Tuesdays with Media: One Dark Night

Head on over to my other blog to read my latest story.

Tuesdays with Media: Name and Address

Check out my latest short story on my other blog.

Tuesdays with Media: First Date

I just wrote a new story.  You should read it.

Tuesdays with Media: Step Right Up

New story.  See if you can guess the theme...

Tuesdays with Media: Ainsley

I wrote a new story that you can read here.  Other than "Davey and the Dragon," which is a children's story, "Ainsley" is the longest story that I've published on my blog.  I'm telling you about the story's length not to scare you off, but because I want you to know what's ahead.  I had a bit of help from one of my coworkers on this one (he reminded me of an important storytelling principal and offered some other good feedback).  I think the final outcome is really good and I hope that you'll take some time and see for yourself.

Tuesdays with Media: Pecking Order

I'm not sure why I haven't been keeping up with this feature.  While I try to figure out the reason, you should follow this link to read my latest work of fiction.

Tuesdays with Media: Pasta

My new story is made possible thanks to my big sister, Margot, who helped me brainstorm and work out some ideas.  Thanks, Sis!

Tuesdays with Media: Text

I wrote another short story, which I posted on my story blog.  Give it a read and let me know what you think.

Tuesdays with Media: Emotional Words

I wrote another short story.  You can read it here.

Tuesdays with Media: The First Day

I wrote an educational children's story.  You can read it here.  If you have access to children, I'd appreciate if you read my story to them and share their reaction with me.

Tuesdays with Media: Family Values

I wrote a new short story that you can read here.  It's a sequel to "Natural Living," a story I wrote a few years ago.

Tuesdays with Media: Humilia

I wrote a one-page script that can be found here.  You should read it.

Tuesdays with Media: Not in My House

Another new story on my other blog.  I know that clicking a link sometimes is too much, so it can also be viewed below.

Not in My House

Scene 1

INT. Kitchen

A husband and wife are finishing up their dinner preparations. What they are making is unimportant. The wife (MOM) places something on the table (like a bowl of salad or a roast).

MOM: You should tell Michael that dinner’s ready.

The husband (DAD) nods and walks out of the kitchen.

INT. Hallway, viewed from inside a bedroom, the door not quite closed

DAD is about to knock on the door, but pauses and looks in. Without saying a word, DAD’s eyes go big and he backs away with a look of horror on his face, bumping softly into the bathroom door behind him, pushing it open. DAD walks back to the kitchen.

INT. Kitchen

MOM: What’s going on? Where’s Michael?

DAD: [to himself] I just can’t believe it. You try to raise your kids right, but it all just falls apart on you.

MOM: What are you talking about?

DAD: [to MOM] I caught Michael using Coke.

MOM: [loud, but not quite a shout] Are you serious?! [quickly looks back towards the bedroom and changes to speaking in a loud whisper] Did you take it away?!

DAD: Why bother? I’m sure he’ll just get more.

MOM: Do you know where he got it?

DAD: No, but I’d guess that friend of his, Johnny, is involved. I never liked that kid.

MOM: Is that what Michael said?

DAD: No, once I saw what he was doing, I left. [ashamed] I just can’t look at him right now.

MOM: Hang on. Let’s find out what’s going on. I just can’t believe he’s using coke! [walks out of kitchen]

INT. Hallway.

We see MOM walking down the hall. This time, MIKE’s bedroom door is completely open, but the bathroom door across the hall is closed. The sound of a toilet flushing is heard. The door opens and MIKE, a teenager, comes out, a strong look of worry and fear is on his face.

MOM: Michael! What is this I hear about you using coke!?

MIKE: I just wanted to try it, that’s all!

MOM: Just TRY it?! You don’t just try something like that.

MIKE: Mom, it’s really not that big a deal. Most of my friends have it all the time.

MOM: And that makes it okay? Your friends don’t know what’s best for you, your father and I do.

MIKE: Okay, I’m sorry.

MOM: Sorry doesn’t cut it. Where’s the rest of it.

MIKE: I got scared, so I flushed it down the toilet. It’s gone.

MOM: [sighs] Where did you even get it?

MIKE: On the way home from school, there’s a corner store.

MOM: And they sell drugs there?!

MIKE: What?! No, I bought a Coke!

MOM: You don’t think that counts as drugs?

[DAD walks into the hall.]

DAD: You should know better, son. In this house, we drink Pepsi! [very dramatically, he opens a can of Pepsi and takes a sip] Ahh!

MOM: [not believing the ridiculousness of the situation] You caught him with Coca-cola?

DAD: Yeah, I did. You know that ever since I took the Pepsi Challenge all those years ago that this has been a Pepsi house.

MOM: [rolls eyes] I can’t believe this [throws hands in the air and walks away].

MIKE: Dad, there are other colas out there.

DAD: Not as far as I’m concerned!

MIKE: Stop telling me how to live my life! [walks into bedroom and slams door behind him]

A black screen appears with white letters:

Everyone has the right to choose for themselves. Talk to your kids about which cola is right for them.

END

Tuesdays with Media: Neighbors

Is it cheating for me to just provide a link to a new story without providing an analysis?  Or would it be cheating in a different way if I analyze something that I also wrote?

While I figure this out, enjoy this (very) short story.

Metaphor

Another story that I wrote some time ago.  When I wrote it, I had just had my seizure and was still coming to terms with what had happened.  In an attempt to better see things from her perspective, I wrote this story from Allison's perspective.  Like with the other story, I changed the details, but the basic story is biographical.

Parable

I wrote today's story over a year ago.  I wrote it to help me better understand the struggle of having someone close to you dealing with something as terrible as addiction.  Now with major changes happening in my life, I wanted to share why things lasted as long as they did when it was pretty obvious that we were headed to ruin.

The First Christmas

Read the new story here!

The Hunt

I wrote most of this story while working at the temp job a couple of weeks back. It has some VERY SUBTLE symbolism that seemed appropriate for today.

Argus sat on the tree branch, waiting. The waiting was the hardest part of the hunt. Sharpening your weapons, reinforcing your cords, that was one thing: at least you were doing something. With waiting, all you did was, well, wait.

This hunt had lasted a few weeks, with little sign that his prey was close. In his youth, he had stalked his prey, but he now realized that wasn’t terribly practical – with each prey that came near, he’d have to change so much about his behavior to get close, and that was exhausting. So instead, he now puts out bait and sits, waiting.

Very subtly, Argus felt the air shift. The other creatures of the forest became very still and the silence that stayed behind was palpable. Now, the true test began. Argus gripped his lariat in his right hand, using only his forefinger to keep the loop in place, the excess cord held loosely in his left hand. All of his attention was focused on watching the tree line for his prey and being ready to pounce.

With little warning, four creatures exploded into the sky from the forest canopy. They flew without wings, propelled by some unknown force. Argus had only the briefest of moments to decide which prey to pursue. He could have chosen the fastest or the biggest one, but Argus had studied these creatures and knew that the best one to go after was simply the closest one. He adjusted his stance to a crouch and watched the flying creatures’ flight pattern. As soon as a creature was in range, Argus let his lariat fly. The cord found a home around the end of the long, rat-like tail and Argus let the coiled excess spill out. He watched the cord fly out after the lead and jumped from the tree just as the cord pulled his chest harness it was attached to.

This is where the hunt really got exciting, Argus thought as he climbed the cord up towards the creature. This close to his prey, he could see the details up close. The scales that covered its body were large and shimmering in the early morning light. The two limbs it had in place of arms were short numbs with a long, single claw attached to the ends. From his current position below and behind, he couldn’t see the head, but they all look about the same with their rodent-like teeth obscured by large, full lips and their soulless, black eyes, staring into nothingness. Truly, they are fearsome creatures to behold and many hunters have been intimidated on their first encounter, but Argus had grown accustomed to the chase.

He quickly scaled the cord and was soon climbing on to the creature itself. He had to move carefully to not cut himself on the sides of the large, hand-sized scales. His heavy boots and gloves provided some protection, but even some hunters that wore full armor had lost a limb simply to the scales. Every preparation in the world would mean nothing if one was careless in the moment. To help lend some stability, Argus pulled his pickaxe from its holster at the back of his belt. It was made from a previous kill’s claw, which was incredibly strong. With each swing of the axe down into the side of his prey, slowly moving Argus forward, the creature cried out with high-pitched, whistle-like screams, steam pouring out of the single nostril on the top of its head.

Despite the danger of traversing the creature as it swung its body about violently, Argus was soon at the head. He quickly holstered his pickaxe and unsheathed the sword on his back. The sword was built out of a bone from a previously killed creature with the edge made up of razor-sharp scales. He positioned the point of the sword directly over the nostril on the creature’s head – the only vulnerable part on the whole of the creature – and thrust downward. Rather than the whistle-like scream from before, the creature let out a deep bellow. As Argus’ body vibrated with the sound emanating from his prey, he pressed the sword deep into the creature’s brain, dark green blood pouring out of its head. Now the creature’s path was curving downward, unable to stay aloft through its mysterious means. Argus held tight to his sword, as much for stability as to ensure the death of his prey. Trees crashed around them as they plowed a path through the forest. With a thunderous crash, the creature met the ground, though it continued sliding for nearly a half-mile.

When the creature finally came to a stop, Argus – who was quite exhausted at this point – pulled out the mouth pipe from its loop on the left side of his belt. He took a deep breath and let out four distinct calls, a pattern that was unique to successful hunters. Soon, the village would arrive and help him harvest everything useful from his kill. He slowly began his climb down from the top of the animal. On the ground again, he took inventory of his extremities. Everything was accounted for, though he did have a few minor cuts and scrapes. Argus had known hunters that had lost fingers without realizing it, the thrill of the hunt had been so strong. If he had any wounds that needed attention, now was the time for it. However, without the need for first-aid, Argus sat down and leaned back against a still upright tree as he waited for the others.

He did not have to wait long. Just as he was truly getting comfortable, he heard the village’s chief call to him.

“Argus!” the older man called. “Quite the impressive jaub you have here.”

“Aye,” Argus called back, turning in the direction of his elder tribesman. “It will sustain our people for some time, Orion.”

“I think a jaub like this will offer much in food and textiles.” Orion was now in front of Argus and he extended his hand to help the other man to his feet. “I hope that the benefits of this one will also be bounteous, but we will not know for certain until we have sliced it open.”

“Please let me know the quality of the jaub when the assessment has been completed. Now excuse me, I must go and look for Eos.” Orion nodded and went to observe the deconstruction and appraisal of the newly landed jaub while Argus wearily began looking for his wife amongst the crowd that had formed. While he was searching, a hand lightly touched his shoulder, causing him to turn and look for the hand’s owner. He was met by the face of his wife, Eos, with her violet-grey eyes and reddish-blonde hair (though a few streaks of white had started to come in). She was carrying their young child, a boy named Aether.

“Quite the jaub you have landed, Argus,” she said to him, proudly. She turned to face Aether, “Your father is the best at finding and landing jaubs, young one.”

Argus looked at his little family, happy that he could provide a good life for them through his efforts. After all, everything comes from the jaubs that he lands: food, clothing, tools, medicine, even materials for their houses. In the past, hunters would go after other animals as prey, but no other creature provided as much to men as jaubs did, so now that was the only prey worth going after. Once the jaub was landed, other men and women of the village would deconstruct it down to the various components to be used. The various insides, called benefits, were especially valuable since they were essential components in medicines. However, no part of the jaub could be utilized without the jaub itself first being landed. In many ways, Argus thought, the hunter was the most important role in the village.

With his wife and child beside him, Argus slowly walked back to the village for a well-deserved rest. The hunt would begin again soon, but for now, he would enjoy his time off.

Bitter

Fernando poured a cup of coffee and passed it to Britta. She accepted the cup happily and breathed in the aroma. It was a cold, winter morning, so having some hot coffee would do her some good. She usually added creamer to her coffee, but she didn’t want to delay warming up, so she decided to take it black this time.

She looked at Fernando as he poured a cup for himself and thought about her feelings towards him. They were just friends – him with his girlfriend and her with Rick – but she often wondered if things would be different were they not tied down. Not that she wanted to break things off with Rick; she just wondered if she and Fernando would be compatible as a couple, or if being friends was for the best.

She continued thinking on the matter when she took her first sip of coffee. Not only was it still rather hot, it was also very strong. Strong and incredibly bitter. She looked back at Fernando and was suddenly annoyed at him. Why hadn’t he told her that the coffee was like this? Didn’t he care about her at all?

Her annoyance grew until she was not just angry, she was furious. All of the time that she and Fernando had spent hanging out and this is how he repays her friendship? He might as well slap her in the face. No, a slap in the face would be better than this. This was like a stab in the back.

Fernando turned to offer Britta some creamer, when he saw that she was glaring at him. He seemed to know what was going on and spoke up.

“Britta,” he said, “you can’t drink this coffee straight: it’s very bitter and can sometimes affect the drinker.” He opened a shot of French Vanilla creamer and held it out for his friend. “Drink this, it will help mellow out the coffee.”

Britta looked at him, scowling. “Don’t you mean it'll mellow me out?”

“Just drink it, Britta.”

“Why should I do anything you tell me to do, Fernando?” Britta asked, her words dripping with venom.

“Drink this and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

“Good,” Britta said as she grabbed the shot and threw her head back as she downed the contents. Suddenly, she wasn’t angry anymore. In fact, she wasn’t sure why she had been angry at all. She looked at her friend. “What happened?”

“I forgot to tell you,” Fernando explained, “this is pure, uncut Columbian coffee that my tia sent me. It can be a bit strong for the uninitiated. It sometimes makes the drinker as bitter as the coffee itself. Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Britta said, still a little surprised at what had happened. She looked at Fernando and thought about how he was such a good friend. Here he was sharing with her something that his aunt had sent him. That was just like him to be so kind. Maybe if things were different …

Natural Living

Angie stared out of her bedroom window. From her vantage point, she could see into her neighbor’s backyard, the same backyard where she and her husband had eaten dinner last night. She looked on, frozen with a bizarre mixture of emotions, as her neighbor’s young son was pooping on the grass.

“Eric,” Angie called. Her husband walked out of the adjoining bathroom where he had been brushing his teeth.

“Mrlph?” he questioned, his words obscured as he wiped his mouth with a hand towel, walking towards her. “What’s up, Ange?”

“Remember dinner last night at the Wright’s?”

“Babe, why would I forget? It was just last night. Plus, I still can’t get the taste of kale out of my mouth.”

Without saying a word, Angie pointed towards the young boy who was now running around the backyard, completely naked.

“Is that Grover?” Eric asked, squinting his eyes. “And is he naked?”

“Yeah, but that’s not even the weirdest thing. Just, like, a minute a go, I saw him pooping. Right on the grass, too.”

“No way!” Eric said is disbelief. “Like, what, he was just squatting and taking a dump?”

“Yeah! I mean, he’s only three, but that’s still super gross. Why would Wayne and Verona let him do that?”

“Come on, they don’t know this is happening. I’m sure Grover just got up before them and he’s, y’know, being a kid.”

“You used to poop outside as a kid?” Angie asked incredulously, turning to face her husband, one eyebrow raised.

“That’s not what I meant,” Eric said, putting his hands lovingly about his wife’s waist. “Just that he’s doing something dumb and weird.”

“We need to tell them about this. He shouldn’t be allowed outside, especially to go to the bathroom.”

“Whoa, hold on, Angie,” Eric said, his voice becoming serious. “You can’t just order them around.”

“I’m not ordering anyone to do anything,” Angie said, walking towards the nightstand on her side of the bed. “I’m just going to let them know what’s happening and they’ll obviously take care of it.” Angie picked up her cell phone and started scrolling through the contact list. “What’s their number?”

“I don’t know; I never got it.”

“Fine. I’ll walk over and tell her.” Angie walked over to the closet and began to change out of her pajamas

“Please don’t make a thing out of this,” Eric said to her from his spot in front of the window.

“I’m not making a ‘thing’ out of this. There’s nothing to make out of it. I’m just going to ring their bell, tell them that their son is running around like a wild animal, and then I’m going for a run.”

“Just try to be careful how you tell them.”

Angie walked out of the closet, now wearing running shorts and a t-shirt and carrying a balled-up pair of socks in one hand and her running shoes in the other. She sat down on the edge of the bed to put them on. “It’s fine, Eric,” she said without looking up.

“I just mean that some people might be offended to have their child described as ‘a wild animal.’”

“Obviously I’m not going to use those exact words,” Angie said, a little annoyed. Having tied her shoes, she walked into the bathroom and started brushing her hair. “I’ll be back in, like, thirty minutes and we’ll have breakfast.” She stopped and turned to look Eric in the eye. “I promise that I won’t be offensive, okay?”

“Alright,” Eric said, not pushing the matter further. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you get home.” He turned and walked downstairs to the kitchen.

Angie returned to brushing her dark, curly hair. It was so frustrating that Eric was more concerned about not offending their weird neighbors than taking her side. She just wanted him to listen to her and see her side of things. She decided that she was brushing her hair a little too hard, probably because she was annoyed with her husband. She pulled her hair into a pony tail with a hair-tie and pulled a head band out of a drawer to further keep her unruly hair in place. Clearly, her Puerto Rican ancestors had never considered how big, think, curly hair would make exercising so uncomfortable. She applied some deodorant and left the bathroom.

She grabbed her phone and slid it into its armband case which she put on her left upper-arm. She picked up her earbuds and started untangling them as she walked down the stairs. When she made it to the bottom, she said “bye” to Eric, who replied in kind, and walked out the door.

It was still pretty early, at least for a Saturday, so the street was mostly empty. That would make running easier. Angie was still annoyed at Eric for not being supportive, but she had a feeling there was more to her state than was obvious at the surface. Sometimes that happened. Even though she didn’t know what was bothering her, she knew that her run would help. Running always seemed to clear her head and after watching a little boy poop in his backyard, she needed her mind cleared out.

~~~

As Katy Perry’s “Roar” played in her ears, Angie ran. This run was different than usual. Normally when she ran, the running was the point. This time, it felt like she was running away from something. She reviewed the recent conversation in her mind, looking for reason in the confusion. She had rung the doorbell of the Wright’s home and was greeted by Verona.

“Oh hi, Angela!” Verona said, smiling broadly. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah, hi” Angie said, smiling nervously. “And Angie’s fine. Anyway, I just stopped by to tell you that I saw Grover in your backyard and that you might want to check up on him, that’s all.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I know he’s back there. He can be a handful and letting him run around in the morning makes him more manageable.”

“Okay. Did you know that he’s naked?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Remember last night when I said that we like having everything ‘all natural’? I wasn’t just talking about food. Other animals don’t wear clothes, so why do we? Wayne and I are teaching Grover to not be ashamed of his body. Whenever we’re at home, we encourage him to wear as little as he wants to. It should be great for his self-esteem.”

Angie knew that Verona was kind of a hippie but this was really pushing the envelope. Suddenly, Angie didn’t want to waste any more time talking and just get to running.

“Right. Well, I also saw him, um, pooping. In the backyard. Just thought you should know.”

“I think that it’s barbaric to force our children to hold in their waste. No other animal besides humans wear diapers or use toilets. Obviously we can’t always live naturally and organically, but that’s only because society forces its norms on us and makes us assimilate. We want Grover to have as much freedom as possible, so yes, we let him relieve himself outside. Besides, human waste makes for wonderful fertilizer, so our garden is very healthy.”

Angie’s blood ran cold. “You mean you use your family’s poop as fertilizer for the food that we ate last night? Like the tomatoes and onions and kale we ate last night were grown out of your poop?”

“Yes! Isn’t it amazing what you can do when you go back to living organically? I like to think that some of our vegetables, I’ve eaten twice.”

~~~

Angie had felt suddenly queasy, something that happens when you find out your dinner the night before grew out of human-manure. She told Verona that she just wanted to make sure that Grover was okay, but she had get going for her morning run.

Having finished her two miles, she thought about going farther, as if she could sweat out her uneasiness. She decided that the best thing to do was to go home and eat a new meal. She couldn’t un-eat dinner, but she could replace it with something new.

She walked through the front door and was greeted by the rich smell of bacon in the air. Eric’s cooking was usually simple, but it was also usually tasty. She went into the kitchen, still a little sweaty from her exercise, to find Eric sliding an omelette on to a dining plate, next to another plate with a matching omelette. She walked over to the fridge to grab a cold water bottle when she asked what kind of omelettes he had made.

“Well,” Eric replied, “the Wrights had sent us home with some kale, so I figured we should get rid of it right away. And you know how bacon can improve the taste of anything, so it should go down pretty easy. Babe, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Indeed, Angie was frozen in horror as she looked at her breakfast. After a moment (but what felt like an eternity) she finally was able to compose herself enough to say what was wrong.

“Eric,” Angie said, not taking her eyes off of the omelettes, “the Wrights make their own fertilizer.”

“Well, sure. Lots of people have compost heaps.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, turning to look her husband in the eye. “What I saw Grover doing this morning was making fertilizer.”

Suddenly, all of the color drained from Eric’s face. He moved quickly over to the sink and started making retching noises. Angie walked up behind him put a hand lovingly on his shoulder. Seeing him like this made her feel better. Not because he was dry-heaving, but because it meant that he was on her side. Their conversation this morning had made it feel like there was a distance between them, but here in the ugly-light of nausea, she could see that he was on her side. As gross as it was, it was also a beautiful moment.

After nearly a minute of dry-heaving, Eric stood up and turned to face his wife. “I am never eating anything from their garden again,” he said, his grey-blue eyes full of moisture. He looked over in disgust at what he had made for breakfast. “What’s the opposite of garden-fresh vegetables?”

Angie couldn’t help but laugh a little before she replied. “Probably bacon.”

“Bacon alone is no match for manure-fed kale. Let’s go to McDonald’s.”

Angie nodded in agreement, gently smiling.

As she climbed into the passenger seat of the car as Eric held the door for her, Angie was happy for the weird morning she had had. It was frustrating to have Eric disagree with her, but if they hadn’t disagreed, it wouldn’t have felt so good when they were back in agreement. If it took having the argument to get to the happy moment of being equally grossed-out by their neighbors, she was glad to have gone through it all.

Though she doubted that they’d ever eat kale again.