Category: Writing

Yesterday

It was yesterday. It was always yesterday. Nothing ever changed. No matter how many days came between them, it was always yesterday that everything happened. Eternally yesterday.

He slid his hand over his face, trying to wipe away the sleep. His hand came across the coarseness of his chin. “I should shave,” he thought. A knee jerk reaction to a totally innocent gesture. But there was no need to shave, was there? Not anymore.

He stared at the ceiling wondering how long he could stay in bed. He wanted to count the ceiling tiles and then fall back asleep but thought better of it. He had his fill of nightmares last night and needed to create new memories to block out the old.

He sat up and looked around the sparse room, as he did every time he woke, looking over all the ancillary objects with an experienced eye. Yes, a crack in the vase, and there – streaks on the window glass. These flaws were telltale signs that he was back in the real world, outside of the dream one in which he seemed to spend most of his time. It was in the useless, random details that he found solace. The silly, extemporaneous details that the computer would always leave out. They communicated a sense of firmness, of being grounded, in the present and in control, outside of any other world or time in which they wanted him to be.

He walked slowly to the bathroom to begin his waking ritual. He still took a shower whenever he could. His body might not be real, but he enjoyed the feeling of showering. It was like meditation before the day. It made him feel almost human again.

There was no need for food, so there was no breakfast. Sometimes he missed the smell of bacon in the morning so much he would start to drool – not a recommended activity according to the owners manual. No bacon, no coffee, no dry crusty toast. Hell, he’d even settle for moldy toast at this point but solid food was the trade off for the Kraftpack. He thought at the time that he wouldn’t miss eating. All the inconvenience of it, not to mention the waste elimination and then disposal. He felt sure that it was only one less thing to worry about. Besides, the Kraftpack provided him with a balanced nutritional intake throughout the day, along with regular inoculations and steroids to help fight off any errant infection. He was much healthier with the pack. But he still missed the bacon.

 

 

 

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The phone rang and she looked at the caller ID

The phone rang and she looked at the caller ID. It was her sister, and since she called so rarely, Cheryl decided this time to answer it.

“Hey – “

She was cut off by a deep, guttural wailing on the other end of the line.

“What?! What happened?”

The wailing continued for just a moment, then Carla caught her breath. All she could say was “Steve…”

She didn’t need to go any further.

“No, no!” screamed Cheryl. “No! No!” She threw the phone across the room. She wasn’t going to let the tears come, because it wasn’t true. Whatever was on the other end of the line wasn’t true. Her brother was fine, there was nothing wrong. They were very close, and that closeness protected him from any harm. She decided that it was fact and picked up the phone. She pressed the red button and disconnected herself from the call.

By then Cheryl’s husband came into the room. “What? What happened?”

“Nothing.” Her laugh was like tin.

“Why were you yelling? And why did you throw your phone?”

She ignored the first question. “Oh, no, it just slipped.”

She could tell that he knew she was lying, but he slowly decided not to challenge her on it.

The phone rang again and he could see the picture of Carla, smiling and happy, come up on the screen. Cheryl sent the call to voice mail.

“Was that your sister?” he asked

“Oh, yeah,” she tried to sound casual, but came off as trying to sound casual. She didn’t care. “She just wanted to talk about something.”

“What was it?”

“Oh, nothing important.” She started to walk away, thereby ending the conversation.

He stared at her as she walked away, clearly trying to assess her emotional state. He didn’t believe her, and she let her feigned apathy fill the void of his unasked questions.

Moments later, his phone rang, and she knew without looking that it was Carla, hunting Cheryl down, determined to break through and deliver her heart wrenching news.

“I’m gonna…”

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My whole life has been “I’m gonna”. “I’m gonna be a great artist, I’m gonna be a great animator” and recently “I’m gonna be a writer”. But I’ve lacked the follow through. The actual work involved to be all these things I thought I should be. I thought that all these wonderful things would just happen to me, and now I’m disappointed that they haven’t.

Like everyone else, I just want to be good at something. I figured my “true calling” would be reveled in something I tried and was great at from the first stroke. I don’t know about you, but nothing like that has appeared in my life.

But is it too late? I’m not in my 20’s anymore. I have physical limitations that weren’t there before, things that are detrimental to a visual career. That’s why I’m interested in writing.

I’ve always loved to write.

Lately, I’ve been writing letters to friends and family in long hand through regular “snail mail”. I know it’s fun to get a letter from someone, and it’s fun for me to write them, so it’s a win win. The content is usually whatever pops into my head (kind of like this). I don’t edit while I’m writing, I just let it flow from the pen. Of course, the spelling is atrocious (I knew how to spell that!).

I also keep a journal, of course, which I write in everyday, often twice a day – once in the morning and once before bed. The content is the same as my letters – just whatever comes into my mind at the moment.

Finally, I have several “100 Letters” projects completed. A letter almost everyday to a family member. But these letters don’t get sent. The point is to have something to give to Charlotte when she gets older that shows my relationships with my family members – her family members. I want to leave these letters as little treasures for her to find.

So, I’ve already started on the road of creating the right habits to become a writer. Now all I have to do is walk that road with purpose and intent if I want to get from ‘I’m gonna’ to ‘I am’.