Tag Archives: time

“642 Things to Write About” and I doubt Patrick was a saint

Well, guys, after another successful godless article and the loveliness of my sudden raging annoyance, my sister and I have to be back on board for ‘642’. Today we’re doing six prompts, and everything will be swell. Read #30 and #33.

Prompt #29: Describe five memories- events you remember really well. Then take one of them further.

My response: 

#1 My earliest memory that impacted me was me waking up when I was four, or maybe late in my third year. There was a party the day before but I had asked my mom, “When is the party?” because I didn’t know two weeks ago from two years, nor could I piece apart memory from dreams. She had patted my head and said the party had already happened, that it was yesterday. And that’s when I realized how time worked.

#2 I was a junior at a academic camp at Vanderbilt University, and one of our last days at camp we had to do a presentation. Because of my outgoing nature in class and gatherings, no one believed me when I said that I wouldn’t do a good job at first, that I might puke or faint. They said I would do wonderfully. I tried to ride those waves of confidence, but, sure enough, I froze during the presentation and began to tear up, my eyes ran over.

#3 I as a third grader fought three kids at a park in because the bunch wouldn’t leave my family alone. The rumor was I won all of them. I threw a trashcan.

#4 My mom caught me reading yaoi when I was a sixth grader. I still remember the website: ukepile. I had a mental breakdown and went on a two mile walk to a school. It was around 9 or so at night.

#5 My dad hit me with the metal side of the belt because he lost his patience with me. He has yet to give a sufficient apology.

Furthering #1: I had recently shared this memory with my parents and older brother, believing that they would think it interesting to see something from my point of view that they may have overlooked. To my surprise, they remembered this incident quite clearly. They said I had cried for a couple of hours and was kind of raving like a lunatic, asking about time, and that for quite a few days afterwards, I was obsessed with the chronicle of events and asking what has happened. Mother even said that she felt really guilty because I was so upset, and anything that she tried to do- give me ice cream or watch a movie- I would later be like, “Did we have ice cream yesterday?” or some such thing. Man, was I high maintenance.

Sister’s response: 

  • Talking to my tree (previous prompt)
  • Getting ISS because I left school
  • My brother was stabbed in the forehead by these twins and their cousin
  • My dog Sparky wasn’t actually our dog but he found us
  • My cousin and I watching scary movies and eating pizza

Those were some pretty good memories, except for the third bullet. My brother still has the scar on his forehead. Shamika and Tamika (yes, they are black), were rude little kids that for some reason we continued to play with them. They brought over their cousin and we somehow ended up in a war. My sister was gathering supplies to keep them out and my brother and I was guarding the gate. After I told him not to leave the yard, he left anyway and all three of them stabbed him with this big stick. I rushed to tell my sister and when we came back, my brother was bleeding. In the end we got trouble. My mom took my brother to the hospital. We got a spanking from my aunt and we still played with them because they wouldn’t leave us alone.

 

Prompt #30: A man jumps from the fortieth story of a building. As he’ passing the twenty-eighth floor, he hears a phone ring and regrets that he jumped. Why? 

The excitement of the first seven floors  wore off, and Jumper had surrendered himself to resignation. Everyone he loved too much has gone on ahead of him, and his job was highly intolerable of depressants such as himself. Sure, he had a few friends here and there, could of made a difference in Africa, but if he wasn’t happy overall, then what was the point?

When the twenty-eighth floor came by, he realized two things: he had twenty-seven more floors- hopefully he lost consciousness before then- and a phone was ringing. Unfortunately, that made him realize that he hadn’t turned in his two weeks notice.

It wasn’t as if his job was on the verge of firing him, but they were all like, “Perhaps he needed a break” or “He shouldn’t work too hard”.

Camron, who advised a psychiatrist multiple times, would be most disappointed, but probably not in the least surprised. Jumper knew he still might even blame himself, thinking that he hadn’t worked hard enough to convince Jumper to get some professional help. That would be mostly Jumper’s fault, too.

Jumper had made plans- now literally out a window- to have Camron meet Jennifer at a party he had been invited to. Jennifer was a next door neighbor and made it quite obvious that she would do anything in her power to get him happy again- even casual sex. Seeing how good a person she as, made Jumper think of Camron, and that he and Jennifer would be perfect for one another. And now, they’ll never meet.

And now they’ll never meet, and now they’ll never meet, and now they’ll never meet, and now they’ll, and now they’ll, and now, and now, and, and, and, and….

Sister’s response:

The twenty-eighth floor was Ms. Gertrude’s room. Three years earlier Mr. Gertrude and him were discussing her daughter’s wedding. The man was excited to be wed to the most wonderful, the most beautiful girl he had ever met.

“Did you guys finally decided what kind of cake ya’ll want?”

“Yes, we decided to get both.”

“That’s a little to much, ain’t it?”

“Nonsense, it will be the perfect amount for all the party guests.”

Three o’ clock pm. Just like everyday, the phone rings. No one else calls the phone at 3 pm sharp.

“Hi, Elizabeth. He’s here. Yes, I’ll tel him. Okay, bye. She wants you to be home as soon as you can.”

“I’ll get going now.”

When he got home, the apartment was trashed. Everything was either broken or ripped. He frantically searched for his soon-to-be bride. She was nowhere to be found. Immediately, he called the police. A year later, they have not found her.

“I’m sorry.”

Depression had got the better of him. His heart grew weak, his eyes dull, and his brain numb. Two years past and he couldn’t bear it any longer. He walked by the clock, glanced at the time, and walked on the ledge of the window. He jumped off his fortieth floor, and everything around him seemed to be slowing down. The number outside the apartments were clear.

35, 34, 33, 32, 31,30…29…Ring… 27. Time 3′ o clock.

“No.”

~~~~(Verrrrry good! So much love!)

Prompt #31: Write a recipe for disaster.

My response:

1 Hungry Older Brother

1 Sleepy Dad

1 Haven’t-had-sex-in-three-days First Younger Sister

1 Bored Second Younger Sister

1 Bruised-pride First Younger Brother

1 Cigarette-less Mother

1 Lazier-than-usual Second Younger Brother

1 Manic Me

Someone might die.

Sister’s response:

1 cup watermelon

1 cup of shrimp puffs

2lbs of diced tomatoes

and a dash of spice

A disastrous recipe for my sister. Doesn’t sound too good anyways.

~~~~~(Seriously, I will die.)

Prompt #32: Your friend calls to say she saw you in the back of a police car yesterday. What happened?

“It wasn’t my fault, if that’s what you’re saying,” I said defensively. I took a very hard sip from my straw, getting nothing but airy drops of water.

“So? Why were you in a police car yesterday?”

“I may or may not have kicked a neighbor’s dog-”

“That sounds like it may or may not have been your fault,” answered Alina.

“-For the third or fourth time.”

“Poor puppy!”

“Not all behemoth dogs are puppies.” None of them are, I groused in my head.

“So, did you have to pay a fine?”

“I saw the judge today,” I muttered. “Couldn’t afford a fine, but that seems like a good time to give me community service!”

“Well, you like community service.”

“At an animal shelter.”

“Oh… You’re allergic to so many animals.” Alina made a sympathetic face.

“I’m considering another offense…”

She laughed, “Just tell them you’re allergic!”

Sister’s response:

“Gurl, I seened you with them Pos Pos? What happen?”

“Maaaan, Delvonte messed me up! He said that that drug will only get me high! Next thing I notice I was on a building! Can you believe it!?”

“But you’re innocent right?”

“Hecks, yeah! I didn’t do nothing wrong!”

“Don’t worry, Imma get him for you.”

“K, bye boo.”

“Bye boo.”

Prompt #33: Tell the true story of a dramatic moment in your life, but weave in one secret and one lie. 

We were on our way down back to Texas, having visited our Pops here in Tennessee where he was stationed. The highway was littered with rain and ice patches which Mama slipped on every now and again but righted in due time.

In an effort to get from behind a slow moving truck, as my mother was wont to do, she turned into the next lane. She would later tell us that she had probably pressed the gas instead of break. In any case, we went sliding over some black ice.

I had been on the verges of sleep, hearing older brother play a song on his CD Player that we as a family have sort of made a pact to never play, ever. So as not to pass the curse on to you, I shall keep the song’s title a secret. I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, and my mom had finally pressed the brake, which slowed the car down enough to have me suddenly slam my head into the rental car’s windshield, as I was in the front seat.

Unfortunately, she had braked over yet another patch of ice in the grass island, which made us careen into the incoming traffic on the other side. With all six of us kids screaming for our lives and Mama trying desperately to put us on track, we went straight in front of yet another goddamn truck.

“No, Lord, not my babies!” was my mother, while the lights blinded me and my voice was stolen into fear, my ears filled with the screeches of my siblings. I slammed into my mother as she turned and I could hear her slam the gas and we were tearing to the other side of the highway, a bit on the right side, before Mama finally got the car to stop on the grass.

No one was hurt. Scary as fuck though.

Sister’s response:

In the fifth grade, this girl and her friends was constantly making fun of me. They were talking about a guy named Big Worm and claimed that he looked like me. I was fed up with their insults and jokes so I grabbed the nearest thing, which was a thick literature book and smacked the ring leader on the back of her head. I was called to the principal’s office. I was crying and sniffling and feeling guilty for what I had done to the bully and standing up for myself and making myself seem independent. I knew they wouldn’t let me off the hook, but I also knew they really didn’t want t punish me because I was a good kid. After my suspension, which was before my last field trip, I had never been happier- I mean sadder about what I did.

Prompt #34: A cockroach at the Roosevelt

My response: (The what? *google* Ah.)

The men and women of the roof at the Roosevelt saw the roach. A lady calmly, though grimacing, approached the bartender, who called Housekeeping. This man had a decrepit jar with its lid and captured the roach. No one asked where its final resting place would be, and all forgot within minutes of making a couple thousand-dollar deals.

Sister’s response: 

*splat*

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On the left of “Uncle Max”

Uncle Max is a novel by Chris Kenry. It is a slice-of-life sort of story, which is usually the form of gay novels I read. Though slice-of-life usually transforms into drama in most circles of any sort of fiction, where the drama of life is racketed up a thousandfold, this doesn’t seem like it. It’s funny, but it’s pretty consistently real. I’ve only read about twenty pages, but it seems like that sort of story.

What I was really trying to do was read “Kant’s Conception of Inner Value” by Oliver Sensen. It’s interesting enough, legible, legible as how broccoli with cheese is edible, which it is, but who wants to read broccoli with cheese, you know what I mean? No, oh well.

Now, as I write this, I am kicking my foot. That’s right, one of my feet is straddling the other, kicking its toes. The other foot, the left, doesn’t have as much dexterity, and would never be able to get revenge. I am restless,  a restlessness that can only be healed by Skyrim or some other game. I would say the new game Resident Evil 6, but I’m truly planning on buying, and beating, that this winter break, with family, because I know it will be easier with someone else. Truly, the AIs for your partners are amazing now. Usually, if your partner is AI (such as in Resident Evil Revelations) the enemies are nigh unbeatable unless you are the one doing the mowing down- of course, what’s the use of the AI then other than exposition and plot crops?

Some ‘fans’ are outraged at the way the series had gone. I agree that it is no longer very creepy or anything (well, Leon’s route is fucking dark and I don’t know when the zombies are going to wake up… and part of it is on a freakin’ college campus where everyone just breathed fumes, how scary is that?!), but I’m a, never thought I’d say it, true fan. I’ll play RE no matter what format it’s going to take. I mean, some of these ‘fans’ even said, “I can’t support/buy the game anymore. It is finished.”

Um… You’re no longer a fan then. You were a fan, and now you’re not. You can say you were a fan of the ‘true RE’ or whatever if you need your elitist kick, but you don’t like it anymore, how can you be a true fan?

Same goes for Final Fantasy. I liked 13 (and 13-2). Actually, the only ones I didn’t like, to play, that is, was 10-2 and 12. I’m not counting any of the weird ones, just the turn-based or almost-turned-based, which I counted 13 as, lol. I will always give FF a benefit of the doubt, and will try all their games, because I’m a fan.

I want to play Skyrim.

And I want to read a massive yaoi story, manga or anime style. I don’t really care for looks as long as it’s good- and if it is long, it’s probably good for me. If you don’t know what yaoi is, I don’t really know how you got here, but it’s, for me, the Japanese style of male on male(s) relationships. Opposite of yuri.

I’ve gotten out of touch with some yaoi stories- Crimson Spell and Viewfinder by Ayano Yamane for one- because I don’t know how to get them. I want to pay for them.

And I want my damn money! I don’t really need it, and I’m getting a job… But I want the check so badly… so much money…

And that put me on the Teahouse Tour, which has now filled up, just as I checked. I wanna cry. I wanted that money for that purpose and now it is too late.

“Madness” by Muse is phenomenal.

That’s all for now.