I was just messing around with styles on this one, giving the reader the role of the Trust Fund Manager who the main character is speaking to. Have a good read and check me out on Twitter @CynicalMinister 🙂
I had a ten-minute time limit to write something using the Freewriting style and present it to the evening’s writers critique group, and this is what I cooked up that evening.
Mr. Carrington sat in his recliner and stared into the fireplace, washing down his regrets and shortcomings with a bottle of the hardest scotch whiskey on the shelves. He held a picture of he and his wife, taken on their first date at a carnival, sometime in the year nineteen seventy-two.
The ringing of the doorbell interrupted his attempt of finishing the last bit of whiskey without vomiting. He sat the bottle next to his seat and dragged his feet toward the front door. After opening the door, he noticed a tall black fellow, dressed in a nice suit and tie with briefcase in hand.
“Mr. Carrington?” He asked politely, followed by a look of concern, concealed by a friendly smile that meant nothing.
Carrington never seen the man before but knew exactly why he was looking for him. Instead of answering, he walked away from the front door and returned to his seat. The black male took time to think of alternative ways to gain the old man’s attention, but nothing was going to get Mr. Carrington out of that chair, unless it was his wife at that door.
The black male entered the home and closed the door behind him. He sat in the loveseat next to the recliner and kept an eye on the old man as he finished the remaining swig of whiskey. Without turning to look at his guest, he spoke with his eyes staring deep into the fire once again.
“My wife and i used to sit there.” He said in a raspy drunken tone. The suited man began to stand, not wanting to be disrespecting in any way, but Carrington raised his hand, signaling that it was alright for him to remain seated.
“We would sit there and watch the beautiful flames from that fireplace there, care free with no interest in what was going on out there in the world. Our world was in here, and we made it enjoyable and comfortable for each other. There was nothing out there that could draw me away from her and the life that we made together.” Mr. Carrington spoke emotionally as his hand trembled on the arm of the recliner. The suited man notice this as Carrington continued on…
“I’ve done some terrible things in the past that i am ashamed of, things that you couldn’t imagine. I was young, ignorant and full of so much hate.” Mr. Carrington took another look at the empty whiskey bottle, knowing that the content has been consumed, but wishing that there was at least a sip left.
“Mr. Carrington, Um…” The suited man intended his palm for a handshake. “My name is Gerard Cole…” he introduced himself in a pleasant tone of voice with that salesman-like smile, but Carrington did not shake his hand, nor did he care to hear what he had to offer, if he was offering something.
“Yeah, yeah.” Carrington uttered with a grunt, like the careless drunk that he is. “Listen Mr. Cole, you seem like a nice kid. I mean, you got your fancy little suit on, your Colgate smile, and your nappy hair cut all short and greased up. Now i can only think of one reason why a boy like you would be knocking at my door… You want to kill me.” Continue Reading
I can’t speak for these other guys out here, but I could never handle breakups well. Some people can move on to the next person within a week’s time, and some spend several weeks locked in their room, crying until they can’t do it anymore. I’ll shed some light on the most popular solution.
I hate this part.
The relationship we spent so much time building together is over, and so comes the part where I’m supposed to become something completely different than who I am.
My Facebook marital status has to change from “In A Relationship” to “Single” and back to “In A Relationship.” to give people the impression that I have committed myself to another relationship, all within a week’s time.
Next, I should tell friends of my social network page “I’m Loving Life,” to act as if I have found some incredible form of happiness just after a failed relationship. Either that, or to make it seem as if what we had together was so god-awful, it’s closure freed me, bringing me back to a happiness before you.
I’m supposed to go to the night clubs and pretend to enjoy dancing with strange women, as they grind themselves against me, one after another. Continue Reading
What can I say? Going to sleep with ninety-nine problems running through your mind will contribute to creating some of the craziest dreams.
WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE.
I remember the night being cold and misty from the storm that had passed. There was a calm that came afterwards, which kept my wife and I in bed to breathe it all in and enjoy the rare moment. With only seven hours until our set time to awaken, we were still up at night, reading our own individual choice of literature. Nothing could be heard but the ticking of the clock and the turning of our pages, that is until her lips set to ask a question that would change the mood instantly. It is as if she had not been reading the words on the page, but pondering the question in silence for the past hour. She closed her book and turned to me as if I had somehow done her wrong. I asked the reason for her questionably eerie look thrice, all went unanswered until I showed my disinterest by turning away to continue my read.
“Have you ever noticed how I am the one that always shows affection.”she said. “It is I who is always the initiator. Kissing you, touching you, holding you.” it was by far the most preposterous and incognizant claim she had ever made. Though she laid there in full belief of what she said, It was apparent to me that she had completely forgot everything I had ever done for her. I was used to this feeling that had begun to grow inside of me. She had come from a family of spoiled inconsiderate women, but I’ve always ignored that fact and hid it behind a shit-eating smile. There’s no wonder why the women in her family are either single old maids or raving cunts.
At that moment, she began to resemble her mother and aunts in appearance, which developed a sickening grumble in my stomach that made me reject her, as if she were shellfish, and I am allergic to shellfish. I then closed my book just as she did before, sitting up in bed to place my back against the headboard and clearing my throat, as I believed a reminder was in order. Continue Reading
I came up with this idea a year ago and forgot all about it. It came back to me earlier this afternoon, and I had to write it down quick, before it left my mind once again. Good stuff here that will leave you thinking. Do enjoy.
I don’t know if it’s like this for everyone, but you could always feel a cold draft and a stench of death in the air when standing in a hospital room, looking over a deceased loved one. I felt it that evening while listening to the local police explain what happened to my Mother earlier that day. She had been a victim of a hit-and-run that not only broke both legs, arms and cracked her skull, but also took her life. I used to think things like this could never happen to our family, until this day had come, now I’m not sure what to think anymore. You lose certain things when this type of tragedy hits home. I lost the only person in this world that ever loved me, and seen hope in me, even when I didn’t see it in myself. I lost my mother, and with her, I also lost my faith in God, the man who was supposed to been watching over his loyal ones. This day left me with nothing but options, leading me into a grey-colored room with three seats and dim lighting.
Standing by the room entrance was the Doctor whom I had been speaking with the entire evening, introducing to me a strange looking middle-aged man, dressed in a black suit and wool trencher to match. The Doctor left the two of us in the room together, for what reason, I was soon to find out. He sat in the chair across the room from me, took a minute to watch in silence before speaking softly my way.
“I am sorry for your loss, I know first hand that you could never expect things like this to happen, especially to good people we know and love.” he said in a sympathetic tone of voice. He seemed sincere and concerned. I couldn’t help but to vent to him, for I had no one else in the world to talk to.
“I could never love another like I did my mother.” I said while trying not to cry like a newborn baby. The hardest task that evening was swallowing and digesting the fact that I could never see my mother again after the night is over. The thought made me feel naked and helpless.
“I could never understand the mechanics and psychology of this God whom we put our love, trust and faith into. I gave up believing in him long ago, and began to accept another concept.” he further explained… “that life is indeed what we make it. We are the creators of everything you see before you, and with that being said, You, Mr. Dunton, should be informed of the options you have here tonight.” Continue Reading
I had a long discussion with a friend about my free-writing entries where i tell stories of corrupt or failed relationships. I was told that i write these stories as if I lived through them, and that I should try to compile them and present the work in the form of a book. It sounded like a good idea, but I have so many unfinished projects that needs my attention more. so then, being as though these pieces of work had already been posted, I compiled the links of the stories and present to you, the “BAD ROMANCE” collection. Do enjoy.
4. Sex Life
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