First off, I would like to say this particular story is dedicated to Kevin Millington because he has not only been an inspiration to me, but also a great friend and at times, a mentor.
Thank you Kevin.
Everything was beautifully horrific.
The majestic Colors flowed and came together to create a chaotic unity.
Fiery and explosive yellows and oranges here, gooey and dripping reds and browns there. It truly was marvelous: Fit for a king, but suitable for no human being whatsoever.
I took a moment to sit back and admire the work of art that had practically created itself right before my astonished eyes.
Da Vinci would be dumbstruck, and I'm sure Picasso would have a thing or two to say. This was the type of picture one would have to see firsthand at a museum in order to really appreciate its elegance, never mind silly things like cameras. They wouldn't be able to capture the supreme emotion one experiences from a sight such as this.
Beautifully horrific.
That's what it was. No other words in my vast wardrobe of diction could describe what it was I looked upon. Besides these two excerpts of the English language, I was speechless.
Someone needed to see this.
I would have leapt into action right then and there but found myself paralyzed with a mixture of fear, awe, delight, and disgust.
So I sat there and looked on, trying to discern the meaning and reason for this masterpiece. What exactly inspired this thing?
Was it anger?
Jealousy?
Hate?
Could it be hope?
Happiness?
Joy?
What encouraged the creation of it?
As I gazed on my mind became transfixed with this new found inquiry.
How did it come this far?
How did it reach this point of seemingly detestable glory?
As I dwelled more and more upon the annoying question I reached somewhat of a revelation.
Beautifully horrific.
It was disgusting. Iwas revolted. How can man allow such an abomination to the world exist?
Violent emotions came over me. I wanted to destroy it, to wipe it off the face of the earth, to send it to the pits of hell where it belonged!
How can man look upon this with admiration, or even indifference? I wanted to reach out and be rid of it.
But I could not.
I slumped back against the cold, blood-spattered cement wall as the gruesome battle of Saigon continued before my sore eyes.
I am but one poor man, and war is kept alive by many rich and important men from all over the world. The never see this. They never take the time or the opportunity to look upon the carnage which I unwillingly see and take part in every day of my life.
They sit at home, reaping the hell-approved benefits war so faithfully brings to them like a well-trained dog.
That's what war is: a multitude of well-trained dogs clawing, tearing, biting, ripping eachother apart in order to defend their master's territory. They call it modern, organized warfare.
I call it sickening.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Alone
She storms out of the house at a quick pace, painfully ignoring the shouts and threats being repeatedly hurled at her from inside the building. Frustrated and angry, she puts on her headphones and shuts out everything by turning her music full blast.
It is her way of escape.
It's a long walk to the bust stop, and she does it quicker than usual.
When she gets there her best friend Sam greets her with a smile. She tries to return the gesture, but a tear drops from her eye as she does so.
"What's wrong?" Sam asks in a worried tone.
"Nothing." She lies, "Just having a bad day."
"At 8:15 in the morning?"
"YES!" she shouts.
***
15 minutes later she hurries out of the bus and makes a beeline for her locker, music blaring. She says hello to no one, and hardly acknowledges her concerned looking boyfriend as he playfully sneaks up on her.
He notices she has been crying.
"Are you okay?" he asks quietly as she grabs her books for class.
"I'm fine." she says without looking at him.
"You sure? You don't look fine. Were you crying?"
"I'm going to class." she says and starts to walk away.
"I love you." he calls after her.
***
At lunch she feels some what more cheerful and heads to her locker after a quick meeting with the environment club. Her usual friends meet her there and they sit down to eat while talking about their, 'totally awesome' weekends.
It seems like everyone had a good time except her.
It seems like that every Monday, and when asked how her weekend went she gives the usual, "It was interesting."
No one presses her any further and she continues eating in silence, pretending to be interested in her friends conversations.
The bell rings and she makes her way to class again. The last two periods pass by quickly--mostly because she isn't paying attention--and she reluctantly gets on the bus to go home.
***
Before she goes inside the house, she looks around the yard for signs that anyone is home. When she is sure no one is home she lets out a sigh of relief and walks in the house.
She goes upstairs and locks herself in her room until dinner. After a listless and uncomfortably quiet dinner she heads back to her room and stays there, doing her best to ignore the sound of her drunk father pushing around her innocent, sobbing mother. She gets up and double checks the multiple locks on her door.
He doesn't normally hurt her, but he has his nights.
It is her way of escape.
It's a long walk to the bust stop, and she does it quicker than usual.
When she gets there her best friend Sam greets her with a smile. She tries to return the gesture, but a tear drops from her eye as she does so.
"What's wrong?" Sam asks in a worried tone.
"Nothing." She lies, "Just having a bad day."
"At 8:15 in the morning?"
"YES!" she shouts.
***
15 minutes later she hurries out of the bus and makes a beeline for her locker, music blaring. She says hello to no one, and hardly acknowledges her concerned looking boyfriend as he playfully sneaks up on her.
He notices she has been crying.
"Are you okay?" he asks quietly as she grabs her books for class.
"I'm fine." she says without looking at him.
"You sure? You don't look fine. Were you crying?"
"I'm going to class." she says and starts to walk away.
"I love you." he calls after her.
***
At lunch she feels some what more cheerful and heads to her locker after a quick meeting with the environment club. Her usual friends meet her there and they sit down to eat while talking about their, 'totally awesome' weekends.
It seems like everyone had a good time except her.
It seems like that every Monday, and when asked how her weekend went she gives the usual, "It was interesting."
No one presses her any further and she continues eating in silence, pretending to be interested in her friends conversations.
The bell rings and she makes her way to class again. The last two periods pass by quickly--mostly because she isn't paying attention--and she reluctantly gets on the bus to go home.
***
Before she goes inside the house, she looks around the yard for signs that anyone is home. When she is sure no one is home she lets out a sigh of relief and walks in the house.
She goes upstairs and locks herself in her room until dinner. After a listless and uncomfortably quiet dinner she heads back to her room and stays there, doing her best to ignore the sound of her drunk father pushing around her innocent, sobbing mother. She gets up and double checks the multiple locks on her door.
He doesn't normally hurt her, but he has his nights.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Marriage is Bliss
A man and woman are walking along a surpringsly quiet street in downtown Toronto whilst holding hands. It is drawing towards the end of the evening, and everything seems so peaceful.
The sun is setting.
"Isn't it Beautiful?" asks the woman.
"Yes it is." says the man, and the woman temporarily rests her head on the man's shoulder.
Both the man and the woman are wearing wedding rings. They have, in fact been married for about five years now.
As they walk through the crisp fall air, the woman idly turns her head to look at a colorful movie poster with a muscular, shirtless man taking up most of the page. The film is entitled, 'B.E.E.F.' and appears to be some sort army hero movie.
"Oh, he's smokin', I definitely have to go see that one." she comments. The man turns his head,
"Why? So you can gawk at some handsome movie star who doesn't even know you exist?"
"Maybe," she says playfully, "wouldn't you be more motivated to see a movie if the main character was a hot girl with, 'just the right curves'?" she giggles
The man is disgusted: "Why would I do that?"
"Oh, come on," jokes the woman, "you can't tell me you wouldn't turn your head if a scantily clad attractive female walked by us right now."
"No."
"Why not? Are you turning gay on me or something?"
"No."
"Well then elaborate for me darling!" the woman stops walking, forcing the man to follow suit. He calmly turns his head. The sun has almost set. A prostitute steps outside across the street.
"When women look at attractive men and call them, 'hot' they are doing just that: admiring a man's body and appreciating it. From my experience when a man calls a woman, 'hot' he is undressing her with his eyes, and imagining what she would be like in bed: how she would gasp when she orgasms, moan in just the right way no matter what he does, and everything in between. Besides that, you know I'm a christian, and it says directly in the bible that whenever a man or woman looks lustily upon another man or woman other than their spouse, they have already committed adultery which is an awful sin in God's eyes."
"Well, to each their own I suppose." says the woman, and they continue walking down the street. The sun has set. Street lights slowly begin to flicker to life, waking from their daytime slumber.
The man and woman come to a street corner. They stop, kiss each other passionately and say farewell before going their seperate ways.
"See you tomorrow dear?" asks the woman.
"As always my love." replies the man.
The woman enters her apartment idly, opening the door and calling, "hello?"
"Hey," responds her sloth of a husband from the couch, "how was work?"
"Oh you know...the usual."
The man walks quickly in the direction of his apartment. He is late again. He rushes up the creaky stairs and hurriedly unlocks the door giving a quick, "Hello?" as he bursts into the small apartment, "Sorry I'm late." he says.
His wife is sitting patiently at a romantic dinner table with half-burnt candles and a white table-cloth covered in streams of melted wax.
"Another long day at work?" she asks.
"Yea, sorry about that dear I promise it won't happen again." he turns his attention to the food, "Oh, beef stew; my favorite."
The sun is setting.
"Isn't it Beautiful?" asks the woman.
"Yes it is." says the man, and the woman temporarily rests her head on the man's shoulder.
Both the man and the woman are wearing wedding rings. They have, in fact been married for about five years now.
As they walk through the crisp fall air, the woman idly turns her head to look at a colorful movie poster with a muscular, shirtless man taking up most of the page. The film is entitled, 'B.E.E.F.' and appears to be some sort army hero movie.
"Oh, he's smokin', I definitely have to go see that one." she comments. The man turns his head,
"Why? So you can gawk at some handsome movie star who doesn't even know you exist?"
"Maybe," she says playfully, "wouldn't you be more motivated to see a movie if the main character was a hot girl with, 'just the right curves'?" she giggles
The man is disgusted: "Why would I do that?"
"Oh, come on," jokes the woman, "you can't tell me you wouldn't turn your head if a scantily clad attractive female walked by us right now."
"No."
"Why not? Are you turning gay on me or something?"
"No."
"Well then elaborate for me darling!" the woman stops walking, forcing the man to follow suit. He calmly turns his head. The sun has almost set. A prostitute steps outside across the street.
"When women look at attractive men and call them, 'hot' they are doing just that: admiring a man's body and appreciating it. From my experience when a man calls a woman, 'hot' he is undressing her with his eyes, and imagining what she would be like in bed: how she would gasp when she orgasms, moan in just the right way no matter what he does, and everything in between. Besides that, you know I'm a christian, and it says directly in the bible that whenever a man or woman looks lustily upon another man or woman other than their spouse, they have already committed adultery which is an awful sin in God's eyes."
"Well, to each their own I suppose." says the woman, and they continue walking down the street. The sun has set. Street lights slowly begin to flicker to life, waking from their daytime slumber.
The man and woman come to a street corner. They stop, kiss each other passionately and say farewell before going their seperate ways.
"See you tomorrow dear?" asks the woman.
"As always my love." replies the man.
The woman enters her apartment idly, opening the door and calling, "hello?"
"Hey," responds her sloth of a husband from the couch, "how was work?"
"Oh you know...the usual."
The man walks quickly in the direction of his apartment. He is late again. He rushes up the creaky stairs and hurriedly unlocks the door giving a quick, "Hello?" as he bursts into the small apartment, "Sorry I'm late." he says.
His wife is sitting patiently at a romantic dinner table with half-burnt candles and a white table-cloth covered in streams of melted wax.
"Another long day at work?" she asks.
"Yea, sorry about that dear I promise it won't happen again." he turns his attention to the food, "Oh, beef stew; my favorite."
Monday, October 27, 2008
Being a Teenager
First I would just like to say that this post is dedicated to my English teacher Mr. McCallum, because he inspired me to write this story through the grade 10 short story unit.
After beating down some jerk who is like...twice my size and REALLY popular, the really hot chick that he was bugging comes up to me and smiles. She says nothing, but seductively moves in close, looking directly into my eyes, obviously wanting a kiss. I close my eyes and lean forward...
Instead of a kiss I get the blaring sound of an alarm clock right in my ear.
It continues for a few minutes before I smash the button and look at the time: 6:00 AM. I hate being a teenager.
I sluggishly roll over to get just a few more minutes of sleep when my annoying little brother runs in and turns on the lights while opening all the curtains: "Wake up sleepyhead!" he shouts in that stupid, annoying, squeaky voice.
I hate being a teenager.
The lightswitch is too far to reach from my bed along with the curtains so I decide to get up. I try to open my eyes but the light stings them and so I end up stumbling around blindly until my eyes adjust, stubbing my toe while I do so and cursing the hell out of whatever it was I hit.
I hate being a teenager.
I sort-of-walk, sort-of-fall down the stairs to get breakfast and am greeted by my bright mother: "Morning Sweety."
"Hmf" I reply, how can everyone be so cheerful in the morning?
My eyes have completely adjusted to the light by now and I prepare myself some good old honey nut cheerios.
"Don't eat too many." says my corny mother, " You're a growing boy and that's nothing but sugar." Thanks for that Captain Obvious.
I hate being a teenager.
I gobble down the, 'sugar' and toss my empty bowl in the sink.
Like a zombie I traverse the stairs again, this time to the bathroom. The toilet seat is freezing and so is the shower water. Seems everyone else beat me to the shower earlier.
Figures.
I hate being a teenager.
A few minutes later I stumble out of the cold shower into the even colder bathroom air and grab a towel to warm/dry myself.
Eventually I throw on some expensive logo clothes while finishing up some homework. Find the solution to (x+2y-80)(2x-50y)=210? We've covered this? I let out a huge sigh and throw the work in my bag.
You know what I'm thinking so I won't even take the time to say it.
After barely making it to the bus I fall asleep and some grade 12 wakes me up when we get to the school. I get to my locker and after struggling with the lock for about 5 minutes I realize why I couldn't find my cellphone last night. Smart.
I toss my valuables in the locker and then walk around until I find some friends. I am greeted by, "Hey Isaac, what's up?"
"Nothin."
"You go to the party friday night?"
"No I had to work, heard it was pretty awesome though."
"Yea man you shoulda been there, half the people there could barely walk it was NUTS!"
The conversation continues like this for quite some time with joking, kidding around, and crazy weekend party stories. After a while the bell rings and we all walk to class with a smile on our face.
I get to english class with one minute to spare.
As Mr. McCallum begins the lesson I pretend to listen and think about what to do and who to hang out with for lunch.
I love being a teenager.
Introduction
Anything and Everything you read in this blog--unless otherwise indicated--is not the works of a genius, nor the compilation of various famous authors. It is not written to have an impact on the lives of regular people, and you probably won't find it very entertaining either. The following stories were not written to get good grades, marks, or rewards.
The following stories are simply that which I find all too rare in the modern world: the thoughts and imaginary adventures of a teenager voiced on paper BY a teenager. These are realizations, inventions, revelations, and, of course, stories.
So I do not invite you, but neither do I discourage you to sit back and enjoy a few 10-15 minute stories written by a less than average teenage boy.
The following stories are simply that which I find all too rare in the modern world: the thoughts and imaginary adventures of a teenager voiced on paper BY a teenager. These are realizations, inventions, revelations, and, of course, stories.
So I do not invite you, but neither do I discourage you to sit back and enjoy a few 10-15 minute stories written by a less than average teenage boy.
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