Creative Writing
The following stories and excerpts are mostly rough drafts, unfinished works.
Arete (Function Fulfilled)
​
A knife is to cut,
A heart to circulate blood.
A gun is to kill.
I always knew, like a pulsing dark secret within the cells of my being. The outward explanation was “safety” and “protection from thugs.” But I knew. I knew that such was not my design. I knew that my small size, my easy trigger, all my inward parts were created and formed for one purpose only: death.
When I was stollen from the oaf who carelessly left me in the glove compartment of his car, I rejoiced, like a bird released from a cage. When the thief gripped my handle sure and strong, I knew that I had found the one who would properly use me, who would allow my potential to scream, to explode, to crescendo.
And I was right.
Lurking in the Shadows
Chapter 1
The murmur of voices surrounded the college girl as she gazed at the art piece on the wall. She'd never seen anything like this before. It was a large rectangle measuring possibly 6 feet long and four feet high. It pushed out at least 6 inches from the wall along the outside perimeter. But nothing about it was two dimensional like framed work that one would normally look at in a gallery. Instead, the scenery seemed to recede into the wall, with colorful skies, countryside, and three-dimensional figures carved from wood and other means, colorfully painted to depict the Amish at work on the farm. The scene itself was idyllic, as the harmony of the figures, working together, working in nature, combined with the colors and contours to create...peace...contentment.
Odd, the girl thought, so different from the hustle and bustle, from the crowded traffic and constant push of the city. Could such peace and tranquility truly exist? And yet, as they had been touring Lancaster County in Pennsylvania, she had journeyed through farmland dotted with farms. They had passed horses and buggies on the road. She had seen farmers ploughing with horses out in the fields. The countryside seemed so peaceful. Maybe this piece of art was a monument to the truth of this little part of the world. Maybe life could be this simple.
As the young college student stood contemplating, suddenly she was pushed from behind by a rowdy young boy who was trying to escape his parent's clutches. Her head was shoved nearly into the painting. Only a quick arm out against the wall beneath the art piece saved her from being plastered into the work. As her head drew dangerously close to the shadow of a tree, something seemed to wriggle and slither black behind the tree trunk. The girl quickly drew back, startled, and glared at the young boy who'd nearly caused her to face plant. Her glare softened as the parents apologized and as the young boy himself hung his head and said "Torry."
The young college student smiled, "That's okay." Then she quickly moved forward to join her tour group. Still, in the back of her mind she remembered the odd sensation when she was pushed close to the painting...the sense of movement near that tree, as if there was something dark and alive, just waiting for someone to come along. She glanced back uneasily at the piece of art as she turned the corner. Maybe if there was time, she would sneak back to take a final peak at the picture. Maybe there were some paint strokes that, when pushed close to, caused a sensation of movement which had caused her strange experience. Well, for now, she would stick close to the tour guide and listen to what he was saying.
*****
The shadows were stretching long through the window as Amanda made her way through the corridor toward the art piece that she had viewed earlier. The small studio would be closing soon, but she didn't want to leave without a last look. There it stood. Amanda took a nervous breath and moved closer. The overall picture was wholesome and peaceful. The bold paint strokes revealed a bright blue sky with puffy clouds, and slight breeze rustling through the trees with dappled light underneath. The farmhouse in the background, the 3-D figures working in the field, the horses and wagon, also 3-D: the entire art piece emanated contentment and tranquility. Just as the nearby countryside had filled Amanda's heart with peace and almost a longing inside of her, as if the scenery was beckoning, inviting her to shed the harsh realities of children's lives in downtown Denver. Here children worked companionably beside adults, all working for a common cause.
Amanda shook her face briskly, dispelling the reverie. She peered closer at the lower left corner where a tree rose out of the lower outward sloping edge. The tree itself seemed to be composed of wire, wood and maybe some kind of paper that was heavily painted over. So unique. The paint lines behind the tree slanted black and greenish brown, giving the impression that the sun was shining, radiating from the face of the viewer, with the shadows retreating toward the back of the canvas. Amanda dipped her head in closer toward the tree to examine the dark, swirling paint lines. As she peered closely, a cold pit expanded in her stomach. Nausea rose up in her throat and she felt as though she were going to faint. The colors swirled in front of her eyes; her body felt light, as though she were fizzing away. She closed her eyes momentarily to ground herself, then reached out hands to steady her buoyant, almost unfeeling body. As her hand reached out, they encountered something rough and ridged but steady and solid.
Her eyes popped open in surprise and then she stepped back, stumbling to the ground, gazing upward unbelievingly. Towering in front of her, with leaves rustling in the wind, was a real, live tree. Her hands, when she stumbled backward, had landed in soft yielding grass. Surely, thought Amanda, almost laughing to herself, surely this was just a dream. People didn't simply disintegrate into another world, like in the movie Jumanji. Soon she would be back in the art studio or wake up in her own bed. But in the meantime, make no mistake. She was trapped in the art piece.
(to be continued)
The Book of Possibilities
Lucy, a middle-aged woman, was stuck in a moderately successful job doing something that she once had loved but no longer had the energy for. She was nearing her 55th birthday, and she wondered if there was possibly something else that she could do for a living. Where was the fairy godmother from Cinderella when you most wanted her? But of course, she was part of a fairy tale, not real life. In real life, we are our own fairy godmother, or we sit around and wishfully wait for something like a fairy godmother to make our lives complete.
Lucy had been wishing and waiting. And she was stuck. She was moderately courageous, but still, she could not seem to take the risks that would be necessary to change her life. And so, she lived with unhappiness. She lived with dissonance. She lived with discontent.
One night, as Lucy dropped off to sleep, a light radiated about her. She felt enveloped in something mysterious and “other-worldly.” Her closed eyes picked up the light fragments and held her suspended. As she entered the world of sleep, a light twinkled about her, making her feel comfortable and sleepy but at the same time, responsive and alert.
The twinkly light was coming from a book that was sitting on a dark wooden podium. Lucy walked up to the podium and peered down at the book. In large letters on the cover the words "The Book of Possibilities" glittered like a dozen stars in the night sky. Of course, Lucy was curious, so she opened the book and began to flip through the pages. Empty space stared up at her from each page—only little sparkles of possibility seemed to rise from each. Flipping back to the beginning, Lucy noticed that there was writing on the very first page. The words were written in cursive and scrawled in large letters—very personal.
"To the one who dares to dream, infinite possibilities await. Imagine and experience at your own risk."
Lucy smiled to herself. She looked around. She seemed to be in a completely shapeless and dark void—the only discernable objects were the podium and book. She could feel fresh air on her face, so she must be outside.
This is only a dream, she told herself. In a dream you can do whatever you like and see where it takes you. Lucy turned the page. It was blank except for the rainbow sparklies emanating. What would I like to do with my life? she thought. Who would I like to be? Where would I like to live? How would I be spending my time?
Immediately a picture entered Lucy’s mind, and as it entered her mind, it also manifested on the page. A small yellow house. A little nook for writing. There she was—writing. Writing to her heart’s content. The thought came to her: a small town in the mountains of Colorado. Maybe Golden. Writing children’s books. But why children’s books? It didn’t matter. That was the thought, and so it became. It was peaceful there. She was peaceful. Unhurried. No pressing job. Just lingering and doing what she loved best: writing. Maybe teaching Creative Writing part time at a local college or high school—more as an afterthought, not as a burden and a “must.” In this picture, Lucy was living alone…at least as far as she could tell. Maybe there was someone, just not in the immediate picture. Maybe there was a cat in the other room. Not all the details were clear. But a few were. In this possibility, Lucy was doing something that she loved in a location that she loved, in a serene setting that she loved. Peaceful and alive.
Lucy breathed a deep sigh and closed her eyes. Her heart had settled comfortably in her chest. She was feeling so free and so relaxed. If only, if only, if only…. thought Lucy. She sighed again and opened her eyes to look more closely at the details. But her deep breath had caused the page to turn, and the previous double page spread had disappeared. Before her lay another blank double page spread.
“Oh no!” cried Lucy. “I really wanted that life! I didn’t wish for the page to turn.” And yet, it had. When she tried to flip back the page, it was clear that there was no turning back. When she tried to recreate the image on the new, blank page, nothing appeared.
I wonder, thought Lucy, I wonder, if I simply start where I am now, maybe someday I can work my way into that life that I saw on the first pages. Maybe the only way there, into that future, is through the present. Maybe those pages were like a movie preview that reveals details from later in the script.
With that, Lucy awoke with a jerk and the meow of her cat who had hopped up on her bed. Lucy smiled groggily and reached out to pet her cat, who seemed to be glowing with sparklies.