Short story. Like really short.

A Day in the Life of Casey Nemo

There must be more to it than this, Casey thought as she sat outside of her classroom door.

She and five other classmates were working on their papers outside. Casey could never understand what went through the minds of high school teachers as they ordered a bunch of teenagers to sit out of sight with the goal of getting work done. Surely they only did it to get some peace and quiet, because it never ended with the completion of any work. It only resulted in the popular kids, whom made up her group, joking and laughing with each other while she sat a few feet away. The space was enough to distance her from them and make her feel utterly alone. Of course she had picked the space in between them over the other option; sitting close and being obviously ignored. At least this way it could look like it was her choice rather than the harsh truth that no one liked her.

This thought was what brought Casey to her current juncture. There has to be more than this. She scribbled small circles on the notebook she had balanced on her knees, blinking slowly as she thought. She was never the girl to get noticed. Sometimes she wondered if anyone actually saw her as she walked through the long, twisting halls between classes. Perhaps she had developed the ability to blend into the wall? She had no friends, no one that smiled or said hi. Not even the teachers. In every aspect she was average, so average even the school system overlooked her. Countless times they had forgotten to change her grade as the new terms started, and even forgot to issue her a new ID card.

She was the kind of girl who could go all day without speaking and no one would even notice.

The bell rang and her fellow students made their way to the cafeteria for lunch in a loud, boisterous, and singular movement. Casey picked up her bag from the classroom and followed slowly. Lunch was a time she hated most. In class someone was forced to sit next to you, and even if they didn’t talk to you it wasn’t as obvious to the rest of the world that you were alone. Lunch was a time where everyone sat with their friends and had enjoyable conversations. She just sat alone, trying not to get too close to a group lest she suffer their demeaning glances that said ‘Why is she getting so close to us?’  

As she bought her lunch and found a place to sit, strategically placed next to the door in order to avoid the end-of-lunch rush, she thought of her home life. It wasn’t much different from school. Though she was an only child, and therefore should be entitled to her parents’ attentions, she mainly spent the days in her room. She watched her favorite shows on her computer and read books. Casey always felt that it was so much easier to connect to fictional characters than to real life people.

When lunch was over, Casey dumped her trash in one of the various trashcans and headed for the door. As she rounded a lunch table, a large boy who was yelling to his friend across the lunchroom ran into her and dropped his tray full of food at her feet, splattering leftover spaghetti all over her pants and shoes.

“Aw dude,” the boy said, stooping down to grab his tray.

Casey hesitated for a moment, thinking that he might apologize to her. Instead he only moved around her, his eyes never even looking at her face.

“Clean up on isle three,” he bellowed, causing a wave of laughter through his friends.

Casey stood for a moment, slightly surprised that she wasn’t even noticeable enough to be made fun of. She shouldered her bag again and walked out the door, trying not to tear up at her ruined shoes and jeans.

At the end of the school day she exited the building, her normal frown on her face. Her mother would say that was why no one wanted to approach her, because they were too afraid that she was angry. But Casey knew better. They couldn’t think her frown was angry if they never even looked at her in the first place.

Casey walked down the street, thinking for the third time that day that there must be more than this. How could life be so drab for someone, that they weren’t even granted friends? She clenched her fists at the thought of how unfair it all was. Why her? Why was it her life that had to be so lonely?

As she moved off of the school premises she failed to notice a boy about her age who was saying her name. She passed by his outstretched hand, her mind only on how unfair her world was.

Once she reached the bottom of the road that led solely to her school, she moved into the crosswalk, her eyes on the asphalt that was disappearing under her stride. The frown was still on her face as the tires screeched and horn blared, an SUV trying to swerve out of the way. She looked up just before it hit her, her eyes dull as though she had already been killed.

The following Monday, the school was holding a small service in the gym for Casey Nemo. Most students that passed through stopped at the table that was heaped with flowers and a large picture of Casey taken when she was at summer camp a few years ago. It was the only picture her parents could find of her smiling. Some students helped light the candles that lined the table and others touched the flowers briefly.

No one said much, and no one cried.

One boy, from a grade above Casey’s, approached the table with a plastic bag in his hands. He thought of how he had reached out to her the previous Friday, but she had seemed distracted. He had always wanted to talk to her, and thought he would give it a try. Even though she looked liked she preferred to be alone. He shook his head slightly, looking at the frozen smile in the picture. He wished he had called her name a little louder, or actually grabbed her shoulder when she passed.

Josh put the bag on the table, unwrapping it and pulling out a pair of new shoes. He had bought them for her before hearing about the accident. In the cafeteria his friend had dropped his food all over her shoes, staining them. Josh sighed, sitting the shoes next to the flowers and candles.

“Nice to meet you Casey, I’m Josh.”   

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

I wrote this for class because we had to do a creative writing piece. It's just a little short almost like an excerpt. 

  Excerpt:

  The street was dark and dank, the air full of the moisture that was clinging to every surface it could reach.  A light blinked on and off in a window far atop a building, revealing and shadowing the ally with every turn. There was no movement besides the odd animal digging in the trash set out for pickup. The smell in the air was like soured milk, a mix of trash and other excrement making this street a place where no gentleman would be seen.

  A man shuffled through the cobbled roads, back hunched and leg dragging with a slight limp. His face was shadowed by a tall top hat which slid down repeatedly and obstructing his view. He pushed his long sleeves up, uncovering his course hands and gnarled fingers, in order to move the top hat up.

  The light above flickered on again as he was completing this movement, casting the darkness from his face. His jaw was set at an odd angle, eyes and cheek bones horribly disfigured. His gaze traveled up to the bulb, a scowl rippling over his yellowed skin. As he tipped his hat down and moved on, a lady rounded the corner moving quickly.

  She was dressed as a low class seamstress would be, a simple dress adorned with a bright blue ribbon at the waste. Despite the simplicity of the dress, it wasn’t able to lessen her natural beauty and figure. Her brow furrowed in thought, her lips puckering slightly as her eyes traced back and forth along the ground in front of her, as though she was sorting through her problems rather than seeing the stone below her feet.

  It was in this trance that she flitted across the street, not noticing the hunched over man. She looked up when they almost upon each other, eyes widening at the sight before her. She ducked her head respectfully after a few moments and stepped nimbly to the side.

  The hunched man passed; his coat brushing her shoulder. He stopped, a smile twisting the corners of his mouth up into a small grimace.

  The woman began to walk, her heart beating fast and her feet determined to match its pace. She gasped as his hands shot out and caught her arm, fingers pressing hard enough to make her wince.

  “You hit me.” His voice was raspy, like leather being scraped with sand paper. It sounded unnatural, ringing in her ears as though it had come from her own mind.

  She said nothing, mind skipping like a broken record, her own fear rendering her unable to function.   

  “Aren’t you going to apologize, as young ladies should to gentleman?”

  The woman’s head tilted back as her eyes snapped to his face with some certainty. Her lips trembled like leaves in the wind, but her glare was made of steel. “You are no gentleman.”

  The man’s face froze in a mask of fury, his red rimmed eyes widening and mouth gaping opening in a silent shout as his hands flew to the young girl’s throat.

  The light blinked out, shrouding them in darkness as her scream echoed off the buildings and faded into the night.

  The next morning there was a small crowd of well dressed people standing solemnly next to a lamp post. A closer look revealed that their clothes were shabby, patched in several places. A woman was standing apart from the others and crying.

  These heads turned when a well-dressed man walked slowly up the sidewalk, his sleek black suit and polished cane telling signs that he was not without power and wealth.

  He walked up to the crowd, eying the bouquets of flowers surround a famed picture of a beautiful young girl.

  The gentleman looked wary; his eyes tired and surrounded with dark circles, sweat beading on his brow.

  One of the mourners stepped up to the man, looking up to meet his eyes. “Did you know her, sir?”

  The air was still for a moment before the gentleman answered.

  “I may have seen her in passing.”

  Minutes later when he was alone on the street his wary demeanor peeled away, his frown turning to a crazed smile, eyes widening slightly as he turned away.

  A woman who was looking out her window saw his slightly bent for and wondered if she had seen him last night. But then he straightened and began to walk so she dismissed the thought. There was no reason a gentleman would be on that street after nightfall.

  His steps echoed on the building, the young girl’s screams returning to his ears as he laughed, twirling his cane and making his way home.

In the style

  This is in the style of the book The Descent of Alette. I hated that style at first and then I wanted to try it so here goes.

“ The smell” “of coffee and herbal”  “tea masks”

“the smell of” “the people” “rushing about.”

“Music plays” “over the speakers” “covering” “the sounds”

“keys clicking and” “people murmuring” “quietly.”

“The sunlight struggles” “through the” “tinted windows”

 “plays across my” “computer screen.”

 “Outside” “the umbrellas” “are folded” “against”

“The howling wind.”

“The green light” “blinks”

“The message” “is short and” “about”

“Friends.”

“Friends.” “Could we ever” “be” “Just Friends?”

“My stomach clenches” “Heart wrenches”

“Against” “the thought” “you press”

“On me.”

“People” “mill around as” “Tears spill”

“Never giving” “a passing glance,”

“Receiving” “their coffee” “and pushing” “the door wide”

“Walking out” “into” “the wind”

“Bending against” “it like” “the Umbrellas.”  

Fly

(picture from popfi.com)

This is a poem I just wrote, after a rather sad dream I had. I may refine it later, as it was just poured from my thoughts, but this is it for now.

Fly

In the dreams where I Fly,

I can never seem to get very high.

I struggle against the force below,

Pulling me,

down and down,

 so low.

I can’t fly high,

Nor reach the sky.

It’s like I’m swimming through the air,

No feathers or wings to help me.

I flail and beg, trying to pull myself up through the clouds,

When all that happens is,

I come crashing down.

 My strength isn’t enough,

I can’t make it to the top.

The sun shines brightly and the birds sing,

But all I can hear,

Is the wind in my ear,

Reminding me again and again,

I’m not meant to fly.

Not in real life.

Not in my dreams.

I fall,

All of the things I am trying to conquer

Are, in turn, conquering me.

I feel it behind me,

Rushing up,

I know I must escape.

My arms and legs pump,

Propelling me forward,

 fast enough to try.

I take the leap, kicking out,

Reaching my arms wide.

I feel the wind as I begin to climb,

thinking I’m getting quite high.

But just as before,

I begin to fall.

My strength isn’t enough,

I can’t make it to the top,

I come crashing down.

Mailbox

  This one was written in class when I was bored because my friend Jarfa dropped her stuffed animal and it inspired me to write. 

Mailbox

  

   The day was bad, rainy and dark. It was the kind of day that made people cuddle up in pajamas and watch a movie. The kind of day that lasted forever and prompted children to sing songs to lighten the weather.  The boy should have been inside, she knew, watching T.V and staying dry.

   Despite what should have been happening, she watched from across the street as the neighbor’s young boy crept out into the front yard, his bare feet sinking into the water clogged grass when he stepped off the front path.

   The bright red ball he carried was eye catching, vivid against the gray, stormy scenery. The rain had let up a little in the past hour, only a slight drizzle was left to encourage the boy to go back inside; it wasn’t enough.

   As he made his way down the yard he pulled his hand out of his jacket, revealing a stuffed cow, his small fingers gripping it tightly.

   She wondered for a moment what his goal was before thinking she should walk over and let his mother know he was outside. The boy stepped off the curb onto the slick, black road as she stood and walked to her porch stairs. He walked to the little mailbox, pulling the wooden door down.

  She saw the ball slip from the crook of his arm, bouncing with a wet echo into the road. The boy followed it, his steps uneven as he stooped to catch the elusive toy.

   Tires screeched, drowning out her scream. She ran forward, arms out as though she could stop the truck that hit its breaks wildly, skidding along the road. When it finally stopped the driver’s door popped open, a man stumbling out, shaking with his mouth agape in shock.

   The rain continued on, indifferent to what had happened on the road, splashing on the still-hot hood of the truck. It was a large and blue truck, blocking her view of the boy and the mailbox. For a moment she paused, looking over the truck as though it was idling next to her at a stop light. The front fender was dented on the left side and the windshield was dirty. The man himself looked as though he had just left a twenty-four hour diner after drinking a few cups of coffee and chatting up the waitresses. His hair was disheveled and his clothes rumpled. Probably just passing through, an out-of-towner.

   “He ran out in front of me!” the man cried, motioning to her as she passed him without a glance.

  She continued on, rounding the truck slowly, every breath pushing her forward, keeping her going.

  The truck had turned a little, the boy laying half under it. All she could see of him was the back of his head and his arm which was stretched out, fingers splayed as though he was reaching for something.

  Her eyes were drawn away from the boy to the stuffed cow the child had been clutching. It was lying a few inches from his fingers on its round back, glassy, black eyes staring into the sky. Its small, stiff arms were reaching up perpetually, like a child that would never be picked up again.

  A piece of paper was hanging out of the mailbox to her left, drops of water splashing onto the words carefully written on it. She plucked it out of the mailbox, staring down at it as the drops continued to fall. For my sister, it read, Mr. Fellow and my red ball. Get better soon.

  She looked again at the stuffed cow on the ground, barely hearing the wails of the parents that had finally noticed their child was not inside, or maybe had just heard the noise.

  Mr. Fellow was still staring up at the darkened sky; on his mouth a permanent smile was stitched. As she watched, rain drops fell on its face, sliding from its eyes like tears. 

V-Day

  This is a sonnet I had to write for English last year. I took the idea from a short story I had recently written. Maybe I'll find the original copy of the story, if I do I'll post it as well. 

V-day

A little boy held out the card, face red.

A young man fiddled with a rose, waiting.

A mother tucked her daughter into bed.

He leaned back against the cold rail, thinking,

love, a thing people expressed with such gifts.

He watched as lights flashed across the dark lake.

As they race across the water, bright like stars,

he knew that all others’ love was too fake.

The town across the shimmering view burned.

Hell’s flames rose, licking up the tall houses.

Some ran and some shouted; his stomach churned.

The firemen command as the hose douses.

He slipped his lighter into his pocket.

Touch returning to his heart shaped locket. 

Love Kills

Okay, this story is a little bit, well a lot, more dark than the others. I wrote is kinda on the fly, and then I used it in English class.

Love Kills

She sat at the small round table in front of the coffee shop, twisting the spoon in her hot chocolate while watching people pass by. A woman walked quickly on the sidewalk, her sundress rippling in the wind, phone in her ear as she laughed and talked away.

She glanced from The Woman to a little boy who was trotting along next to a man; whom she assumed was his father. The Little Boy smiled, pulling on The Man’s hand, swinging his arms back and forth.

Children, she thought, were worthless. They didn’t do the job they were made to do. She glared bitterly at The Man as he tapped The Woman’s shoulder, a secretive smile crossing his face. The Woman turned around and grinned, hanging up the phone and hugging the two men in her life.

That’s how it was supposed to be, she thought, dropping the spoon on the table with a clatter. She grit her teeth, anger breaking the calm façade that surrounded her. He, she thought, had everything. She had given it all to him, her life, a child! She had thought if she gave him the baby he had always wanted they would be whole again. But no.

She had come home one night after picking up their son from preschool, and there It had been. Its blond hair tumbling over his shoulder, Its red lips locked with his as they sat on the couch together. He hadn’t known she was there, he was too wrapped up in It to notice his wife and child had come home and caught him cheating. For a while after she pretended she didn’t know about It, but it was pointless. He didn’t love her, even after she had devoted herself to him.

It had to be done, she rationalized, looking back to The Family in front of her. The Little Boy looked at her, his small hand reaching out to wave. The Man took one glance at her before catching his son’s hand and pulling him away.

She screamed suddenly, pushing herself up to her feet and reaching out for them. “Don’t leave me!”

Blood dripped down from the table she had pushed back, falling onto her white skirt. She looked down, watching the blood spread across the floor, pooling around her son as he lay limp. It splattered up her shirt as she spun to look to her husband, who was putting his arms up in a feeble attempt of defense.

Sirens echoed around the coffee shop, unheard by her. When the police officers surrounded her shaking body she began to yell.

“I gave you everything!” She screamed, raking her nails down her face. “I loved you!”

Two of the officers stood back while the others attempted to carefully subdue the woman.

“What’s she going on about?” The Young Officer asked, hand poised on the gun in his holster. He didn’t trust any of the crazies.

“You don’t know?” The Elder Officer asked. “That family down on Ennes Street we found about twelve hours ago? Turns out the blond woman was an affair, and this here’s Mr. Volo’s wife.”

“Are you saying she did that…that massacre?” The Younger Officer asked, voice shaking a little before turning cold.

“She caught him cheating, most likely not the first time, knifed the affair then turned on her own family.”

The Elder Officer left then to help the others with Mrs. Volo. The Younger Officer watched the woman scream and fight as they handcuffed her, and lowered her into the vehicle. Walking over to the table she had been sitting at, he studied the cold hot chocolate spilled all over the chair and ground.

Love, he thought absently, picking up the spoon, kills.