoncampus.org and get involved

Go to https://www.thetrevorproject.org and get involved there. They have several resources for LGBT students and outreach programs where they’ve partnered with universities.

Use these and other resources to properly educate yourself on LGBT issues and other ways you can help.

Keep up with issues surrounding LGBT students.

Works Cited

Blumenfeld, W. “Check List: Making Colleges Welcoming for People of All Sexualities & Gender Identities and Expressions.” Academia.edu,

www.academia.edu/37464145/Check_List_Making_Colleges_Welcoming_for_People_of_All_Sexualities_and_Gender_Identities_and_Expressions. Accessed March 24, 2019

Blumenfeld, Warren J. “LGBTQ Campus Climate: The Good and the Still Very Bad.” Association of American Colleges & Universities, 29 Dec. 2014,

www.aacu.org/publications-research/periodicals/lgbtq-campus-climate-good-and-still-very-bad. Accessed March 24, 2019

Blumenfeld, Warren J. “Warren J. Blumenfeld | University of Massachusetts Amherst.” Academia.edu, umass.academia.edu/WarrenJBlumenfeld. Accessed March 24, 2019

“GLSEN Shares Latest Findings on LGBTQ Students' Experiences in Schools.” GLSEN, 2015, www.glsen.org/article/2015-national-school-climate-survey. Accessed March 24, 2019

Henshaw, Ashley. “LGBT College Statistics.” Campus Explorer, www.campusexplorer.com/college-advice-tips/DC54CA9B/LGBT-College-Statistics/. Accessed March 24, 2019

“Prevalence Rates of LGBQ Survivors.” END RAPE ON CAMPUS, endrapeoncampus.org/prev-rates-lgbq. Accessed March 24, 2019

#writing #writing assignement #speech #speech writing #nonfiction #informative #informative writing #lgbt #lgbt writing

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