The Voice of Reason

One of the most difficult and most frequently asked questions in the world is, ‘why?’. More specifically, ‘why write?’. And I say, indeed, why write? What is the reason? There is, of course, the motivation, for motivation and writing go hand in hand, but what is the reason to write? Some say that motivation and reason are one and the same but I beg to differ.

Motivation is inspiration and ideas. Motivation is the bird that flits past your window, or the blade of grass tilted slightly more the left than all the other blades of grass. Motivation is the buoy you see sitting alone on the bay: swaying back and forth in a sad sort of motion. Motivation is a comment you heard on the bus this morning. Motivation is a dream you had the other night. Motivation is someone being pulled over for speeding. Motivation is that one idea you have which becomes a seven hundred page novel, and later on an award-winning movie.

Now imagine you have just finished scribing that seven hundred page novel and days, months, perhaps even years have passed since the original motivation ebbed into your creative mind on a cool summer evening. You sit down in front of the hearth, happily, with a glass of scotch in your hand and a sweet cigar in your mouth. You contemplate on you just-finished novel. You do not yet know that it will be published and it will be an award-winning movie. For all you know you may have just wasted seven hundred perfectly good pieces of paper on something that is nothing more than the simple ramblings of an under-accomplished writer.

Why did you write this possible masterpiece? What was the reason for it? Obviously you wrote it because you had motivation and the idea needed to escape, but what now? Why did you put this down on paper? Moreover, why seven hundred pieces of paper? You could have simply let the idea rot in a journal or waste away on your voice recorder as a forgotten memo. But for some reason this one idea escaped the confines of your journal prison and elaborated itself on the seven hundred pages which sit upon your writer’s desk at this moment. This idea is a story of adventure and excitement, wile and wit, and betrayal. But what purpose does it serve? Why did you write it? It’s not even true.

I told you that, ‘why’ is one of the world’s hardest questions to answer.

And yet, the reason for writing is so simple. If you write, you have a talent, whether you are a, ‘good’ writer or not. You have the inspiration and the motivation to write, so do it. Even if one writes tales of lore and fantasy, there is always a lesson to be learned from the tale. I myself read many fantasy novels, and many a time have learned more life lessons in one reading then in a week of schooling. The purpose of writing is to inspire and bring joy to others. (However, if you really want to get technical, why do anything? You only die and leave everything behind anyway. Isn’t why such a tricky question?) Write to entertain. Make people cry, make children laugh, make old folks reminisce, and give people a reason to read. Do not write to create another dust collector or shelf filler. Use your inspiration to create inspiration.

Why write? Why not? You have nothing to lose.

Prank'd

Some days are just not your day. Some days you want to throw the TV remote at the TV, and then throw the TV out the window. Some days you want to stop in traffic and sit there because the guy behind you is tailgating you. Some days you want to scream at the top of your lungs until they explode, and then scream some more afterwards. Some days you just want to curl up into a ball and cry. And some days are just simply bad days.

Like today.

Woke up late, had a freezing cold shower, fell down the stairs and bumped my shin, had a horrible breakfast and then couldn't find my toothbrush. Couldn't start the car because the lights had been left on. Had to get a jump start from my grumpy neighbor who I hate. Got stuck in traffic so I was late for work. Got yelled at by my boss for being late. Went to get a coffee but it was cold--drank some anyway. Then the computer wouldn't start. Crawled under the desk to see what was wrong and spilled cold coffee on my back. Jumped in surprise and hit my head on the bottom of my desk which knocked the computer monitor onto the floor. Now the screen's cracked. Got up to go to the washroom and yell. Shirt got caught on the edge of my cubicle and the whole thing fell over. I just walked away. Got in the washroom and realized I forgot to shave. Yelled. Went back to my cubicle and everyone in the office was standing around it. Picked up my cubicle and got on the phone to order a new computer. Put on hold--for five hours. Tried to explain to my boss why I got nothing done today. Got yelled at again. Went to go home and my tire was flat. Called a tow truck. Waited two hours. Got a two-hundred dollar bill for having my tire filled with air. Got stuck in traffic on the way home. Got pulled over by a police officer...

Great. Just what I need on a day like today. A ticket. I hate the awkward spanse of time between the cop pulling you over and then actually getting out of the car to come and talk to you. Seriously, what do they do in there? Must be writing down my license plate number or something, I wasn't even speeding! Did I make an illegal lane change? This guy better give me a warning because I don't even know that I did anything wrong. He must be a new cop, just started a while ago. Stupid beginners. I don't need a ticket right now, I have bills to pay! Looks like another month without my new boat. What an asshole, this cop is taking away my chance to get a boat! I bet he knows it! Whatever, here he comes.

Roll down my window.

"What seems to be the problem officer?" he has a huge grin on his face. Of course he does, he must be having a great day. Asshole.

"Well my friend I was just--oh, my apologies sir."

"I'm sorry?" he is a beginner; friggin idiot...

"No I just thought you were someone else. You have the exact some car as a friend of mine and I wanted to give him a little scare as a joke seeing as its been real slow today. You can be on your way sir, sorry about the confusion." he starts walking back to his car.

"What?" take of my seatbelt: this is the last straw.

"It was all a joke sir you did nothing wrong you be on your wa--okay sir I need you to step back into your car." yea, now he's having a slow day.

"I have had the worst day today, and you expect me to take something like this as okay? I'm stressin out because I can't afford a ticket right now, and you tell me it's a joke?" walking towards the cop, startin to get real sarcastic. Turns out he's the one I'm going to lose it on: "It's people like you, 'officer' who make me so mad." cop pulls out his gun.

I'm standing on the side of a freeway with a gun being pointed at me.

Keep walking towards the cop.

"Sir I need you to calm down and get back into your car."

"You my friend, are a complete asshole."

Jump at the cop, get shot in the leg. Fall over and land near his feet. Cop starts hand-cuffing me, punch him in the face. Get pepper sprayed. Taken to the hospital, then to the station. In excruciating pain the entire time. Told my rights and put into an overnight cell at the station. Call my wife. Explain I've made a total fool of myself. Get my ear rung out by my freaked out wife. Have a sleepless night. Get released and given a court date.
Go Home, have a shower, and call my lawyer.

Yea, some days are just not your day.

Press Play

"You know, they say weird things only happen to weird people, kinda the same way that karma works.
But I've never considered myself weird, and no one ever told me I was weird, but weird crap happens to me all the time.

Like last week, I was just walking to my car in the parking lot--just a regular day after work--when some weirdo-kinda-bum-kinda-hobo person ran up to me and handed me a really old VCR--you know, like before there was a rewind button, just put in the tape and play.

So anyways this really weird guy hands me this VCR in a really panicky way: 'I need you to hold on to this for me.' he was panting really heavy, like he'd been running for a while or somethin'.
'Don't watch the tape in it,' he says, 'just hide it, and keep it safe.'

I thought it was some sort of joke, but I saw no harm in holding on to it for him. I threw it in the trunk of my car and forgot about it.

Three days later the hobo shows up at my door, only this time he's got his hair slicked back real nice and wearin' a fancy suit and tie. Had a nice pair of sunglasses on too, and one of those fancy ear walkie-talkies that they got in spy movies. I didn't hardly recognize the guy. He asks me how the VCR is and I tell him I don't know cuz its been sitting locked in my trunk for three plus days.

Suddenly this guy starts gettin real mad, like something I've never seen before. Mother F***er strangles me and tells me to unlock the trunk for him. I pop the trunk and he walks over there so fast I'm surprised he didn't trip or somethin.

He dug around the trunk a bit and threw my stuff all over the ground, made a real mess to be honest. Then he finds the VCR and checks to see if the tape's still there.

It's there--of course it is, would it go anywhere if it was locked in my trunk?

He nods to me, hops in a BMW parked across the street and drives away, leaving a mess and a crappy old VCR/tape strewn across my trunk and driveway.

A few days go by and nothing happens. Then I get a phone call yesterday afternoon from the guy--don't even wanna know how he got my number--tellin me to look on the bottom of the VCR. He says there's a piece of black tape there that blends in with the things color. Tells me to peel it off and follow the instructions written on the bottom--the ones in white.

So I look for the VCR and find it after about ten minutes. Takes longer to find the damned piece of tape
than it did the VCR. Mister hobo wasn't lying when he said it blends in. I finally found it and peeled it off.
It was then that I knew what he meant by, 'the ones in white.' There were four different instructions on there all written in different colors like this was intended for more than one person or something.

My instructions were at the bottom of the list.

I was pretty pissed when I read them: 'press play'. Honestly, f***in hobo coulda said that on the phone. Anyway, I plugged the piece of junk into the wall and pressed play.

All of a sudden I hear this faint scratchin noise comin from the VCR. I pushed open the flap to see what it was and instead of a tape I see a f***in bomb. There's a little counter on there says seven seconds, so I book it outta my house counting down the time in my head.

6 - flyin for the hallway

5 - burst into the hallway

4 - see the door

3 - reach for the handle

2 - jiggle the handle

1 - throw open the door

0 - get thrown onto my lawn by a shockwave and everything goes black. Next thing I know I'm sittin' in here with you Mr. Talone, and that' why I don't got your money."

Life?

Sitting in my room
Looking at the door
Something feels different
Even though I've been here before
The floor is the same
The window is the same
Walls are okay
And ceiling seems normal too
But the door...
It's been shaking quite unnaturally - for the past several minutes.
There's a bit of light squeezing through the crack at the bottom of the door frame too. This would usually be expected - if my lights were off - but this luminescence outshines the singular bulb somewhere above my head.
And it's green.
A green, slimy light making its way further into the sanctity of my bedroom, accompanied by the constant rattling of that stupid shaking door.
I take a second look.
The light is slimy.
A beam of light, a ray of luminescence - is as slimy as the slop in a pig's pen on a rainy day. I can touch it, i can feel it, but I can't pick it up for the life of me. Then again, I've never been able to pick up light before. I've also never FELT light before, but that happened just now.
I'm so absorbed by this non-absorbent substance that the room simply fades away. The dull, assorted colors of my room melt, meld, and darken to a nullifying gray.
The only light is the, 'slime' oozing in front of me.
It's completely through the door now, because the door has disappeared It's just me and this slim, alone and not knowing what to do. What happens next? Who knows. We'll just have to wait and see.
Me and my pretty slime - waiting for something interesting to happen.

Splash

I've never been friends with someone who's dying before.

It feels weird, and very unsure, like when you're testing the temperature of water in a lake or pond to see what it's like, but you know in the back of your mind that you'll end up jumping no matter what the temperature is. It'll be really cold at first, almost shocking. But you'll get used to it, and keep swimming for a while. Still, there will always be that voice in the back of your head telling you it's still really cold, and the odd time it will win over. You'll get out, and jump right back in again to do it all over again.

I'm still testing the water, not willing to believe the cold and shocking truth: my friend is going to die.

Daren Bello is going to die. He's only 18 years old--but he's going to die.

I don't really understand how it happened; the kid was always really healthy. He's been on the town's swim team for as long as anyone can remember, and he's a damn good diver too. He had this crazy dream to go to the Olympics, which earned him the nickname, 'little Phelps'. We used to joke around about it and tease him about his big dream, even though we all knew that he could at least qualify.

Dammit. I wipe a stray, salty tear from my worried eyes as I try and focus on the road.

"Save the crying for later." I say to myself, "Can't see the road with water in your eyes."

Ten minutes later I'm at the hospital, sitting in the parking lot.

This is all so unreal.

My best friend, my confidant and companion since the day we could communicate, is leaving and never coming back.

I'm walking through the front doors of the hospital now, hands in my pockets and staring straight ahead, not really focused on anything in particular. Normally I would be taken aback by the size and beauty of a building like the several-stories-high-hospital--but not today.

I walk like a dark zombie towards the receptionist and say in a bleak, defeated voice, "Daren Bello please" the lady nods and gives me his room number, handing me a sanitary mask, gloves and shoes while doing so. They're probably the newest--and cleanest--pieces of clothing on me as I slowly make my way to Daren's room.

My heart flutters nervously as I begin to realise that this may be the last time I ever see my dear friend. What am I supposed to say? How do you say goodbye forever?

I'm preparing to jump into the water.

I could tell him I'm sorry, and start blaming things like the government and poverty, probably shouldn't do that with guards around though.

I feel a wetness on my cheek and reach up to realise that I've drenched my sanitary mask with tears. The reality of the situation is really starting to hit me: I'm in the middle of my first jump into the icy cold water, somewhere in mid-air probably. I can see Daren's room from here, and I'm hit by a sudden wave of anger and questions.

Why did we have to be born here? Why do we live in poverty? Why is there third world countries like this one? This small, stupid country of Liberia. If it wasn't for this country, Daren wouldn't have malaria, and he probably wouldn't die from it either.

Splash.

Beauty and the Disney

Once upon a time I was a perfectly happy feminine member of the royal family of some royal and perfect kingdom somewhere, living in a beautiful castle in a beautiful kingdom. I had this amazing ability to communicate and make harmony with animals--which, I might add, no one ever questioned--and my beastial friends led me to the most handsome and dreamy man in the land.

He was perfect, and ten times better looking than any other man around--literally. Seeing as I am a woman and my only ambition in life is to marry a handsome man/prince/pauper-soon-to-become-prince, I set out to marry him...despite the fact that I had never even made eye contact with him.

We met the next day by me disguising myself as a lowly peasant, and fell in love immediately.

The next DAY we were about to be married, when this really mean and evil person decided that it would be the perfect moment to hatch their evil plan to take over the kingdom. My new love was apparently an amazing swordsman, and after about ten to twenty minutes of swordplay, he triumphed with a great huzzah and boasting of his chest.

The nasty evil person was immediately sent to prison--rather than be executed realistically--but he(for women are rarely evil) will probably escape someday so that we can have a sequel and make more money despite the fact that the sequel will be twice as bad as the original.

But, for now, we'll all(me, my prince, the animals, and my aging weak father) just live happily ever after--right after I get a boob-job so that my prince will appreciate me more.

The End

Solitude

Wrote this at 2 this morning...couldn't sleep cuz I had this idea...then if just kind of flowed out onto the paper :P. Enjoy.
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Humans are indeed remarkable.

Some days all we long for is companionship, to be able to love and be loved, to communicate and to be known.

Other days we're not so sure what we want, we know we want something...but what? We cannot begin to elaborate on what it is, and neither can we give the slightest hint to its description...because we simply don't know.

And on those rare days, we simply want to be alone. Away from distractions, away from enjoyments, away from friends, and away from family.

Alone.

It was on the latter of these three types of days that I found myself perched in a massive and grotesquely knotted old oak tree which looked out onto the peaceful and flowing hayfields of my grandparent's farm. I was fourteen years old, and had recently been denied the love of my first crush.

Her name was Alexia, and she was barely a year above me in age. She always hung out with the older kids, which made it harder for me to spend time with her, so I suppose I didn't know her as well as I would have liked. One thing I did know was her beauty--and what a beauty it was indeed. She had beautiful jet-black hair, which flowed across her smooth-skinned face and down to her back. Every time she glanced my way, I caught a heavenly glimpse of her stunning grey-green eyes, and her pale red lips.

I still don't understand how any of my peers could have ever disagreed with me. Some even tried to discourage me by saying things such as, "She's out of your league" or, "She's too popular dude". These phrases of course meant nothing to me at the time, but later on I would learn to take them as a challenge.

As I sat in that beautiful oak tree overlooking that beautiful field in that beautiful moment of solitude on that beautifully peaceful day, I began to tell myself that one rejection wasn't enough. Hell, five-hundred rejections wouldn't be enough to deter me: I loved this girl and I wasn't about to let her stop me from having her. I looked out into the field once more and considered the irony of my last thought.

I then considered the quiet solitude I was enjoying so much. I imagined what it would be like with Alexia there...probably not so quiet, and probably not so peaceful either. She would gab on and on about trivial matters while I rested myself in one of the many crooks of the old oak tree, watching the sunset and not having a care in the world.

So I sat and watched the sunset from the old oak in the old field owned by my old grandparents, and still do so every day of my life. Lately I am almost always joined by a special guest: a beautiful woman by the name of Jade. She is quiet, like myself, and we often sit arm in arm watching the glorious sunset, enjoying the wonderful feeling of solitude--together.


(deleted paragraph?...wasn't sure whether or not to add this part)
For as I said, humans are remarkable and do not always know what they want: solitude or companionship. On these most troublesome of days we tend to make the best of both worlds, and simply combine the two. Slightly ironic, wouldn't you think?