Creative Writing Archives

Creative Writing – Alcatraz

Alcatraz
Who is she? The woman glides in and out of sight. From the corner of his eyes, she’s gone when he turns. Mists in the light, neverending white. Every night it’s the same, never catching a clear view. Sometimes he remembers the raven hair, others the feline glitter of her hazel eyes. Tonight it was an innocent come-hither half smile. He felt like he could almost grasp her name, the sweet taste of it on his tongue. The closer she is ignites a feeling about who he was.

Alcatraz was taken away from the cool calming realm with the sounds of yelling. Two of his bunkmates were arguing over something. There were always echoes of fighting and arguments in the background. He didn’t know how long he’d been here in this nightmare underworld. Had it been weeks, months, years? He remembers the first day, his first memory. A towering overly muscular dark-skinned man slapped his face, it was a quick sharp stab “Your name’s Alcatraz! This is your life now. You fight, you live, you die. The longer you fight, the longer you live. Be ready, tonight you’re making your debut to the crowd!” He felt the sweaty smooth scalp of his head. He remembers thinking it felt too smooth, newly shaven, raw. This was before his head was covered with new scabs over old scars that gave it its now rocky texture. Since that day he’s been training and fighting. How many lives had he sniffed out in the pit? The faces of his victories blurred into shadows. Specters that created numbness in his mind. A deep hole of darkness in his soul. He was alive unlike his past opponents but trapped in waves of pain, blood, carnage, and death. It was only in his dreams that he felt free, remembering what life out of the pits might be like. She was his lifeline, the woman he visited in his safe harbor. Was she a loved one from his former life or maybe the final piece of his decomposed soul that had any hope of being redeemed? Before every fight, he sneaks away to the light. Reaching for the warmth only she could give.

“Alcatraz your up!” He slides off the blood-stained mattress of his squeaky bunk. Wraps his left forearm with the yellowed bandages he uses for simple armor. Lifts his helmet, a mismatched cage of rusted and dented lead pipes. Slips his head in it and places it on his weary shoulders. Grabs his signature battle chain with the muscle-ripping hook and mechanically walks toward the area’s inner doors. The vibrations of the spectator’s roar ripple through the floor up his body. Tonight he would fight again for the bosses, kill for them. His life was their plaything, but they would never completely have his soul. Every day she would free it in his dreams.

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This blog post was originally published on my former website, Comic Book Graphic Design and has now been migrated here to RSC Arts, Artist Blog.

Creative Writing – Susanna, part one

Creative Writing – Susanna, part one
The sweet burnt smell filled Anthony’s inner nostrils as the waiter passed behind him. “Hmm, fajitas, those smell good.” Tony as his friends called him was meeting an old friend this early autumn evening. It’s been 40 years since he even thought of Susanna. He was very surprised to receive her phone call the day before. They had never been sweethearts, at least that’s how he felt. Tony knew she had a major crush on him in high school. Sure they had gone on a few dates back then. Tony wasn’t a bad-looking guy back then, at least that’s what he thought. “No trouble with the lady’s.” Now he was rounding the final years of his fifties. After a lifetime of experiences, he was no longer that go-lucky youth Susanna had fallen for. After time in the army, three kids, and a failed marriage; he was now a very grumpy old man. Tony waited in a booth wearing his favorite blue cap. A proud veteran Tony’s cap sported a VA patch. He wears it to cover the bold spot he started getting in his early thirties. Susanna didn’t know he was bold now, at least he didn’t think so. “Would she still want to meet this old grumpy old man?”

Tony feared she wouldn’t recognize him or worst, she would see him and one step turn around walk out the door. “Forty years, it’s a lot of time, we’ve lived our lives……people change…….She’ll have changed too.” He wondered if he’d even recognize her. Susanna, with her curly strawberry blond hair. It use to always remind him of a summer sunset. Maybe she was already sitting in the restaurant, at a table, or at the bar. Deciding if she still wanted to meet. Why did she want to meet anyways? Tony realized he didn’t really know. Her call was short and quick, “Hi Tony, How have you been, Wow it’s been a long time, hope things have been well, can we meet at Blue Corn, Tomorrow at 7:00, See you there….” Did he even say a word to her? Those short statements were all he really remembered from the conversation. Did she say more? Did she say why she wanted to meet? Tony was so surprised by the call, it had all happened so fast, too fast. He looked through the half-open blinds out the window. It was getting darker. The nights had started rolling in sooner this week. “Shorter days and longer nights”, he always liked this time change during the Fall season. It was a breezy fall evening, much like the one he remembered seeing Susanna last. It had been homecoming, the night of the big game. The night of the famous and tragic accident. The accident changed everything that senior year in high school.

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This blog post was originally published on my former website, Comic Book Graphic Design and has now been migrated here to RSC Arts, Artist Blog.

Creative Writing – Eye

Creative Writing – Eye
An electric spectrum of color, this is how Danny saw the world now. It had been days now since the new bionic eye was installed. Not both eyes, just the left one. Maybe in the next few months, he could afford one for his right. This was Danny’s first cyber implant, he waited until he could buy a legit one. His cousin Kyle bought one from a friend of a friend. The eye malfunctioned within hours, it shorted out and burned his face and inner brain. Now Kyle was a disfigured idiot. A drooling fool that laughed at everything.

No Danny’s new eye was top of the line, with features like multi-spectrum viewing, Infrared, heat, night vision; all the bells and whistles. He could still see optical if he choose to, but now he had 25x zoom ability. An extra option he had added was a built-in recorder. Everything he saw was now sent straight to his cloud storage, as long as he was near a wi-fi hot spot This whole city was a wi-fi hot spot. Danny was still getting used to the new sights. He’d tried all his viewing options at least once, but it was the Electric spectrum of color he enjoyed the most. VISION SETTING FOUR: COLOR SPECTRUM, the official setting name. He preferred calling it his electronic spectrum vision.

It seemed to him like everyone was getting bionics. An upgraded sight like himself, digitized enhanced hearing, hydraulic strength, and enhanced agility. The demand was high for quality parts, and buying second-rate upgrades was easier to find and cheaper. Like Kyle’s generic low-grade life-ruining eye. After that Danny knew he’d only settle for the best, the price didn’t matter. Tomorrow he’d start setting money aside to get the other eye. In his secret hiding place. The one under his data entry post next to the food processor.

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This blog post was originally published on my former website, Comic Book Graphic Design and has now been migrated here to RSC Arts, Artist Blog.

Creative Writing – The Package, Part One

Creative Writing – The Package, Part One
After weeks of waiting Tom’s package had arrived. “It’s finally here!” The thought kept repeating itself in his head. Laura, his wife had picked it up in the morning at the post office. It needed a delivery confirmation signature. Tom anxiously waited all day at work until he could speed home to open it. She told him it was left on the dining room table for him. When he got home, he was so ecstatic he dropped the keys twice when opening the front door. Like a kid on Christmas morning, he was giddy to rip open the package and find the treasure within.

Tom ran to the dining room leaving the front door open. The sounds of his neighbors coming home from their long days at work are in the background. There it was, displayed in the middle of the table. Perfectly centered on top of the white linen table cloth Laura’s mother gave them on their tenth wedding anniversary. A family heirloom passed down for a few generations. Tom’s hands reach for his prize, the package. But he stops with fingertips only inches away from touching it. Frozen he sees a dark red splash on the front, where the label reads his mailing address. The zip code is barely legible underneath the red. “What’s that?” Tom leans in closer, not altering his frozen stance much. “I think that’s blood.”

He backs away from the package slowly, as if it were a wild animal or a bomb ready to explode and take half the house with it. He slowly lurks around the perfectly centered box. On the back, the side opposite to the opening of the dining room where he entered. Tom is horrified to see his package half stained in dark red. It looks like someone dipped it in a barrel of blood or it’s Hemorrhaging from some unseen fatal wound. The dark red was now seeping into the white linen tablecloth. Tom now notices the slow sound of heavy drops echoing in the background. He imagines a thick puddle of dark red building up on the professionally cleaned carpet underneath the dining room table. An uncontrollable shiver of ice rolls up his spine. He feels a numbness that begins at his heart that slowly spreads to his toes and fingertips.

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This blog post was originally published on my former website, Comic Book Graphic Design and has now been migrated here to RSC Arts, Artist Blog.

Creative Writing – Softball

Creative Writing – Softball
“Heads up!” Wes yelled at Roger, Eric, and Henry. The three were distracted discussing their favorite topic Chicas. They didn’t notice they walked right into the middle of a softball game. An improv game started up in one of the clear fields wasn’t an unusual thing at church camp. This would be the third summer the teens attended. Although the pretense of the camp was to learn about god, the adolescent search for coupling was priority number one. “It’s a fly ball, watch out!” Roger and his friends ran in different directions to avoid being hit by the softball.

Running in a chaotic manner, Roger zigged and zagged to his right, then to the left. Like a master assassin skillfully dodging ninja throwing stars. Well in his mind’s eye that’s what he looked like. Out of breath he stopped and sees his friends and the game players staring wide-eyed in his direction. THUMP! Roger feels something hit his head. A few moments later, which feels like hours he finds himself looking up at the sky. Faces staring down, head throbbing from the sharp pain. He hears robust laughter of Wes. “Dude! That was crazy, you totally ran right to the ball!” Gesturing with both hands Wes reenacts the scene. With his left, he moves it in chaotic every which way directions. With his right, he shows a slow upward then downward slope of the ball. He has them meet fingertip to fingertip in front of Roger’s eyes. Rogers first thought “I’m not going to impress the Chicas this way, then again maybe I did get someone’s attention.”

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This blog post was originally published on my former website, Comic Book Graphic Design and has now been migrated here to RSC Arts, Artist Blog.