Category Archives: Fiction Writing

Always a Catch

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My stomach full, I licked my lips with the meal fully conquered and resting peacefully down in my belly. Content was a small word to use how I felt, but it would do for now. I was indeed, content.

Thankfully for me, my Aunt had a late-night swimming class tonight. It wasn’t too late, I glanced at the clock earlier and it had been ten til six. The Spring time air greeted me with a swift wave along the front of my body. Zipping up the front of my jacket, I continued down the street.

I had left a note on a refrigerator. Told her I was going to be out with Johnny for the next few hours. Promised to be back before eleven, all of that. It was a school night, after all.

Sticking my second-to-last clove into the corner of my mouth, I sucked in the charred smoke and continued down a series of blocks. John didn’t live too far off from me. We exchanged when we’d be over at the other’s residence. His turn this week. He owed me for the shit that I pulled him out of during school, last Friday.

That thought made me grin. My mind raced back to that moment almost in slow motion, Johnny’s pale, red topped head diving under a lunch table. One of the school’s “big-baddies” thought it was him that had nudged him earlier that day. Must’ve been easy to deduce it to good ol’ John-boy, the way his lanky, skinny body could produce enough force to toss the “Goliath” a few feet.

The guy had been pissed off. Wasn’t interested in hearing any reason or going with any sorta logic that still bobbed inside that useless head-can of his.

Blowing out a puff of smoke from the clove, I made it to Johnny’s. His nice had been nicer than my Aunt’s. The garden had been tended to recently, the windows were dutifully cleaned, and the painted still have that new house glitter that you somehow noticed when you were a little kid, peddling down a street in your bike, zipping past everyone in a hurry. Even though the air was gripped by the fresh, cool feeling of Spring Johnny’s house gave me a feeling of warmth.

Sorta like I belonged.

Before I arrived at the front door I flicked away the now dead clove. Johnny’s parents knew I smoked, it was hard not to smell it on my heavy jacket. They let me live my own life, mentioned something about “kids always had a reason to rebel”. Didn’t know what I was rebelling about, but that worked just fine for me. Knocking hair, I was welcomed with the insightful eyes of Johnny’s father, Bill.

“Hey, Bill.” I called him by his first name, didn’t like me saying ‘Mr. Houston’, or ‘Johnny’s dad’. Liked it better as Bill. “Came over to check up on Johnny, he hanging around?”

Bill nodded in his usual way, smiling as he opened the door as an invitation. “Sure, Jackson, he’s right upstairs in his room. You know the drill, you know, for the lady.”

I always gave Bill an odd look for that added bit. He did it every time, but I understood. Tossing my shoes to the side of the door, I trotted up the stair case past the kitchen. Juliet, Johnny’s mother, had made something magnificent. I didn’t bother commenting on it. Johnny was likely going to fill me in when I arrived upstairs.

Blasting past his sister’s room I got to the one with an AC DC poster hung on the front. Knocking, the loud music had covered up Johnny’s welcome as I walked in.

It was probably when I walked in that our adventure, and our problems, started.

What Makes An #Editor publish a Short Story in a #Literary #Magazine?

While I recently wrote about how on Google Plus users need to have engagement with other users around the social media website. Part of that engagement is sharing other’s content that you think is interesting, inviting, cool, or just plain kickass.

In this case, this post crafted by Daily (w)rite is in the kickass category. For those writers out there looking to get their feet wet in writing, check out what she has to share regarding the Cigale Literary Magazine.

The Smallest Effort

There are several things in our bodies we don’t think about. Breathing is one. An action done almost involuntarily for the single role of survival. It’s bred into almost every living thing in our world.

Much like other acts, such as eating or attempting to bred with those of the opposite gender of that species.  Take a choice of personal preference.

Even when those are the best choices for survival, other options have to be considered. There’s the desire to find social activity outside of the family circle. Creating friendships that last as much as they can, or finding that one special person you can’t live without.

Why do are these the thoughts that I have when I’m sitting here, alone in a chair and staring outside. The sun’s about to set. The sky’s dying orange tint mixes with the ever-fading blue. It disguises itself, if only faintly, of a green shade. Almost the apex of beauty.

“Jackson, are you ready for dinner,” my aunt called up downstairs in her shrill voice. Despite her high-pitched vocal tone she was a strong woman. A knack for adventuring and embracing the unknown.

“Almost,” I called down, “let me finish up this essay real fast.”

I had already finished the essay that was due on Monday. Sitting up from my chair from behind my rusted desk, I grabbed an old lunchbox featuring Calvin and Hobbes. My partners in crime hid away my darkest secrets. Opening the near pristine metal container, I grabbed a package of cloves and took one out.

I knew this wasn’t the best for my health, but hell, being seventeen means I get to try things out. Maybe it’s not for the best future. In ten years, they’ll find some God bringing cure to every damn disease known to human.

Slipping the clove into my lips, I snapped the match on the end of the cinder box and inhaled the smoke as it sparked to life. Flickering the smoldering stick along my trusty desk, the window gave my room fresh air. A cylinder of smoke pushed through into the world. I watched it fly up into the clouds. My eyes wavered and drew into the clouds. Most days, I found myself staring up at them with no intended desire.

Was it time to break away? My age broke that dream apart. With only a few more months in this school year, I’d enter my senior year of High School by the end. Things would wonderful then, with the lead up to one of the most vast adventures I could ever experience.

College.

The best time of my life. As I’m told.

Taking another intake of smoke, I stared up at the clouds. I knew it was time for my wings to spread out.

What awaits this bushy-tailed young man that I am? Probably exams, alcohol, women, and whole-lotta no sleep.

Smiling with the clove on the corner of my lips I patted my hands together. The roll of excitement vibrated down my muscles.

“Let’s get started,” I mused.