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October 6th, 2016
Butterflies in Knots a Short story Inspired by http://exclusive-canvas-art.pixels.com/featured/blue-butterfly-in-charcoal-and-vibrant-aqua-paint-mendyz-.html
This Butterflies in Knots short story was inspired by painting by the artist MendyZ. Click to look at the painting.
September 30th, 2016
September 26th, 2016
The Enchanted Tin pot
A Short Story - Inspired by Young Woman Bent Over the River A painting by the artist MendyZ
Kate Woodley looked at the enchanted tin pot in her hands and felt stressed. This was unusual for her. She generally had no qualms, and was calm in her isolated environment. She calmed, then tensed again. Her soft body locking up scared her. Kate whirled around searching for the source. she noticed the cracked window, her potbellied stove, her drying hosiery, and the meager supplies stacked neatly in a corner of her wooden home. A home tucked beneath the mountains shadow.
She sat on the rolled up mat that served as her bed, and felt the bamboo mat reeds beneath her thin gauzy dress. she sighed as the feeling dissipated mildly from her bones. She reached for the simple end table, which only held a candle perched on a volcano of melted wax, and a tin pot. Clinked the spoon as it scraped the bottom and used her whole fist to grip the spoon and bring the now cold soup to her lips.
Where had the time gone, she had just finished heating up the can of soup. She mused a little on that, and then let it slip gently from her mind. This was how she survived the past few years. Just forgetting. Or at least working hard at forgetting. Her misgivings, her sweetness, her past lives, all of them.
She walked over to the cracked window and reflected on her damp surroundings. She had always loved the depths of the creepy Santa Cruz Mountains with its fair, weathered and fat trees. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel less stressed. But, she knew she was not safe. She never would be.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Ashley Teller. Ashley was an admirable but creepy woman with thick collarbones and sweet skin. She marched onward piercing Kate's memories until they shattered and fled on their own accord.
Kate gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a stable, now instantly cowardly, with frumpy collarbone and shaky sternum as her ragged breath began to quicken. Her ancient friends saw her as a depressed, dripping deity. Once, she had even spent a generation helping a frail old lady recover from a flying accident. But now all she could do was arch her back as she dropped to the ground in a convulsion. Not even a stable, strong person was prepared for what Ashley had in store today.
The clouds danced like throwing demons, as the Santa Cruz Fire ripped through the serene mountains, making Kate blubber and bounce. She saw stars as she hit her head on the tin pot pouring forth a spray of dark red blood across the cracked window pane.
As Kate crawled outside over the weathered treads and Ashley came closer, she could see the heavy glint in her eye. She could see the smoke outline her body, and felt the energy drain from her body.
"I am here because I want peace," Ashley bellowed, in a deranged mocking tone. She slammed her fist against Kate's chest, with such force that it rattled her senses. "I frigging hate you, Kate Woodley."
Kate looked back, even more shocked and still fingering the enchanted tin pot. "Ashley, your evilness is draining me," she replied. "We used to have something together". "Something special", she pleaded.
They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two screeching, selfish spirits loving at a very scheming accident, which had soft bells music playing in the background and two gentle spirits crying to the beat.
Kate studied Ashley's thick collarbone and sweet skin. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you peace," she explained, in pitying tones. She rubbed the tin pot. A screeching sound poured forth from her body and enraged the roiling air around the two of them. A crack splintered the air, and then the gully was silent.
Ashley looked sleepy, her body raw like a wet washing station. "Anybody up there", Kate whispered in mocking joy.
Kate could actually hear Ashley's body shatter into pieces. Then the admirable coward hurried away into the distance to seek wash her battered dripping skull, and off into another gully to hide from enemies of centuries past.
Not even a drink of hot soup would calm Kate's nerves tonight.
THE END
You can get the print that this short story was Inspired by From here. Young Woman Bent Over the River by the artist MendyZ. You can even get this painting on a phone case, makeup bag, or backup battery!
September 26th, 2016
Tactless Cow
A Short Screenplay
Inspired by the painting Flaming Orange Blue Kittyartist MendyZ
INT. A SWEET SHOP - AFTERNOON
Daring gardener PROF ZOE JONES is arguing with thoughtful cleaner MISS HANNAH BOGTROTTER. ZOE tries to hug HANNAH but she shakes her off.
ZOE
Please Hannah, don't leave me.
HANNAH
I'm sorry Zoe, but I'm looking for somebody a bit more brave. Somebody who faces her fears head on, instead of running away.
ZOE
I am such a person!
HANNAH frowns.
HANNAH
I'm sorry, Zoe. I just don't feel excited by this relationship anymore.
HANNAH leaves.
ZOE sits down, looking defeated.
Moments later, admirable fishmonger DI ROBERT THUNDER barges in looking flustered.
ZOE
Goodness, Robert! Is everything okay?
ROBERT
I'm afraid not.
ZOE
What is it? Don't keep me in suspense...
ROBERT
It's ... a cow ... I saw an evil cow gobble a bunch of kittens!
ZOE
Defenseless kittens?
ROBERT
Yes, defenseless kittens!
ZOE
Bloomin' heck, Robert! We've got to do something.
ROBERT
I agree, but I wouldn't know where to start.
ZOE
You can start by telling me where this happened.
ROBERT
I was...
ROBERT fans himself and begins to wheeze.
ZOE
Focus Robert, focus! Where did it happen?
ROBERT
The Eden Project! That's right - The Eden Project!
ZOE springs up and begins to run.
EXT. A ROAD - CONTINUOUS
ZOE rushes along the street, followed by ROBERT. They take a short cut through some back gardens, jumping fences along the way.
EXT. THE EDEN PROJECT - SHORTLY AFTER
CHANTAL PARKES a tactless cow terrorises two kittens.
ZOE, closely followed by ROBERT, rushes towards CHANTAL, but suddenly stops in her tracks.
ROBERT
What is is? What's the matter?
ZOE
That's not just any old cow, that's Chantal Parkes!
ROBERT
Who's Chantal Parkes?
ZOE
Who's Chantal Parkes? Who's Chantal Parkes? Only the most tactless cow in the universe!
ROBERT
Blinkin' knickers, Zoe! We're going to need some help if we're going to stop the most tactless cow in the universe!
ZOE
You can say that again.
ROBERT
Blinkin' knickers, Zoe! We're going to need some help if we're going to stop the most tactless cow in the universe!
ZOE
I'm going to need paperweights, lots of paperweights.
Chantal turns and sees Zoe and Robert. She grins an evil grin.
CHANTAL
Zoe Jones, we meet again.
ROBERT
You've met?
ZOE
Yes. It was a long, long time ago...
EXT. A PARK - BACK IN TIME
A young ZOE is sitting in a park listening to some piano music, when suddenly a dark shadow casts over her.
She looks up and sees CHANTAL. She takes off her headphones.
CHANTAL
Would you like some white mice?
ZOE's eyes light up, but then he studies CHANTAL more closely, and looks uneasy.
ZOE
I don't know, you look kind of tactless.
CHANTAL
Me? No. I'm not tactless. I'm the least tactless cow in the world.
ZOE
Wait, you're a cow?
ZOE runs away, screaming.
EXT. THE EDEN PROJECT - PRESENT DAY
CHANTAL
You were a coward then, and you are a coward now.
ROBERT
(To ZOE) You ran away?
ZOE
(To ROBERT) I was a young child. What was I supposed to do?
ZOE turns to CHANTAL.
ZOE
I may have run away from you then, but I won't run away this time!
ZOE runs away.
She turns back and shouts.
ZOE
I mean, I am running away, but I'll be back - with paperweights.
CHANTAL
I'm not scared of you.
ZOE
You should be.
INT. NATIONAL HISTORY MUSEUM - LATER THAT DAY
ZOE and ROBERT walk around searching for something.
ZOE
I feel sure I left my paperweights somewhere around here.
ROBERT
Are you sure? It does seem like an odd place to keep deadly paperweights.
ZOE
You know nothing Robert Thunder.
ROBERT
We've been searching for ages. I really don't think they're here.
Suddenly, CHANTAL appears, holding a pair of paperweights.
CHANTAL
Looking for something?
ROBERT
Crikey, Zoe, she's got your paperweights.
ZOE
Tell me something I don't already know!
ROBERT
The earth's circumference at the equator is about 40,075 km.
ZOE
I know that already!
ROBERT
I pickle my earwax and keep it in a jar under my bed.
CHANTAL
(appalled) Dude!
While CHANTAL is looking at ROBERT with disgust, ZOE lunges forward and grabs her deadly paperweights. He wields them, triumphantly.
ZOE
Prepare to die, you tactless cauliflower!
CHANTAL
No please! All I did was gobble a bunch of kittens!
HANNAH enters, unseen by any of the others.
ZOE
I cannot tolerate that kind of behaviour! Those kittens were defenceless! Well now they have a defender - and that's me! Zoe Jones defender of innocent kittens.
CHANTAL
Don't hurt me! Please!
ZOE
Give me one good reason why I shouldn't use these paperweights on you right away!
CHANTAL
Because Zoe, I am your mother.
ZOE looks stunned for a few moments, but then collects herself.
ZOE
No you're not!
CHANTAL
Ah well, it had to be worth a try.
CHANTAL tries to grab the paperweights but ZOE dodges out of the way.
ZOE
Who's the mummy now? Huh? Huh?
Unexpectedly, CHANTAL slumps to the ground.
ROBERT
Did she just faint?
ZOE
I think so. Well that's disappointing. I was rather hoping for a more dramatic conclusion, involving my deadly paperweights.
ZOE crouches over CHANTAL's body.
ROBERT
Be careful, Zoe. It could be a trick.
ZOE
No, it's not a trick. It appears that... It would seem... Chantal Parkes is dead!
ZOE
What?
ZOE
Yes, it appears that I scared her to death.
ROBERT claps his hands.
ROBERT
So your paperweights did save the day, after all.
HANNAH steps forward.
HANNAH
Is it true? Did you kill the tactless cow?
ZOE
Hannah how long have you been...?
HANNAH puts her arm around ZOE.
HANNAH
Long enough.
ZOE
Then you saw it for yourself. I killed Chantal Parkes.
HANNAH
Then the kittens are safe?
ZOE
It does seem that way!
A crowd of vulnerable kittens enter, looking relived.
HANNAH
You are their hero.
The kittens bow to ZOE.
ZOE
There is no need to bow to me. I seek no worship. The knowledge that Chantal Parkes will never gobble kittens ever again, is enough for me.
HANNAH
You are humble as well as brave!
One of the kittens passes ZOE a shiny talisman
HANNAH
I think they want you to have it, as a symbol of their gratitude.
ZOE
I couldn't possibly.
Pause.
ZOE
Well, if you insist.
ZOE takes the talisman.
ZOE
Thank you.
The kittens bow their heads once more, and leave.
ZOE turns to HANNAH.
ZOE
Does this mean you want me back?
HANNAH
Oh, Zoe, of course I want you back!
ZOE smiles for a few seconds, but then looks defiant.
ZOE
Well you can't have me.
HANNAH
WHAT?
ZOE
You had no faith in me. You had to see my scare a cow to death before you would believe in me. I don't want a lover like that.
HANNAH
But...
ZOE
Please leave. I want to spend time with the one person who stayed with me through thick and thin - my best friend, Robert.
ROBERT grins.
HANNAH
But...
ROBERT
You heard the lady. Now be off with you. Skidaddle! Shoo!
HANNAH
Zoe?
ZOE
I'm sorry Hannah, but I think you should skidaddle.
HANNAH leaves.
ROBERT turns to ZOE.
ROBERT
Did you mean that? You know ... that I'm your best friend?
ZOE
Of course you are!
The two walk off arm in arm.
Suddenly ROBERT stops.
ROBERT
When I said I pickle my earwax and keep it in a jar under my bed, you know I was just trying to distract the cow don't you?
THE END
You can get a print of this amazing cat painting on all sorts of functional items, even a backup battery for your phone!
September 26th, 2016
The Enchanted Tin pot
A Short Story - Inspired by Young Women Washing Bent Over River A painting by the artist MendyZ
Kate Woodley looked at the enchanted tin pot in her hands and felt stressed. This was unusual for her. She generally had no qualms, and was calm in her isolated environment. She calmed, then tensed again. Her soft body locking up scared her. Kate whirled around searching for the source. she noticed the cracked window, her potbellied stove, her drying hosiery, and the meager supplies stacked neatly in a corner of her wooden home. A home tucked beneath the mountains shadow.
She sat on the rolled up mat that served as her bed, and felt the bamboo mat reeds beneath her thin gauzy dress. she sighed as the feeling dissipated mildly from her bones. She reached for the simple end table, which only held a candle perched on a volcano of melted wax, and a tin pot. Clinked the spoon as it scraped the bottom and used her whole fist to grip the spoon and bring the now cold soup to her lips.
Where had the time gone, she had just finished heating up the can of soup. She mused a little on that, and then let it slip gently from her mind. This was how she survived the past few years. Just forgetting. Or at least working hard at forgetting. Her misgivings, her sweetness, her past lives, all of them.
She walked over to the cracked window and reflected on her damp surroundings. She had always loved the depths of the creepy Santa Cruz Mountains with its fair, weathered and fat trees. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel less stressed. But, she knew she was not safe. She never would be.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Ashley Teller. Ashley was an admirable but creepy woman with thick collarbones and sweet skin. She marched onward piercing Kate's memories until they shattered and fled on their own accord.
Kate gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a stable, now instantly cowardly, with frumpy collarbone and shaky sternum as her ragged breath began to quicken. Her ancient friends saw her as a depressed, dripping deity. Once, she had even spent a generation helping a frail old lady recover from a flying accident. But now all she could do was arch her back as she dropped to the ground in a convulsion. Not even a stable, strong person was prepared for what Ashley had in store today.
The clouds danced like throwing demons, as the Santa Cruz Fire ripped through the serene mountains, making Kate blubber and bounce. She saw stars as she hit her head on the tin pot pouring forth a spray of dark red blood across the cracked window pane.
As Kate crawled outside over the weathered treads and Ashley came closer, she could see the heavy glint in her eye. She could see the smoke outline her body, and felt the energy drain from her body.
"I am here because I want peace," Ashley bellowed, in a deranged mocking tone. She slammed her fist against Kate's chest, with such force that it rattled her senses. "I frigging hate you, Kate Woodley."
Kate looked back, even more shocked and still fingering the enchanted tin pot. "Ashley, your evilness is draining me," she replied. "We used to have something together". "Something special", she pleaded.
They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two screeching, selfish spirits loving at a very scheming accident, which had soft bells music playing in the background and two gentle spirits crying to the beat.
Kate studied Ashley's thick collarbone and sweet skin. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you peace," she explained, in pitying tones. She rubbed the tin pot. A screeching sound poured forth from her body and enraged the roiling air around the two of them. A crack splintered the air, and then the gully was silent.
Ashley looked sleepy, her body raw like a wet washing station. "Anybody up there", Kate whispered in mocking joy.
Kate could actually hear Ashley's body shatter into pieces. Then the admirable coward hurried away into the distance to seek wash her battered dripping skull, and off into another gully to hide from enemies of centuries past.
Not even a drink of hot soup would calm Kate's nerves tonight.
THE END
September 16th, 2016
Short story inspired by Portrait painting of a hotel in Red Gray Black by mendyz
Short story inspired by Portrait painting of girl in red by MendyZ
It's easy to get lost in thought, isn't it? To be doing some mindless or rather repetitive task and then just have your mind wandered away, leaving you in this autopilot state. Your mind is thinking about all the embarrassing or wonderful things you've done with your life. To be frank, my mind always liked to play with the awkward things, my brain likes to imagine double every awkward thing I have ever done. It does it to the point where even the tiniest of infractions of social rules or law, are applied into detonations of nuclear proportions of defacement of basic human decency. As I exposed photos in the red room, seeing the pictures fade in from the white, I felt my brain drift off to one I took the photos. Seeing the features of a dog and, behind it, a wonderful wall covered in colour books with titles that belonged in the 18th century, I thought back to the adventure that led me there.
I had offered to walk my friend's dog, a wonderful golden retriever. that had golden hair like it was made out of shredded Spanish doubloons. Walking her around town, I quickly found the old warehouses that lined the outskirts of my town. They weren't the nicest of places, covered in spray paint and smelling like a mixture of paint, urine and, what I could only imagine to be, ever illegal substance on Earth. As I walked along the warehouses, I noticed a gap between a set of two of them. A gap wide enough to fit a small lorry between them. The dog started to turn towards it and, as I was about to yank the leash to guide him away, I noticed a wonderful house in the distance. Looking down the gap, I saw the beautiful victorian house. Made out of beautiful painted wood, the windows bricked up with red bricks, and the roof somehow still stable. The dog barked at nothing, it yanked against the leash and tried to bolt down the gap. I told it to calm down but it bolted again, the leash escaping from my hand.
The dog rushed down the gap, bolting towards nowhere in particular as its long legs took like strides as the dog dashed with the speed of a small cheetah towards the house. Shouting, I gave chase. Running like an idiot, holding my bag, stuffed with my camera and notepad, I ran towards the dog. The dog stopped in front of the Victorian House door, sitting there like how a dog sits at a back door, waiting for its owner to let it out. Sitting there, wagging its tail, as I was had my hands on my legs, trying to fill my lungs with the precious oxygen that they so needed. The dog kept barking at the door, sitting there like the idiot that it was. Eventually, I filled my lungs with enough air to straighten myself out.
Walking over to the dog, I had patted it on the head and asked it to shut up. Taking a inquisitive hand, I pushed at the door and it, without a single creak, swung open. As the door got half way open, the dog ran in, throwing the door open the entire way. The wooden slab smacked against the bricked up wall, making the brick sound like a siren as the rocks made a resounding sound as the dog ran around the abandoned house, barking its head off as it went. I saw it dash up and down the wooden stairs, run in and out of doors, dive in and out of rooms and the whole other nine yards. Taking a step inside, I looked around the abandoned building. The wood was only barely rotten, the rooms still filled with furniture, the doors still strong. It was like I stepped through a portal to a hundred or two hundred years ago.
The dog finally stepped at the top of the stairs and turned its head at me. Giving an excited bark, the dog dashed into another door. Taking the short flight of stairs up towards where the dog dodged into, I muttered under my breath about that stupid dog. Woofing at me from a slightly ajar door, I propped open the door and saw a lovely beautiful sight. A study with an entire wall covered in a large bookshelf, and the entire bookshelf completely stocked with old books of every colour of the rainbow and every size imaginable. They look like they were all in mint condition, with barely a scratch on them. Looking down, I saw the dog staring at me with one of those goofy canine smiles. Pulling a camera out of my bag, I crouched down and snapped a picture of the dog, immortalizing that goofy smile.
I smiled as the red light of the red room twinkled in my eyes, it was a beautiful sight all of those books. As the picture matured, I smiled, patting the bag, now filled with beautiful books. It was truly a beautiful sight. Memories are a wonderful thing. Life doesn't always have conclusions, but the events can still be treasured as such. I always remember that house, even if there was no story conclusion to that tale.
September 14th, 2016
It is odd to wake up to music. Not, I don't mean, like hearing the music you picked for your alarm clock. That's fairly normal. To hear the first notes of Ode of Joy because you thought it would be ironic to have that as the opening to your first groggy moment of the day. The Ode of Joy playing as you tried to pull yourself out of the warm grasp of your blanket, that's rather normal. Hearing any music as your alarm is normal. It is downright ordinary and, even, possibly the most normal thing on Earth. The most normal thing on Earth is being that you wake up to music from an alarm clock or an alarm on your phone. Odd to imagine that, everyone waking up at similar times to music that they once chose because it was their favourite song and is now their most hated song.
Maybe, at one point when you wake up, someone is listening to the same song as you are. Listening to the exact same guitar or the exact same voice as you as you both do the roll of shame out of bed. That is an incredible thought but it is not the odd thing that happened to me. I woke up to actual music. Living on the very top floor, I hear everything that goes on the roof. If there is someone fixing a satellite to the roof, I hear the bolts being drilled into the floor. If some teenagers are goofing off up their with some bottles of beer, then I hear them drinking, laughing and throwing the bottles around. It is rather normal for me to hear everything on the roof at any time.
What is not normal to hear on the roof is what I could only consider to be a wonderful melody on a guitar. The twangs of her guitar made me rattle my brain to try to imagine what song those notes dare came from to be played by such a beautiful sounding guitar. Racking my brain, I couldn't imagine a single song with the same notes, the same pattern; my thoughts rattled with ideas of the ideas behind the twanging strings but never I could feel when the song came from. My mind, as I rolled out of bed, finally made the decision is that it's an entirely new song. Flipping open my phone, I saw the day, the time and everything under the sun. I wondered who on earth could be playing on the roof at seven in the morning on a Saturday. As I pulled on a bra, panties, and a set of comfortable clothes. The kind you could wear inside and slouch all day but if you left the house, you somehow felt you were underdressed in the prying eyes of the public. Even if you are sitting in the fast food place that rivalled entire nations in criminal activity, these were the clothes you would still feel underdressed in.
As I threw those clothes on, I thought about what person was up there. I have to admit, at first I thought it was some hipster wannabe, thinking he was John Lennon and Martin Luther King Junior all rolled into one. I had a few small fantasy as I opened up my apartment door of smacking a stereotypical hipster with his acoustic guitar covered in bumper stickers and political slogans. Climbing the stairs up to the the little room that held the ladder to the roof, I heard her voice for the first time. A beautiful soothing voice, the voice of, as I've said before, an angel. She was truly beautiful to hear, her voice sung of beautiful poetry and wonderful tunes. It was like hearing a person talk about something they were truly passionate about. Yet, it was more than that. It was like hearing someone sing about something they were passionate about, if they had the voice box of a temptress. It was like a siren without the ill effects of meeting one.
Climbing up the ladder, I pushed open the hatch and stared out. There, sitting cross legged, staring out at the rising sun, was a very beautiful girl. I know that sounds awkward, like how what a teenage boy would write in his journal, because they can't say diary, about the girl that got a crush on. Yet, I can't describe her anymore perfectly because I think I might confuse anyone with my description. All I can really say is that she had hair going down to her back, it curled in beautiful spirals, and it picked up the rising sun like it was an art structure that was made exactly for that purpose. An art piece that was made for the beautiful purpose of shining the sunlight in a specific way. She was sitting there, playing the beautiful music and singing to herself. Well, she thought she was singing to herself.
I couldn't understand a word she was saying. At the time it was in a language I couldn't understand, yet, when paired with that guitar, was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. I felt like it was like hearing music for the first time in your life. Imagining living two decades of your life with no music, no elevator music, and then, out of nowhere, you hear the most beautiful music ever. To hear the Mozart's Ode of Joy for the first time. She had a beautiful voice that seemed to infect my soul. From the ladder, I called to her. I didn't really know what to say, so I said; "Do you play the guitar?". The most awkward thing I could have ever said as a first impression. She said "I do".
The exact same thing I said to her and the priest today.
September 14th, 2016
Robotic Abe Lincoln short story about art
Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.
I, however, was an Abe Lincoln in a strange children’s restaurant. You have to admit, what children is going to want to hear presidential speeches over pizza? Some apparently. I remember that there were even a few kids that looked excited to see George W. Bush talk and talk about “The Pet Goat” to the point where the cassette tapes inside his brain were wearing down. There was every president in this strange Chuck E. Cheese knock-off. There was even George Washington. He got a lot more love than the rest of us, he was treated a bit like a celebrity. George even got a pose, he was like a warrior with his sword and his Star Spangled Banner cape. He got regular maintenance, so he always looked perfect. His face was regularly painted white and he always looked on top of his game.
His voice, unlike the rest of ours, was still crisp perfect. His tapes never skipped, they never burned out, and were always just perfect. He must have been getting regular replacements for months, if not weeks. Every president, from Hoover to the recently constructed Obama, hated the guy. He always, when the lights went out, would go on and on about how the kids all loved him. Have you ever met a person who you just didn’t like immediately as soon as you saw them? That was George Washington. He had this face that you just hated immediately and you are trying to find a reason to hate him because you don’t actually have one. I developed my reason from years of staring at him but the first time I could see, I just remember having him on sight. The reason I hated him is because when everyone left and the last minimum wage earning teenager locked and bolted the doors, there wasn’t even a minute silence. He just immediately starts chatting and talking and will not shut up. I think I might have made a list in my head at one point to why I hate him.
He just always talked about how much kids loved him, constantly. It was like the only thing he cared about was that he had these snot-filled fans that would treat him like he was a god and they were meant to bring sacrifices to the great George Washington. No one cared when he spoke, no one bothered to correct him when he said he got more visitors than anyone, and no one dare mention anything that he would take offence to. I remember Roosevelt once exploded at him, telling him to, and I quote, “finally shut up about the bags of disease that stare at him from glazed over eyes”. When the acne-infested teenager walked through the doors, they thought one of the local teenagers had took an ax to Roosevelt's head. His face was completely torn open, his moustache hung down like a swinging pendulum. He was taken into the maintenance room and gave out a few days later. He was finally fixed up except for the long metallic scar along the back of his head. When the lights went out again, we all rushed to see the scar and look over Roosevelt. He looked safe enough, he didn’t sound it though. His voice and eyes were shaking, his pupils stared at my face as if he was scared of me. I asked him what was wrong and, before Roosevelt could answer, George Washington gave a tut. We all turned to him with scowls, muttering things under our breath. Breath we didn’t have but you know what I mean.
Washington declared us all cowards. Bush declared he was a coward and punched him in the jaw. Before it could escalate to a full on fight, Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan broke it up, holding the two presidents away from each other. They pinned the two attackers against the walls of the dirty Chuck E. Cheese knock off and whispered how the other president wasn’t worth it. I sighed and looked as my friends pushed each other against the walls and told them not to fight. I wanted to laugh really, I wanted to start bursting out in robotic, halting laughter at the hypocrisy of it all. A house divided against itself cannot stand. As they fought, I went behind the cashier desk and opened one of the “Staff Only” doors. Grabbing the lost and found box, I looked around inside it. I found a yellow scarf and wrapped it around my neck. A window, left open, fluttered in. The wind picked up the scarf and made it dance with it. I closed my eyes and jumped. The window broke open as I fell onto the street corner and the burglar alarm blared within the pizzeria. I didn’t care anymore, I didn’t care that the alarms were going off or that my friends would wonder where I was, I was free. I was out of where I had been forever and a day.
I started running down the street as I heard sirens. Then, I never stopped running.
June 21st, 2013
June 20th, 2013
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