Chronic Regret

This was the final assignment for my Creative Writing class, and I am more proud of this play than I am of my first one. I came up with the title based on a turn of phrase uttered by someone at a friend's party, a man who decided it was time for a "chronic intermission" one night. I will one day write a work of fiction with that title, but today there's this play.

The play opens on an empty stage with the Prophet of Repentance standing in the center facing the audience. Three of his followers sit in front of the Prophet with their backs to the audience. Two of the followers are women and one is a man. Everyone wears identical white robes.

Prophet: My children, today the Darkness comes as close to consuming us as it ever has in our trialed past. You may think the Prime Construct near destruction, but this is not so. The Interloper has been killed and the threat from the Dark Authority quelled, for the time being. The pigs still remain unenlightened to our grand Purpose, so our projects are safe from prying eyes. We must continue down the Path, fighting the oblivion of darkness, and embark on our Great Journey. Some among us speak blasphemies against the Path, but this is the result of ignorance, so I shall forgive such transgressions. The blasphemies consist of misplaced pity, the result of confusion and fear spawned by the Darkness and planted in our midst by the Interloper. I nipped the seed of discord in the bud, a necessary action to preserve our movement along the Path. Some said the Interloper should have been quarantined, but I say infections need to be inoculated against. Hence the death of the Interloper saved us from infection and his blood cleanses the Path and allows the light to shine for one more day. I sacrificed the Interloper for a greater Purpose as all animals should be used. Those who serve the Dark Authority gave up their humanity when they prostrated before the Darkness. We must continue down the Path and fulfill our goal of enlightening humanity and moving beyond the weakness of human instinct. The Interloper sought to subject us to the urges and impulses of our darker nature, the pity and fear you may feel must be discarded as evil. The Path requires us to rise above human emotion lest we fall down to our hands and knees as the Interloper had. We remain on the Path; we’re dedicated to the Truth. We will persevere.

Female Follower #1 (Sandra): What will you have us do now, Father?

Prophet: I’m sorry but I must ask you all to remain in quarantine for the next two days. We must be confidant the disease of treachery did not spread.

All Followers: As you will it Father.

The three followers leave, and the Prophet turns to the audience. He addresses the audience directly while the second female follower, Trisha, watches in secret. The Prophet speaks to the audience.

Prophet: Don’t fret my children as I carry my plan through. I fear a schism now divides my House, but you all remain by my side. With your strength and numbers the Great Journey remains possible and our position on the Path unassailable. Nonetheless we must prepare for the battle ahead. We shall be close, so please wait for my plan to come to fruition.

The Prophet leaves while Trisha pulls Sandra onto the stage. Trisha scans the audience before speaking to Sandra. The Prophet listens to the conversation in secret.

Trisha: Who is Father speaking to? He’s talking to ghosts.

Sandra: What does it matter to you? He sees what we cannot see and understands more than we can comprehend.

Trisha: What are you saying? What do you mean? He cares more about his ghosts than he does about us, his real children. We need him now more than ever, yet he locks away. Maybe he . . . maybe he’s fallen off the Path.

Sandra: Watch what you say. What is it you truly want? Do you want to follow Father on the Great Journey or not? That’s all that matters right now, especially given the Interloper.

Trisha: I want to walk the path with my two children . . .

Sandra: Father’s children

Trisha: No, my son and my daughter, the ones I gave birth to. I have them to think about, and if Father won’t help us deal with our day-to-day problems I’ll have to go out for myself.

Sandra: I don’t like where you’re going with this . . .

Trisha: I’ll go talk with Father right now. Our Family is in trouble and we need his leadership.

Sandra: Hopefully he renews your faith in him as well.

Sandra leaves Trisha standing on stage. The lights dim on Trisha and focus on the Prophet watching over the scene.

Prophet: My Children I hear the whispers of dissent growing among family members, but it’s nothing to worry about. Every family has troubles, especially after traumatic experiences, and I must carry my children along the Path until they can walk on their own. Lo, a child approaches.

Trisha walks over to the Prophet.

Trisha: Father I need to speak with you.

Prophet: Thank you for sharing your concerns with me. It warms my heart to have the trust and confidence of my children.

Trisha: Yes sir. I’m afraid . . .

Prophet: Afraid of what?

Trisha: . . . Of our future and our young one’s futures. With what happened with the Interloper, it doesn’t feel safe anymore. I’m worried and I don’t know what to do.

Prophet: My dear you focus on the wrong issues. Time on the Path means nothing, so the future should not worry you. You must let go of your attachments to this world and move beyond the emotions holding you back. Only then can you be saved. I will be holding counsel twice a day every day until this time of danger passes.

Trisha: It’s not just the future and my feelings! Food has always been hard to come by, and it’s only gotten harder. You ignore us and chase after shadowy Interlopers. We have a community . . .

Prophet: You mean the Prime Construct?

Trisha: . . . Community, Prime Construct . . . yes. The Prime Construct needs real supplies and real leadership. Please Father. . .

Prophet: Leave me.

Trisha: Please.

Prophet: Leave me!

Trisha: Yes sir.

Trisha leaves the Prophet alone on stage. Sometime later Trisha sits on a cot in her bedroom with the male follower from before guarding her.

Trisha: John, please let me go see my children.

John: Father told me to keep you here until you overcome your hysteria.

Trisha: Hysteria? You know what’s hysterical, a community committing collective suicide. Father speaks of the Path, but he’s the one who’s lost sight of it, not me. Following the Path requires a strong community of people, a community I’ve come to respect and love while Father descends into madness. He’s speaking to people who aren’t even there.

John: You sound like the Interloper . . .

Trisha: Any you know what, he was right.

John:I need to tell Father this.

John moves to leave and Trisha holds him back.

Trisha: No, you can’t! He’ll come after me and my children.

John:You should have thou . . .

Trisha grabs a candle holder and bashes John in the head. John collapses unconscious and she ties him up on the cot, leaving John alone in the room afterward. Time passes and she comes back to the room and speaks John as he stirs from his blackout.

Trisha: I’m not sure anymore, about our Father. I listened to him for so long, his word became truth. His voice comforts and resonates throughout my body and I drown in his bright blue eyes. Father’s always smiling, his words sound so beautiful, but I don’t understand what he’s saying anymore. I can’t get the words he uses or the ideas he shares because it’ so different from how things used to be. When I first came to Father everything he said just made sense. Everything changed when the Interloper joined us. The Interloper, Bobby, got close to me, and he died trying to help me and my children. I was selfish, and my selfishness cost Bobby his life, so I want to repent. Father speaks of repentance often, and I still think he’s right, right that we must work to evolve beyond our sins. I contacted the police and told them what happened to Bobby and what’s happening to us here with Father. I’ve sinned again in repentance of former transgressions. Father told me not to compound my problems, but the police can help. He calls them servants of the Darkness, but I don’t know. I need my children, and the police said they can help me take care of them. I’m not the only one with these problems. Our young ones starve in the halls and we lack the tools to properly maintain our home. The police called us crazy in the past and the Family wouldn’t agree with my actions, so I don’t know who I can trust. All I ever manage to do is sin, but something needs to change. Father tells us to move forward but I don’t know up from down and left from right. How can I go forward? I just want to help the Family and Father too. I’ll have to apologize to the Family and repent once more; I don’t think I’ve fallen from the Path yet.

John: Someone help! Someone help me! There’s another . . .

Trisha bashes John on the head again and hides his body underneath her cot, draping a blanket so he cannot be seen easily. Trisha receives a knock at her door and Trisha answers it, confronted by the Prophet.

Prophet: My dear I came to apologize for the treatment you’ve received as of late. I’ve given thought . . . where’s your brother John?

Trisha: Oh, he went to call after you, did he not arrive?

Prophet: No, do you know why he wanted to see me?

Trisha: No . . . no.

The Prophet hands Trisha a plate with food.

Prophet: I’ve thought about what you said to me, and to help my Family I’ll increase rations. I see the physical suffering of my children and they cry out in pain. I cannot have this, so I’ll find a way to satiate the needs of the Prime Construct. Walking the Path can be arduous, and a traveler without food and water is as good as lost.

Trisha: Father, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know. I didn’t know you’d come back to help us. I’m so sorry.

Prophet: That’s fine, so long as you repent all is forgiven.

Trisha:No you don’t understand I’m talking about something else. I went . . . I went and called . . .

Trisha is interrupted by someone speaking over a loudspeaker. She sits on the cot while the Prophet stands. Both listen.

Police Officer: This is the police. We have the compound surrounded. Terrance Michaels, we have a warrant for your arrest. Please surrender yourself at the front gate immediately. To the members of the Prime Construct we instruct everyone to remain calm.

Trisha: Who’s Terrance Michaels?

Prophet: Someone who died a long time ago. Why didn’t my Children warn me of this? Why do they no longer talk to me? I see them watching me, judging my every move, yet they do not speak. (He turns to the audience) I’ve been with you since the very beginning and will remain by you to the very end. What makes you silent? You guided me to this point, instructed me to lead you along the Path, and I as your mouthpiece gathered the necessary following to make the Great Journey. Tell me now Children what I should do. Tell me!

Trisha:Sir . . . it was me.

Prophet: What?

Trisha: It was me who called the police.

Prophet: Betrayed by one of my own children! Why? Why did you do this? You’ve destroyed the Prime Construct and brought the Great Journey to an end with this. My children abandon me in droves.

Trisha: I did it to save our community. I did it because the police said they could help.

Prophet: Darkness has clouded your judgment and filled your heart. (The Prophet pulls a gun out from under his robes.) With this all shall end.

Trisha: Wait don’t! Please don’t do this.

Trisha tries to run away but John grabs her leg from underneath the cot. She trips and John emerges, holding Trisha before the Prophet.

John: Father, cleanse the evils plaguing the Prime Construct as you did before. Allow us to finish the Great Journey. We all have faith in you.

Prophet: (To the audience) My Children, since you will no longer speak to me I will now leave you. Please watch over your brothers and sisters in my absence. May you stay along the Path and complete the Great Journey.

The Prophet raises the gun to his mouth and pulls the trigger. He slumps over dead while Trisha and John look on in horror. The sound of the gun causes the police to storm the compound, so the sound of doors broken open and charging feet fills the little bedroom as the two wait for the end.

Purple Prose

In the second-to-last Creative Writing class, we received an assignment to write a short piece of purple prose. In other words, everyone had to do their best to write the worst possible piece of fiction in fifteen minutes. This is the result, though I can't say I failed as I was supposed to.

The lawyer sat haltingly with wondrous amazement at his client, some nouveau riche playboy coming out of the sun of silicon valley and up to the wide plains of Canada. This woman's man once lived the life of a nerd, compiling code in his mother's basement, but now he wined and dined with royalty. The lawyer met this pasty man at a party while hob-nobbing with Canada's greatest enjoying a bit o' bubbly, and the law professional offered to defend his honor, land, and property with every ounce of his soul or until the check bounced like a beach ball. The programmer's heart sunk, a bowling ball in a lake until he could no longer feel his face. This code monkey's wife wanted everything and the Sultan of Silicon hoped to burn his wife hard in divorce, leaving her with nothing even if it destroyed all he built in the process.

Outside (Formerly Derby Harbor)

I've revised Derby Harbor and changed the name of the story. Along with the name change I cut down on useless side-plots in an attempt to tighten the story up. I think it's an overall improvement, and I may get time to make one more revision before the end of the semester.

I found living in Derby Harbor difficult. The surrounding mountains isolate the town from the rest of the world and force everyone to hug the sea. It felt like letting go of the ocean meant certain death, and I suppose it did, at least for the crab fishermen. There were times I thought I lived at the top of one of those white peaks nearby despite being at sea level, the air was so thin. It made it hard to breathe, and every gulp of air I made took effort.

I worked at the local grocery store, which was a job I liked, and I’ll look back on it as a positive time in my life always. It could be hard to deal with the customers on occasion, but I did my best for our small store. My troubles in Derby Harbor began at work in the late winter, early spring of my senior year of high school. Usually that’s my favorite time of the year because a brisk wind blows in off the North Pacific, which made it easier for me to breathe. For most people the wind and cold forced them into their living rooms to huddle for warmth, but I could never live without the cold.

I can point to the day everything fell down, the day I understood I needed to get out of Derby Harbor. It was after school and I was at work shelving dairy overstock and keeping on top of sales items. While I worked the dairy case a couple of customers came down my aisle, a father and daughter each dressed up with the father in a tux that didn’t quite fit and the daughter in a simple black dress. The father staggered around as his daughter did her best to keep him walking straight; they looked as though they came from the wake next door.

The daughter recognized me, we being in the same class, and she greeted me with excitement, putting a weird stress on the beginning of my name, saying I . . . saac. I cringed every time she called my name. This girl, Natalie, asked if we had any flowers, and her father protested, suggesting to his daughter Natalie they buy a gallon of milk instead. Natalie pleaded with her father to wait for his milk because they needed the flowers as a gift and they didn’t have enough money to buy both. He wouldn’t be swayed. She went off to grab the flowers before it was too late and left her father with me, begging me to help police the man.

Talking to Natalie made me uncomfortable. She always smiled in my presence and occasionally batted her eyes. She had an unhealthy interest in me, I think, and I just wanted to get away from her and her father and back to work. No such luck for me as the father leaned in and spoke with whiskey on his breath, “You better let me have my milk, if you don’t I’ll get you fired.”

I responded, “Sir, if you get me fired, that’s fine. I’ll just wait for you outside and gut you.”

The man stood back and laughed, “Heh, I like you kid.”

He grabbed a gallon of milk and staggered up front to make his purchase, brushing my shoulder as he passed. I didn’t move to stop him. Natalie came around the corner and down the aisle in search of her father, but he was no longer here. She had a bouquet of flowers with her and asked me where her father went, so I told her the truth. She gave me a pitiful look that I’ll never forget, and something must have overcome me because I pulled out my wallet and gave her the money for the flowers. She didn’t know how to react and stood dumbfounded. I forced the money into her hands.

She started to cry and told me, “Thank you Isaac, I’ll pay you back.”

I waved her off, “Don’t worry about it. You shouldn’t let your father push you around Natalie.”

Then and there I made my first mistake when I asked, “What’re you all dressed up for?”

Natalie brightened at my question, “Oh, we’re coming back from a wake. It’s for a friend of my father’s, a crab fisherman from his boat, died. I’ve had to get my father together, so I’ve been busy, but I’m free tonight if you want to . . . get dinner or something.”

We stood there for a moment, each looking at the other. I never answered her, but instead stuttered, taken off guard. I just wanted to get back to work and have the rest of the day prove uneventful.

As the moment when I had to speak came my boss walked up and said to me, “Isaac, I need you to do something very important. Mrs. Ostermann came in a few hours ago and well . . . she never left. She’s very confused and I need you to take her home. You can go home afterward.”

I didn’t object to my boss’s request, but I looked at Natalie to see her reaction. She gave me a dejected smile and told me to go along and help, keeping hope alive by suggesting we go out another day. Happy to have escaped Natalie for the moment, I went to the aisle Old Lady Mrs. Ostermann happened to be stalking at the moment and brought her out of the store. The sun had set and the dark heralded a cold that penetrates to the bone no matter how warm the clothes one wears.

I walked Mrs. Ostermann to her home, which is a mile in the opposite direction from mine. It sucked that no one at work had a car, not even my boss, but this is one of the drawbacks of living is such a small, insular town. When she started shivering I gave her my jacket and I kept her from tripping and possibly breaking a hip. She spoke about her daughter the entire way; it was a long walk.

Near her home Mrs. Ostermann asked me if I knew her daughter. I told her I did and that she comes by the store once a week to give us a grocery list for her mother. I informed Mrs. Ostermann she didn’t even need to come to the store.

Mrs. Ostermann grabbed my arm on hearing what I said and shook, “You know my daughter? I’ve looked for her all day. She didn’t come home from school today and I’m worried. She’s supposed to come straight home from school, have you seen her?”

I answered, “Ma’am, your daughter is forty-two years old.”

She stopped moving, “Oh . . . do you know when school lets out, I need to be home for her when she arrives.”

I gave up speaking to her because she was too far gone to be saved. I hoped the old woman would die soon and spare everyone a lot of trouble, but I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind. It's not good to think that way. I pulled her to her house, she lived with her daughter, but no one was home. I grew upset at finding the doors all locked and no spare key hiding anywhere outside. Taking Mrs. Ostermann home might be worse than if I’d gone out with Natalie. Why didn’t I want to go with her? She seems nice, but something about her . . . her smile and the way she says my name, each innocent enough, but the whole package creeps me out. Regardless, I got stuck with the old woman and had to deal with Mrs. Ostermann then and there.

No one wants the responsibilities of taking care of Old Lady Ostermann not even her own daughter, so I’m left with it. What makes people think I want all this responsibility? People disgust me. I did the only thing I could think to do; I broke one of the windows in the door and unlocked it from the inside. I led Mrs. Ostermann into her home, taped up the broken window and with my job done I left for home.

I forgot about that night and got on with my life, and went to work the next day, Saturday, as I usually did. The day passed and I found myself checking the dairy case around six in the evening when my boss approached, told me I’m done with work for the day. Stunned, I asked him why.

He said, “You have a date tonight with that Natalie girl, right? She asked me to let you off of work early and I told her I would. That girl needs a good man in her life Isaac.”

I punched out and left the store. I’d been outmaneuvered and left in check without realizing I was playing a game in the first place. Chris walked up from behind me with his girlfriend Katie in tow and they pulled me along without as much as a word, bringing me to our local seafood restaurant. They told me it was a double date, the two of them with Natalie and me. I was captured and defeated before I could put up a fight, this was my second mistake. It’s a nice place and Natalie stood well-dressed outside, smiling on seeing us arrive.

A waiter sat us and we ordered our food. Natalie got the surf-and-turf, which I expected I’d be paying for, so I distracted myself by trading some war stories, tales on weird and unruly customers with Chris. As I talked with Chris, Natalie coughed and placed her hand on mine. I ate quickly in vain hopes to escape, but this left me waiting for the others with nothing to do but sit and speak to Natalie. I should have left the restaurant and Natalie then and there, but I didn’t. I felt responsible to Chris and Katie, and even to Natalie. Natalie had to pull teeth to get me talking, but she took perverse pleasure in the job. She grew confidant and sat comfortably in the position of power, no longer the servant. I chaffed under her unbending will.

We finished our meals and exited the restaurant, my wallet much too light for my tastes. I felt the night would go on forever, and I needed to get away from Natalie before I got beyond the point of no return. Hopeless, I tried thinking about work, school, or anything far away from that restaurant when our town cop, Officer Bob showed up. He didn’t bother to look up from his clip board as he said, “Isaac, I was told you’d be here and came down to ask if you’d come to the station with me.”

Everyone, myself included, stared at Officer Bob. Nobody said anything. I nodded in assent and went along without a fight, free for now. I don’t remember much because I’ve tried to forget that time, but I ended up down at the station alone. I do remember the looks on everyone’s faces, the incredulity in Chris’s eyes, but I remember Natalie most of all. She looked past me and into the ocean behind the restaurant.

I spent the next fourteen hours in the station, and most of it I spent in one of the holding cells. They asked me to talk, but I never said a word. I couldn’t talk as I was too choked up with anger because I hadn’t been charged with any crime. It definitely wasn’t worth getting away from Natalie for the circus show at the police station. The next morning Officer Bob came in and let me out.

He said, “I brought you in over the incident at the Ostermann household, but her daughter isn’t pressing charges as nothing was stolen, so you’re free to go for now.”

That was the end of my sojourn at the police station, so all that was left was for me to walk home. People turned and watched as I passed by and gave me a wide berth when I neared. Having lost the collective trust of my fellow townsfolk, life in Derby Harbor became brutal. People I once considered friends no longer talked to me and customers, at best complained about my presence at work and at worst demanded I get fired. The only person who still hung out with me was Chris because he was the only one who understood. He wasn’t enough to help me though, so I planned to disappear at the end of the summer, hoping escape would be relief.

Towards the end of the school year, I wished I could just stay home until summer came. The looks people gave me, I’ll never forget. Their cold stares went past me or through me as though I wasn’t there. Teaches got tough on me as if they expected trouble out of me at any moment, but I never gave them any. Natalie didn’t show up to school anymore, and it’d been a week since anyone saw her. People started to talk, saying I did something to her. I didn’t appreciate the attacks, but I held myself back from retaliation, the last thing I needed was more trouble with people. The principal called me to his office, so there I stood in front of his steel desk in the simple room the school provided him.

Master P, as the student body took to calling the principal, started by asking me to sit down. I refused. He went straight to business, “Isaac, you’re dating Natalie right? Do you know why she hasn’t been coming to school as of late?”

“I don’t know sir, but I can go check.”

The principal told me to get back to him before long, and I walked out of the office, leaning on a nearby wall. What gave Master P the idea that Natalie and I were dating? We’d gone out once to the restaurant, but that’s it. Are other students telling him this? Teachers? Nobody talks to me anymore so I just don’t know.

I showed up outside Natalie’s home Wednesday after school since I didn’t have to work that day. What a way to spend my day off. I knocked on the door and got a meek yes in return. I announced myself.

Natalie answered the door, “Isaac what are you doing here?”

Natalie was a mess. Her hair stood up on end, disheveled and her clothes were dirty and wrinkled. I said, “You haven’t been to school the last couple of days, so everyone’s worried. Is your father home?”

Natalie sobbed, “No he isn’t. I just don’t know what to do. Could you stay Isaac, for just a few minutes?”

I agreed to though I didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to find out what might happen to Natalie if I left. I’d be held responsible. The situation didn’t make sense to me at first because I was under the impression she took care of her father, so why couldn’t she take care of herself with her father gone? I shouldn’t be too hard on her though. A man like her father should be able to take care of himself, but instead he tied himself to his daughter. I stepped inside her home only to find squalor. It isn’t possible for humans to live in such a state of decay in which I found that house.

I asked Natalie where her father was and she responded, “He’s in Fairbanks for a few weeks. My aunt is sick.”

I couldn’t stand the house or its mess, but I couldn’t leave Natalie alone as things were, so I stayed and told her I’d help out if only for my own piece of mind. She was ecstatic and stuck herself to me for every moment I spent in her house. I cleaned and even cooked everyday after school, work, and the bulk of the weekend. It took the better part of a week to make that house livable by mopping, scrubbing, and sweeping every room. The cleaning gave me something to focus on besides my disgust. Natalie spent the time either bouncing around getting in the way or nagging me to do some other chore while complaining about what I was doing at the time. She was like a poorly trained dog that tears up the furniture when the owner goes on vacation.

I was glad when Natalie’s father returned and I no longer had to be around that house. Disaster had been diverted and she came to school once more. Natalie took every opportunity to eat lunch with me or spend time with me, which made my situation difficult. Despite my general loneliness, I did my best to remain aloof of her hoping the time I spent with her didn’t give her wrong ideas, especially about us.

Graduation came and went, and I finished fourth in my class which is better than most, and I’m happy with that. Summer made life for me much harder when Chris quit the grocery store in preparation for work on his father’s crabbing boat in November. Chris was the one guy who understood me, and he was the only friend to stick by me when everyone else abandoned me. Hoping to forestall his departure, I told him it was early in the year for leaving. Chris said in response to my worries, “Don’t get worked up Isaac. We've been friends too long for me to give up on you.”

“You're right; we've been friends for too long. I’m leaving this town, it’s too tough for me to get by when everyone either acts like I don’t exist or is out to get me, even with you around. I’m leaving for Paris Island at the end of August; this is the only way for me to escape, to be happy.”

“You’re going to France?”

“No, I’m joining the Marines.”

“But they’ll send you to Iraq.”

“Probably”

Chris stepped back, “What? No, you can get a job with my father on the ship. People might be tough on you now, but if you keep your head low and work hard they’ll forget about what happened with Mrs. Ostermann, and what about Natalie?”

Natalie, as if on cue when Chris mentioned her name entered the store and came down our aisle stopping next to us. She greeted us both with her usual smile.

I started, “Natalie I . . .”

She interrupted, “Isaac, I want to talk with you, will you walk me home?”

Taken aback I said, “S . . . sure.”

That was my third and final mistake, going back to Natalie’s home. Chris gave me thumbs up as I walked away with Natalie. She swung a gallon of milk in one hand and with the other grasped one of my arms and wouldn’t let go for anything.

Squeezing my hand she said, “I’m sorry about not talking to you for the last few days, but I needed to think. Isaac, you’re a good person and you try to do the right thing. You’re not a violent person.”

“You’re wrong Natalie, I am a violent person.”

She squeezed harder, “No you’re not, I won’t let you get violent, okay?”

Natalie smile sent a chill up my spine, and we found ourselves standing outside her front door. She ushered me in without a wasting a moment and closed the door behind her. Her house, the living room, kitchen, everything was squalor once more. All the work I did, gone. Amid the mess her father slept on the couch dressed in boxers and a wife beater. It was hard to walk around.

Natalie jumped into the kitchen from the hall and said to me, “Just let me put the milk away and then we can go upstairs where it’s clean. Sorry for the mess, I do my best but it’s so hard with my father out of work.”

She came back and pulled me upstairs into her room, where it was clean as she said. At least some of my work survived the cyclone that is her father. She sat on the bed and motioned for me to join her, but I chose to stand. Natalie started to cry and having never seen her cry before I didn’t know what to do.

She said, “I can’t go on like this anymore Isaac, it’s just too hard. I need help.”

“Uh, what do you need?”

She came to me and grabbed my arm, “I need you Isaac.”

The look she gave me pierced down into the base of my brain stopping my heart. I said, “Natalie, I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

“Please Isaac, don’t leave me alone.”

A knock on her door interrupted us, salvation. Natalie let go and started to shake. She called out and her father responded by breaking her door in. With a loud crack the lock broke open and the door swung against the wall. The smell of whisky followed him in and he proceeded to push all of her belongings on the dresser onto the floor. He threw books about and Natalie cried, her sobs grew frantic when she asked her father what was wrong.

He answered, “Natalie, I should kill you for this; I can’t believe you’d betray your own father like this. And you Isaac, what gives you the right to come into my home and take what isn’t yours?”

I remained calm, “And what sir, did I take?”

He got right into my face, spitting, “You know very well what. Where is it? WHERE’S MY MILK!”

For a moment I couldn’t speak, all I could do was laugh. The father stood dumbfounded and Natalie managed a couple weak chuckles in-between sobs. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life, and once it hurt too much to continue I said to her father, “Well did you check the fridge?”

He answered, “No.”

I continued, “Then I suggest you go do that now.”

I couldn’t bear to look at Natalie after my show, so I walked to the door and said with my back to her, “I’m sorry Natalie, I should go.” The last thing I heard in that house was her crying.

Now here I am one week later on a plane that’ll take me to Fairbanks and from there to the “Outside” and freedom. No more mistakes, no more misplaced responsibility; I’ll just disappear. It’s getting cool as winter starts early here. I couldn’t bring myself to speak to Natalie again, so I wrote her a letter. I told her I was sorry for laughing as I did and I won’t be there for her, but told her to move on and forget me like everyone else would. I won’t be coming back.

Monologue - Our Better Natures

I had to write a second monologue for my creative writing class, but this time the character had to be someone who did something most would consider good yet still regretted the decision they made. I chose to have this monologue exist in the same universe as the first one, except this time the character speaking is one of the cult members rather than the leader. I don't think it's as good as the first, but it's alright.

Trisha: I’m not sure anymore, about our Father. I listened to him for so long, his word became truth. His voice comforts and resonates throughout my body and I drown in his bright blue eyes. Father’s always smiling, his words sound so beautiful, but I don’t understand what he’s saying anymore. I can’t get the words he uses or the ideas he shares because it’ so different from how things used to be. When I first came to Father everything he said just made sense.

Everything changed when the Interloper joined us. The Interloper, Bobby, joined to get close to me, and he died because of me. I was selfish, and my selfishness cost Bobby his life, so I wanted to repent. Father speaks of repentance often, and I still think he’s right, right that we must work to evolve beyond our sins. I contacted the police and told them what happened to Bobby and what’s happening to us here with Father. I’ve sinned again in repentance of former transgressions.

Father told me not to compound my problems, but the police can help. He calls them servants of the Darkness, but I don’t know. I miss my old family, and the police said they can bring me back to them. I’m not the only one who misses their old family. The police call us crazy and my new family wouldn’t agree with my actions, so I don’t know who I can trust. All I ever manage to do is sin, but something needs to change. Father tells us to move forward but I don’t know up from down and left from right. How can I go forward? I just want to help the Family and Father too. I’ll have to apologize to the Family and repent once more; I don’t think I’ve fallen from the Path yet.

Monologue - Chronic Regret

One of my writing assignments required the creation of a monologue from the perspective of a villain or antagonist in our next play. I decided to write from the perspective of a cult leader known as the Prophet of Repentance. Here it goes.

Prophet of Repentance: My children, today the Darkness comes as close to consuming us as it ever has in our trialed past. You may think the Prime Construct near destruction, but this is not so. The Interloper has been killed and the threat from the Dark Authority quelled, for the time being. The pigs still remain unenlightened to our grand Purpose, so our projects are safe from prying eyes. We must continue down the Path, fighting the oblivion of darkness, and embark on our Great Journey.

Some among us speak blasphemies against the Path, but this is the result of ignorance so I shall forgive such transgressions. The blasphemies consist of misplaced pity, the result of confusion and fear spawned by the Darkness and planted in our midst by the Interloper. I nipped the seed of discord in the bud, a necessary action to preserve our movement along the Path. Some said the Interloper should have been quarantined, but I say infections need to be inoculated against. Hence the death of the Interloper saved us from infection and his blood cleanses the Path and allows the light to shine for one more day.

I sacrificed the Interloper for a greater Purpose as all animals should be used. Those who serve the Dark Authority gave up their humanity when they prostrated before the Darkness. We must continue down the Path and fulfill our goal of enlightening humanity and moving beyond the weakness of human instinct. The Interloper sought to subject us to the urges and impulses of our darker nature, the pity and fear you may feel must be discarded as evil. The Path requires us to rise above human emotion lest we fall down to our hands and knees as the Interloper had. We remain on the Path; we’re dedicated to the Truth. We will persevere.

Queen Bitch

When I posted earlier I said I was going to write my play using Modest Mouse's song "Float On" as inspiration, but instead I used "Queen Bitch" David Bowie. I really phoned this one in.

Two people are in a cheap hotel room late at night. The first is a man named Lou and the second is a transvestite prostitute that goes by the name Sister Flo.

Lou: What am I . . . what am I doin’ here?

Sister Flo: I ain’t gettin’ paid to answer questions. So dear, what’ll it be?

Lou: Can you just, just give me a minute?

Sister Flo: It’s your money hun.

Lou: I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go through with it. I’m outta here.

Sister Flo: Woah, woah there buddy, you gotta pay me first. My time’s valuable you know. I don’t cheat my customers and I give them what I pay for, but you gotta pay me.

Lou: Pay you? But we haven’t done a goddamned thing. Look, just look . . . I don’t know. What am I doin’? What am I . . .?

Sister Flo: I ain’t getting’ paid to wax philosophic with you, but if it’s waxin’ you’re lookin’ for . . .

Lou: Look, I’m not sure I want to be here doin’ . . . this.

Sister Flo: And I’m not sure I’m getting’ paid.

Lou: Will you shut up about money, I’m tryin’ to think.

Sister Flo: Nobody tells me to shut up. You better adjust your attitude hon before I come down on you, hard. You don’t want that, do you?

Lou: I don’t know what I want . . .

Sister Flo: Well I know what a man wants . . .

Lou: Get away! Get away from me. Get outta here.

Sister Flo: No I ain’t leaving. I didn’t get . . .

Lou: Your money. I know. You know what; yeah I’ll give you your money. I’ll go through with this. Here’s twenty bucks. (Lou hands Sister Flo a twenty.) Now what?

Sister Flo: (Sister Flo pockets the cash.) I dunno, what d’you want?

Lou: I don’t know this . . .

Sister Flo: what?

Lou: This is my first . . .

Sister Flo: Your first time? I could tell.

Lou: Let’s get on with it.

Sister Flo: Get on with what?

Lou: What? With it

Sister Flo: It? Oh, it costs money.

Lou: I paid you.

Sister Flo: Yeah, for the time you spent thinkin’.

Lou: That’s bullshit.

Sister Flo: Nah honey, that’s the goin’ rate for someone classy like me.

Lou: I paid my money, let’s go.

Sister Flo: What’d ya take me for, some dime store hooker? This here is the best there is.

Lou: The best? You’re just some trash off the street.

Sister Flo: Off the street? Off the street! Let me . . . let me tell you somethin’ sweetheart, you’re nothin’. Nothin’. You’re just some chump with a nine to five job sittin’ in some rottin’ away as your wife cheats on you and your children hate you for never being home. You live the life of some caged animal on display for everyone to point and laugh at.

Hon, I’m free. I’m a wild animal and I won’t be brought down by you. I live my life how I want and I’m happy. I choose the men I sleep with, they don’t choose me. And you know what, I chose you. I chose you because you remind me of myself; back when I was a caged animal, back when I lived in a suit and tie.

You see, I want you to be free. I want you to open up and be free. I want to help you, but I gotta make a living. Its tough doin’ what you love, but I get up and do it every day. I’m here for you, but if you want to go back to your sad, little life that’s okay with me.

Lou: Oh fuck you. Go to hell. Who do you think you are? You think you’re helpin’ me? What a crock of. . . Never mind, never mind. What was I thinkin’? I don’t belong here. You think you know who I am? You don’t. You don’t know shit. I don’t have a family; I don’t have a wife or kids.

You on the other hand, are scum. You prey the streets lookin’ for chumps like me, and I was stupid enough to follow you. I needed to know who I was, and you were the way to my answer. You are a wild animal, one not worth the air you’re breathing. Someone should put you down for everyone’s good.

I should have gone with someone else. I can do better than you, you disgusting pig. You’re just a sad excuse for a human being, just some man playing dress up. Just a man. I could do better than you.

Sister Flo: Oh! Oh really? A man. How dare you.

Sister Flo starts a tussle with Lou and Lou throws Sister Flo to the ground. Lou gathers Sister Flo’s stuff up around the room.

Sister Flo: What’re you doin’?

Lou: Throwing you out.

Sister Flo: What what what!

Lou: You heard me, get the hell out!

Sister Flo: No!

Sister Flo attempts to take his/her stuff back. Lou tries to push his way to the door. The both of them tussle once again. Sister Flo gets the stuff back but staggers backwards.

Sister Flo: I ain’t going back out on the street. You’re not kicking me out.

Lou: Well I ain’t payin’ for you to stay here.

Sister Flo: I ain’t sleepin’ outside.

Lou: You ain’t sleepin’ here. You can go sleep in hell for all I care, but you can’t sleep here.

Sister Flo: Fuck you.

Lou: Screw you.

Sister Flo lies down on the bed and pulls the covers up.

Lou: Get out of the bed.

Sister Flo: You can’t get rid of me.

Lou: You know what, fine. I’ll let you stay. Sleep in the bed, I don’t care anymore. You can do whatever you want. You deserve it all.

Lou climbs into the bed and lies next to Sister Flo.

Sister Flo: What the hell are you doin’?

Lou: It’s my room and my bed. I paid for it, so I’m sleeping in it.

Sister Flo: Get out.

Lou: Make me.

Sister Flo: Alright, this is stupid.

Lou: At least we can agree on that.

Sister Flo: Good, now stop being stupid and get out of the bed.

Lou: Screw you.

Sister Flo: Humph, good night then. (Sister Flo rolls away from Lou.)

Lou: Good night.

The next morning the two of them wake up together and get out of bed. Still in the room, Sister Flo prances around while Lou tries to straighten his wrinkled clothes.

Lou: I’m leaving.

Sister Flo: Fine, where’s my money?

Lou: What . . . are you serious? You’re really serious?

Sister Flo: Do I look like I’m joking?

Lou: You aren’t getting a dime.

Sister Flo: Then I’ll drop a dime on you.

Lou: Yeah right, where’ll that get you?

Sister Flo: It’ll get me my money.

Lou: You won’t do it.

Sister Flo exits the room and comes back a few moments later.

Sister Flo: I just called the cops on your ass. I’ll testify against you and you’ll go to jail, that is if you don’t give me my money.

Lou: What? You actually called the cops? What the hell are you thinkin’? They’ll arrest you too!

Sister Flo: I haven’t done anything wrong. I ain’t the one tryin’ to rob a workin’ girl.

Lou: You’re a prostitute! A male prostitute!

Sister Flo: You ain’t getting’ outta this without giving up my money.

Lou: Screw you, I’m getting away.

Lou attempts to leave but gets accosted by Sister Flo. The two wrestle on the floor when there’s a knock at the door.

Officer: Police, open up.

Lou: Shit.

Sister Flo jumps over to the door and throws it open.

Sister Flo: Thank you for coming so quickly officer. This man here (pointing to Lou) refuses to relinquish the money he owes. I’d like for you to take him away.

Officer: And who might you be . . . ma’am?

Lou: Oh for God sakes officer she’s a he.

Sister Flo: Why don’t you shut up!

Officer: Alright, what’s really going on here?

Lou: Sir, this person (pointing to Sister Flo) is a prostitute.

Sister Flo: And you’re a crook.

Officer: Alright . . . you’re both coming with me.

Sister Flo: What, I haven’t done anything. I don’t have to go with you.

Officer: I just need you to come down with me to the station for interrogation. You haven’t been charged with anything, yet.

Sister Flo: (To Lou) You bastard, making me the scapegoat. I’ll kill you!

Sister Flo assaults Lou and the officer gets involved, holding Sister Flo back. The officer tries unsuccessfully to restrain Sister Flo. Sister Flo runs around the room and exits quickly.

Officer: Hey you wait! (To Lou) you wait here. (The officer picks up his walkie talkie.) Officer 23 here, I’m at the hotel on Redding Avenue . . . number 56. I have a suspect on the run. Uh . . . white male? Yeah white male, about 6’2’’ and dressed in drag, a red dress. Blonde hair, I believe a wig and wanted for assault. Over

The officer takes chase after Sister Flo, leaving Lou alone. Lou collects his stuff, waits a few moments and exits the room.

Happy Holidays (Revised Revision)

I don't update my blog as much as I'd like, but that doesn't mean I don't write. I've written a couple of new stories, but they are far from "done". Even the stories posted here are works in progress. I also keep going back to my old stories and rewriting them, so that takes a lot of time that could otherwise be spent writing new stories.

Regardless, I feel like my stories improve with continued work. I've revised "Happy Holidays" once again. This is the third iteration on the blog and the fifth overall. The story's getting better.

Some time ago a little girl sat in the corner of her living room hiding. The blinds were drawn and a fire burned in the hearth while the warm, dry air cut into the girl’s skin. A young boy sat, dressed in blue one-piece pajamas among a sea of toys under a plastic tree. Christmas lights draped on the tree still flickered with life while the boy chirped and threw his toys about, his little body almost buried among them. The father sat in his recliner by the fire reading a newspaper. He looked at both of his children, smiled and arose. Putting his paper down on the coffee table, he left the room.

As he walked, he waved to his daughter and told her, “Cassandra, look after your brother. I’ll be right back.”

Cassandra didn’t acknowledge him and continued to sit still and quiet. She watched her father’s smile as darkness filled his eyes and rolled down his face; it oozed out of the sides of his mouth. A cold sweat dampened her clothes, so she shivered.

Once he left she whispered, “He hates me.”

The little boy played, and took notice of his sister. He picked himself up, waddled over to her corner, and stood pigeon-toed in front of her.

The boy barked at his sister, “Play!”

She didn’t respond. She refused to look at him. He meowed, “Play.”

Cassandra shot a sideways glance at her brother and said, “No Elliot, leave me alone.”

Her gaze sent a shiver up the little boy’s spine so he turned and said, “No fun.”

The boy sauntered back to his nest of toys under the tree, and taking up a model car he ran it along the carpet. The boy smiled. He chucked the car and nailed his sister in the head. She growled as he cackled.

Studying him out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blue furred hyena with a wild tuft of hair on its head laughing at her and bearing its fangs. It tossed another car her way, all the while laughing and dancing in the middle of the room. The creature’s movements blurred, melding with the surrounding room. Cassandra’s heartbeat picked up pace and the animal danced in step, speeding up with the thumping in her chest. Jumping up and down and side to side, the hyena’s sinusoidal movements formed a curious foxtrot, making Cassandra’s head spin and her stomach retch.

Soon the animal circled around its sister with hunger in its eyes with drool flopping from its mouth. She prayed it would call off its attack hoping it would go away, but instead the hyena smiled as it drew closer and lunged. She gave it a quick look; her hollow eyes pierced its soul. Cassandra made a pass at the menace and shoved him once, forcing the animal backwards as it lost balance. It smashed its head on the coffee table on its way down. The animal found it hard to move, its joints froze and the boy’s body hardened up resembling stone. Its body fell forward following the blow from the table and hit the ground with a heavy thud. The drool turned to foam as its body morphed to stone while Cassandra stood and kneeled by her brother.

She whispered, “I don’t like you.”

She got up straight and surveyed the room. The fire heated up and the warm, tan room melted away. The paint on the walls flowed down onto the floor; the plastic tree rendered a green-brown puddle along with all of the furniture. The room disappeared down a drain in the center of the floor while only concrete remained.

It was hot. Cassandra removed her green and red sweater, throwing it to the ground. As her sweater went down the drain, it chased after the room gone before it. With a burst, the window broke open and a cold wind swept the room sucking the fire back out the window. Cassandra sat huddled and shivering.

Footsteps approached, and each drop echoed in Cassandra’s ears, rattling her brain. Cassandra looked for an escape, looking towards the two open doors on either side of the room. The sound of footsteps came from the door in front of her, so she turned and went out the other way. Leaned up against the cold concrete Cassandra pushed along as the lights bore down on her. She shielded her eyes but the hall twisted and turned, forcing her to sway with the motions, in an attempt to keep balance.

A flood of light gave way to another concrete room with a steel table and three chairs decorating the area. A plate of eggs waited in front of one of the seats, so Cassandra took the seat and chewed on the meal. It was cold and the food tasted off. A dark window watched over the room which Cassandra avoided looking at it best she could because someone on the other side watched her and studied her. She glanced once to see who and saw a girl looking back, a prisoner in the mirror. She had red hair tied back in ponytails and sat at a table similar to her own, and she turned away as she herself did. Cassandra then ate slowly.

The footsteps returned, prompting Cassandra to spin in her chair to see down the hall from where she came, but there was no time to escape. A black stream entered the room and pooled on the floor under the table, forcing Cassandra to lift her feet onto her chair. From the door, a dark form took shape, its claws dug into the door frame and its face blood red as fire danced in its eyes. The demon entered the room and rounded the table, dominating the area and towering over Cassandra. Its eyes bled while it coddled something in its hands.

Cassandra trembled, “W . . . who are you? I don’t wanna be here. I’m afraid. ”

The demon responded, pulling at his daughter, “What do you mean? I’m your father, what’s wrong with you? Cassandra you’re at home. There’s nothing to be afraid of. We have to go to the hospital, come on.”

Cassandra asked, “Why are you holding that fuzzy rock?”

The demon paused, his hand shaking as Cassandra held it as he said, “Cassandra we’re leaving, now.”

Cassandra said, “I don’t wanna go. Why do I have to go?”

The demon sobbed, “You need help and I can’t give it to you and your brother needs help soon or he’ll be in real trouble. We’re going to the doctors and you don’t have any say in it.”

Cassandra responded, “No, I’m not going.”

The demon told Cassandra she’s going back to see the doctors once more and tightened its grip on its daughter. Cassandra’s heart sunk. She said after she shot forward in her chair, “No Dad, no! Anywhere but there, don’t take me back to the doctors. It’s cold there. I’ll be good.”

The demon shook and yelled, “That’s not the issue here Cassandra! For the last time, you’re going back because you need help.”

It paused for a moment, “Those doctors said the medicine I’ve been giving you would be enough to keep you thinking straight. I thought it was a load of bull, so I stopped giving it to you. That was a mistake.”

Cassandra wrapped her arms around the chair, “No . . . I’m not going.”

The dark pool around the chair turned red. Cassandra looked up to see the demon in flames as it lunged at her. She put her arms up in defense but the demon grabbed her by one arm and yanked her out of her seat. She tumbled onto the floor, but got back to her feet as the dark figure dragged her along, its fingers digging into her arm and its touch searing her skin.

Pulled through the hall, Cassandra’s feet dragged along the floor as the concrete walls closed in around her. Her breathing quickened. The demon, fuzzy stone in one hand and girl in the other stopped before the front door which had a small window set far above Cassandra’s line of sight, but she saw the crimson sun spilling out of the sky into the hall. The demon rooted about itself with its free hand, searching. It shoved its daughter out of the way and opened a closet next to the front door pulling out a kiddy carrier and strapping its son into the seat.

The demon said, “I can’t find the car keys, I need to look for them. Stay right here, got it?”

She sat down against the wall and pouted. Tears welled in her eyes.

As the demon went away to retrieve its keys, it coughed and told her what the doctors told him of her condition. He told his daughter she was a danger to her self and others and said she’d be best served under care in the hospital. The doctors knew better how to handle such a problem as Cassandra.

Cassandra asked why and the demon said, “Cassandra, you don’t understand right now, you don’t understand what you need, what’s best for you. I’m helping you, and I’m helping your brother by taking you both to the hospital.”

Cassandra cried; her sobs carried along the hall, not knowing what else to do Cassandra turned to her brother, comatose in his safety seat, and ran her fingers through his tuft of hair while apologizing to him. The demon stopped and turned around to face its daughter; it said, “Don’t you dare touch him! Keep to yourself or so help me God I’ll . . .”

She whimpered; her father marched down the hall and said, “I’m sorry, but you’re going. I’m sorry.”

Cassandra said back, “Dad, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The father reached the exit to the kitchen; he said, “Fine.”

Returning with the keys, the demon took the child carrier in one hand while picking up his daughter and tossing her over his shoulder with the other all in one fluid motion. He opened the door and carried Cassandra kicking and screaming into the cold.