Picture

    He lifts the colored glass to his lips, he doesn’t even taste the fiery liquid he’s draining down his throat. His movements are so dejected and hopeless. He hasn’t shaved in a while, his clothes are dirty and rumpled. His mood seems to match the atmosphere. The decor in the tiny motel room he’s living in is outdated. The place has a run down, dark feeling. The shades are drawn, clothes are strewn across the floor and the bed which he is using as a seat is unmade. He paid her and she left, no strings attached, but he misses her. How long has it been? Weeks? Months? He kneels clumsily to the floor and sweeps his hand under the bed, a wooden picture frame skitters across the floor and he picks it up. His vision is blurred by whiskey and tears.
    “I miss you.” the words come out as a sob, his shoulders are hunched and his posture broken. He reaches for his phone and dials her number, praying that she’ll pick up, if only she’ll have him back, he knows he’ll change and be the man she needs him to be.

    She wakes with a start, it was so real, so clear, he was here with her again, his arms around her, she looks at the face next to hers on the pillow and reality hits, he’s gone. She reaches into the top drawer of the dresser next to her bed and pulls out a wooden picture frame, tracing his features with a slender finger, she allows the tears to come as she reminisces the good times with him. Their first kiss, the proposal, she feels for the ring hanging on the chain around her neck. He left before the wedding, she’d called him every day for weeks and finally gave up. Cried herself sick and got over him, moved on, or tried. Now she was with someone else and he treated her well, they were married with a child on the way. But she wondered if he ever missed her. She still thought about him every day and she wondered if it was wrong.
    “I miss you.” the words come out as a sob, her cell phone rings, she looks over at her sleeping husband and then at the caller ID, it’s him. She rejects the call and reaches to unfasten the chain around her neck, “I loved you. But you’re too late.” She puts the necklace and ring on top of the picture frame and shoves it deeper into the drawer, face down. Then slipping back under the covers, she presses against her husband’s back, drawing on his strength and  heat.
    Her phone beeps. A new voice message.

    “Hey babe it was crazy to call at this time of night, I don’t know I guess I just called to say I love you I wanna come back home.” He sets his phone next to him on the bed and lays back, the Whiskey finally taking effect and knocking him unconscious.
    He drives the three hours back to his hometown, where they met and dated, got engaged and would have gotten married if he could have been satisfied, his heart is half hopeful and half hopeless. He knows he doesn’t deserve her forgiveness and is stupid to hope that she would even wait around. He drives by her old house several times trying to get courage to go talk to her. Finally he parks and walks slowly across the street, glowing with early morning light. A hesitant knock on the front door and he’s answered by a man, about his build, good looking, young, puzzled.
    “Can I help you?”
    “I was just looking for Sheryl Rock, but she probably doesn’t even live here anymore, sorry to waste your time.” Then as an afterthought, “Who are you?”
    “I’m Sheryl’s husband. Would you like to talk to her? She’s right inside.” he offers.
    “No. That’s alright. Treat her right man, you’re one lucky guy.” and he turns away, hands in his pockets, not looking back, he crosses the street back to his car, leaving behind the only girl who would ever truly love him, his only shot at true happiness, wasted by cheap temporary pleasure.

    She’s quieter than normal, thinking about her dream, thinking about her decision to leave him in the past and move on. Her husband asks if she’s okay and she brushes him off,
    “Fine, just tired.” He sits with her in the silence, and she can feel his support and love. A knock on the front door interrupts their breakfast. The husband answers the door. She hears a male voice. Familiar. But she can’t make out the words. When her husband comes back she looks at him inquisitively.
    “A guy looking for a Sheryl Rock.” Her husband says quietly. Her eyes jerk from her food to his face and a look passes between them, silent communication. He’d come in search of her, finally, gotten sick of his wild living and realized what he had given up. She was surprised to find a small glimmer of hope and gratefulness, when she lost him, she thought she’d never be whole again, but turns out sometimes a broken heart is a blessing in disguise.

  Inspired by the song "Picture" by Kid Rock and Sheryl Crowe ... November 29, 2012

The Tragedy of True Love

Okay so it's been like 3 weeks since I posted anything on here, this is a story I wrote awhile ago and yes it is quite cheesy and it's just a rough first copy, not very well written, needs to be rewritten but I'm too lazy right now. It originated from Emily and my texts back and forth some random joking around and out of it worked this little plot... I guess a tragic comedic romantic tale...thought about making it into a play, we'll see if that ever goes anywhere. =)


It is said, in a little town called Maradox, that after midnight the ghost of a young woman haunts the streets looking to avenge her death and that of her fiance. Personally, I know this is not true, her death has already been avenged. I know because the beautiful Francesca was my only true love and I hers.
    Francesca and I had been secret lovers from childhood, but I was an orphan with no money and no name and she was the daughter of a gentleman.
    She would sneak out to see me after midnight and we would sit until dawn, watching the stars and planning our future. We would run away together and be married and make a life for ourselves. We were oblivious to reality, happy in each other’s company, lost in the passion and innocence of of stolen kisses by moonlight, the gentle caress of her soft fingertips on my face, our heart beats blending until they were one rhythm.
     But the sun set all too soon in our little paradise, when my little Francesca struck the fancy of the rich oaf Willy Brutus. Brutus was - for lack of better words - hideous! He was disgustingly over weight and he had the most grotesque eating habits of anyone I have ever observed. I swear he managed to get more food spilled onto his shirt front than humanly possible, grease and excess saliva dribbling from his pink puffy lips into his scraggly beard the shade of fire, and he greedily slurped the food from his stubby over sized fingers between bites, so as not to miss a morsel. He jokes too loudly and has a snorting laugh like a donkey. When he’s not talking he’s wheezing, and his voice is raspy and he gasps as he talks as if he is constantly out of breath.
    But, money covers over a multitude of hideous imperfections - at least for Francesca’s family it did. My poor darling Francesca. When she told me she was engaged to Brutus, she could hardly stop crying long enough for me to understand. I held her in my arms, all my dreams of us like shattered glass - unfixable.
     “Don’t cry my love, I’ll find a way to rescue you yet. I promise!” I felt like Romeo, a desperate lover who’s life was about to be snuffed out, what was life without love?
     The wedding swiftly approached, the night before she was to be married we spent the hours before dawn together, one last time, plotting an elopement. I was to come for her at noon and ask her family for her. As a desperate final resort we would elope, but only if permission for our marriage was denied.
    The wedding day arrived, not a cloud in the brilliant blue sky, sun shining, birds singing joyfully. I almost had hope. The whole world was so hopeful, maybe things would turn out after all. I met Francesca in the garden that surrounded her family’s mansion at noon as planned, with an excited kiss and a final whispered 'I love you', my eager pace quickly swallowed the distance to the veranda. I looked back as I reached for the door, a distressed cry arresting my hand in mid-air.
    The sight made me sick. Brutus was stooped over my love’s lifeless form, he kissed her roughly, then turned to leave, but not before our eyes met and I knew there would be trouble in it for me.
    Recklessly, I flew back to Francesca’s motionless corpse and threw myself onto the ground next to her. I could see now what had happened, Brutus must have watched us in the garden and when I left came upon her, alone, hurling her down the stone steps where she gashed her temple on the corner of the last step. Blood pooled around her ashen face. I looked around desperately and caught sight of the terrified pixie face and blond ringlets of Lucy, Francesca’s young cousin.
    “Lucy! Get help! Tell the family!” I pleaded.
    “They won’t believe you sir! You better run. They’ll believe me better if I tell them that I saw Brutus do it.” her ruby lower lip trembled and her large blue eyes were glassy from tears. I nodded and ran, blinded by pain and loss.
    I wandered for days unable to think or feel or do anything but grieve the loss of my lover. Finally I realized I had to pull myself together and I had to make Brutus pay, but first I would say goodbye to Francesca once more. I asked around and found out where her grave was.
    Despite the dark, her grave was easy to find, a big blubbering Brutus was kneeling next to it,
    “Fran, oh Fran, I’m sorry, I know it was awful wicked of me, I just-” He sounded strangled, and then I saw it, white, almost transparent fingers reaching for his throat, he tried to back away but the smoke like fingers caught his shirt collar and he leaned forwards as if the grip was choking him.
    “Fran, I swear, I’d do anything to have you back - “ he choked, “I love - “ I snuck up behind him, rage blinding me and shoved him forwards into the grave that was still open. There was a thud, cracking and then a shriek.
    “Not into my grave you idiot! Go bury him in a lake! Oh heavens I don’t care where, but not my grave!” followed by Brutus’s heavy body hurtled towards me. He landed, in an awkwardly bent position at my feet.
    “Francesca?!” I whispered.
    “Clark, take care of him, throw him in a river for all I care, but I refuse to let my grave be defiled by that man, whew I can breathe again, thought he’d squish the life outta me!”
     “But you’re - “ I stuttered.
     “I know, I’m already dead.” She finished for me with a laugh, “Squish the ghost life outta me! It’s midnight ya know, I come back from midnight until dawn to find you.” I felt suddenly very self conscious, I was talking to a ghost... or was I talking to myself? Was I going crazy?
     “Show me you’re real.” I demanded. From the grave floated my beautiful Francesca. She was reminded me of smoke the way she was solid and yet transparent and invisible and yet very there. She was white. Lifeless and so vividly full of life all at once. We laughed and cried and hugged and she entwined cold thin fingers through mine and then we walked until dawn, soaking up the time together. This wasn’t the forever we had planned but all the same we had a forever of midnight to dawns together and no one could interfere.
     I still walk with her every night. We watch the stars and talk about all the stuff that lovers talk about. To this day the death of Francesca and her fiance Brutus are still a mystery. Some have suspected me, some suspect that it was Brutus and he committed suicide after, some believe she took her own life, only Francesca, Brutus and I know the true account... oh and now you of course. And that is the story behind the ghost that haunts the streets of Maradox!

A Miracle Mistaken

A Miracle Mistaken 

We've made a mess

I'm scared to death

I can't confess 

I hold my breath 

This can't be real

I'm numb inside

I cannot feel

I try to hide

Try to deny

And you get mad

You know I lie

I feel so bad

But I'm afraid

If I admit

The mistake made

I can't hide it

It will be there

I'm not ready 

No one will care

I am unsteady

People will judge

I'll disappoint

They'll hold a grudge

Can't see the point

Miracle child

A pure beauty

But it's defiled

By impurity

Ashamed of it

It's not to blame

Not fair but it 

Will bear my shame

Beautiful child

Redeeming grace

Innocence wild

Washing all trace

My redemption 

My sweet pardon

For temptation

I took part in

A second chance

To get it right

To get this dance

Perfect tonight

You're mine forever

I'd never trade you

I hope forever

You'll be pure and true.

~Anna Marie~

    -September 26, 2012-