Thursday, November 21, 2013

Receptionist Blues

Demanding
Commanding
Your desire is to be heard
Not merely once
Or twice
But until you feel in control
Your voice rings
Like nails on a chalkboard
Scratching away my
Understanding
My happy landing
Of another fine day
What’s the rush?
Can’t you wait?
Why so irate?
You say those words
Your temper rises
My finger falls upon your silence.
Hold, please.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

the secret

And then I realized that the secret to being a good writer, to forming believable characters whose emotions jump off the page, is to have felt all these things myself.  To have encountered both pain and happiness that is indescribable yet more real than anything and having the responsibility of allowing the characters to portray it.  That’s how we make books come alive.  That’s why we fall in love with stories and the people in them.  We feel their pain.  I should not wallow in my pain and sadness and instead I should record and embrace it.  Use it to color the pages of my future characters.  
That alone makes it easier to deal with. God is not allowing me to feel pain for no reason, he’s shaping me in more ways than I can imagine.  With that in mind, every experience becomes an opportunity.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

The Strain

Like dew in the morning
It always comes back
It fogs up my vision
Points out what I lack
I wipe it away
Or I try to at least
But I miss a spot
And it laughs like a tease
My neck feels the strain
Looking over the mess
Take my hand off the wheel
Lose control of the rest
But before I can crash
Before losing it all
I cry out to you
Confessing I’m small
I know I can’t steer
And hold up my weight
The pressure is strong
But you know my fate
You hear in my silence
And see through my tears
Your grace falls on me hard
Scooping up my fears
Though, alone, I will fail
Pulled to do wrong
I will lean on you
While I’m weak, You are strong

Friday, November 1, 2013

The Run of Pride

(my latest short story-I'd love to hear what you think!)

It begins when we’re very young and only intensifies as age becomes us, the desire to be like those who have gone on before.  The stories are recited countless times to rapt audiences.  There are moments the epic tales seem too good to be true.  How could such daring exist in a single entity?  Yet, the examples laid out are what we all aspire to: success.  One day we will all reach the same path but the result that transpires will depend solely on our own wit and decisiveness.  Will shame or honor be our legacy?
I remember it quite clearly, the morning that changed everything.  I awoke to the sound of birds chirping, rather incessantly, I might add.  Was there a particular reason they sang so early?  It was a beautiful day so perhaps that was what struck their need to proclaim it to the world.  Sleep, it seemed, was no longer my companion.  I stretched, feeling every muscle pop, warmth spreading throughout my body.  My brothers were already up and had gone, most likely to get breakfast.  Mother was still sleeping so I left quietly.
Foster found me immediately.  His eyes were wide and I could tell something had happened. His breaths were short and he twitched slightly.
“Corbin!  I’m so glad you’re up!”
I shook my head vigorously, willing myself to be alert.  “What’s wrong, friend?”
“It’s Benson!  He’s been talking all morning like he wants to go.  We don’t know what to do!”
I sighed.  Of course he was.  My brother had been threatening to go prematurely for days now.  It wasn’t entirely his fault, though.  His desire to make his mark in the community was steepening with each passing day.  It didn’t matter to him that the stories we’d heard of were successful attempts made by those much older than us.  They were told for our benefit, to learn and study, not to challenge and outdo.
Benson was notorious for overlooking the obvious dangers and believing that none applied to him.  Unfortunately, this was the exact thinking that lost us our father.  He was too brave for his own good and while he had made the run countless times, it only took one moment of indecision to make it his last.  Our mother called it an act of nature; I believed it was a failure to know one’s limitations.
Regardless, my brother was determined to make this run in honor of our father, to finish it for him.  While this may have been honorable, it was too soon for Benson to attempt such an impressive feat.  We were too young.
“I’ll show you to him,” Foster squeaked, turning on a dime and rushing away.  I moved quickly, staying on his tail.  Hopefully it was still a concern and not another story to add to our history.
The scene was prestigious in its own right.  Benson was surrounded by our peers, his head held high, speaking solemnly.
“Our earliest memories are ones of encouragement and preparation for when our time will come.  We are trained, ingrained even with the need to accept our impending duty, and in some cases, fate.  Our forefathers accomplished this with speed and agility.  Their examples are to be revered and in some respects, finished.”
The crowd nodded, agreeing in hushed tones, their faces in pure awe of the brave one before them.
“But no one our age has ever gone before!” the small one just to his right pointed out.  “We’ve all been told that we have to wait until we’re old enough to leave home.  We’re still young.”
Benson scoffed.  “I left home this morning.”
Whispers of surprise rose around him.  I’d had enough.
“Brother, this is preposterous.  You can’t go now.”
He looked over as if he hadn’t noticed me standing there for the last moment.  “Oh, Corbin, I’m glad you finally joined us.  It will be good to have another family member to testify to Mother of my act.  No doubt it will be too amazing to believe.”
“It’s too soon!”  I urged.  “Father was twice our age when he gave his first go.  He studied and examined those before him.  He waited until he was strong and fast enough to take the risk.”
“And look what happened to him,” Benson said coldly.  “I’ve thought long and hard of this, brother, and come to the conclusion that age does not mean everything.  Some of us come to greatness on our own accord and without the aid of those gone on before.”
Our friends could now see it, the arrogance that illuminated his words.  His attempt today was not to bring honor to our family, but to him alone.  Pride in oneself only results in the fall of oneself.
“You’re making a mistake,” I said heatedly.  “Don’t do this now, just wait a little longer.  That’s all I ask.  If not for me, then for mother.  Don’t cause her pain twice in one cycle.”
“I don’t intend to cause her tears.  I will show her that we can prevail, our family will move on and gain our status among the community once more.  This is my chance to remove our shame.”  With that, he pushed through those huddled around him and approached his target.  He looked steadily across, his body arched at the ready.  He charged forward and at first I believed he might actually be successful.
But in a moment, it was over.  I watched in horror as my brother was stopped short and forced to meet his fate, from an end he would not return.  My heart lay broken as the scene before me, a twisted repeat of past moments in my life.  We mourned where we stood, knowing there was nothing we could do.  Benson had let his pride overpower his common sense and it was a lesson to us all.  Instead of redemption, he made our family an infamous example that would be remembered for many years to come.
If only he waited.  If only our honor were not subject to such danger.  If only time could reverse and bring us those we have lost.  But alas, that is our life.  This is our mark on the world.
***
“Mommy!  You just hit him!”
She sighed, switching lanes without a blinker.  “Honey, it’s just a squirrel.  They run out in front of cars all the time and no one knows why.  It’s just a part of life.”
The little girl looked sadly out the back window, the scene growing smaller as they traveled down the road.  A group of squirrels gathered at the corner, their heads bowed in honor of their fallen friend.


                                                                                                the end.