Tag Archives: Stories

The Bus Against the Creek

The school bus slept at the bank of the creek. Blotches of brown crusted its face and a toupee of twigs and feathers made a silly hideous man that welcomed Ashley and I.

The smell is what I remembered most: old rotting plastic leather and stale water. We didn’t mind the mosquito bites; we tolerated it, more so than the bruises if we weren’t in our rusted home. But the smoke of our cigarettes helped keep the insects at bay. We made sure to take the packs that were nearly empty. Makes any search for it useless. So we smoked until we were finished.

Ashley’s blue hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and my red draped over the left side of my face. “There’s fire and Ice,” they would say, “they’re trying too hard,” they whispered. There were other words that floated around, words that hurt, words that drove our constant emotions. I was fire for my hatred, and she was ice to bay her sadness. That was our meaning, but of course, no one bothered to ask. Maybe one day.

The lonesome bus against the creek knew how we felt. Just to be stuck here, in this small fucking town, falling apart into the earth, I get you dear Bus.

Everything was far away, and when I would grab the torn and peeling steering wheel, I swore I felt the tremors of an engine. I pull the shifting lever and pushed the accelerator; we floated down the creek, into the ocean, toward New Zealand, and walked the Mordor trail. We lived in my hobbit hole and her smiling, and the smell of warm food. Maybe one day.

But dreams die and are reborn constantly. I dreamed of Ashley the night before. That she laughed with a beautiful smile. And I would kiss her. Over and over, this dream came and went. She knew how we felt, but the blue overcame her. I wish I could’ve told her. I wish that she knew how much I loved her.

It rained. A strong storm that came, Katrina, a vengeful woman’s name, and Ashley called me, crying about her parents. She wanted to dream of the driving again, with me beside her. She wanted me there.

It hurt me so much that I couldn’t be there. Ashley had moved the bus, just as we once dreamed, and the creek took her away. I wept alone on the other side of yellow tape with my boots stuck in the creek’s bed. I hope to meet her in New Zealand one day. Maybe one day.

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Dying Dreamers

Do you remember when we were kids:
When we jumped into small streams, welcoming the pull of an ocean’s current;
When we stood atop hills, planting our flag on Everest;
When we sat on skateboards, drifting across the line of the Grand Prix?

We were giants, and the Earth was ours.

I remembered:
I told stories.
I keep telling stories,
I still tell stories so I may feel
the water
the air
the wind
every day.

And the moment I hold my breath,
they come and dissipate
leaving their dying breaths, fading memories.

and my heart breaks.

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The Woman with the Dark Blue Dress

Wrote this in one sitting on 7/24/11. Barely edited.

She sits alone at the bar, tracing the loop around her wine glass with her fingertips.  Her eyes survey her surroundings, looking at each individual person with large worrisome eyes. Her hand reaches for the wine glass slowly, sliding against the bar’s table as if her diamond wedding ring weighs heavy. Her eyes never stop wandering.

The large crowds of people constantly block my view from her. Everyone standing and shuffling about, awaiting for the countdown to 1980. Cheering and laughing fills the room with lively energy. Everyone is gleeful and sharing the emotion with everyone adjacent. All except this woman. This woman who’s wearing a dark blue dress. A gorgeous dress that one would wear to a special occasion. However, she isn’t celebrating, nor conversing with others. She’s all alone tonight, celebrating among herself. Why? I do not know.

She’s absolutely beautiful, I thought to myself. Too beautiful to be drinking alone. I pick up my glass of whiskey and walk toward her. Everything seems to be moving slowly. People raising their glasses into the air with large smiles and odd chants. I move through the crowd, gently pushing people aside, moving toward the woman.  I take several sips of my drink, hoping to finish it by the time I reach the bar. She isn’t smiling, but I am, for I want to bring her happiness tonight; the last night of the year. Continue reading

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