Tag Archive | fiction

I’ve Got Pictures On My Mind – Sour Milk 4

To start this story from the beginning, click here.

wedding_158On impulse I get up and walk to the table in the far back corner. It’s covered in old puzzle pieces, love letters, a few books and some dust. Digging through the memories, I pull out a photo. There we are, the seven of us, immortalized in our youthful bliss and trauma. The picture was taken by my parents; they always thought we were such a “cute” bunch of friends.

First I study May, short and spunky with short red hair, sitting as close as she possibly can to Brad, the tallest and oldest of the bunch, wearing a leather jacket and spiked hair. It’s obvious he’s trying to sit apart from the group. He always was too cool to smile for the camera, I think, seeing his calculated look of nonchalance.

Most noticeable in the picture is Stacy, wearing a black band shirt, dyed black hair and an expression that conveys her superiority and her need for attention. She was an enigma to say the least, always in everyone’s face. But we loved her for that. She told it like it was.

~~~

Another quick installment from a story from late 1999.

~EJ

Next installment: Crowdsurfing

The Trouble with Twins – Sour Milk 3

can-stock-photo_csp14570295To start this story from the beginning, click here.

Steve’s smile widens to a grin. “And that first night, we played all the songs with dirty words and the door was closed so we didn’t have to censor anything.”

“Oh yeah!” I exclaim. “What rebels we were! Somehow I just don’t get the same pleasure out being able to play nasty songs in my dorm room.” Steve laughs. “And then they made us keep one of the big overhead door open every time. The parental trust was overwhelming. They were paranoid and they didn’t even know that Jerry and I were supposedly going out.”

“God, you always did steal all my friends away from me, didn’t you?” he asks.

“Sure, but it wasn’t my fault they all thought I was cooler than you.” I punch him playfully. “Anyway that is what you get for having a twin sister.”

“I guess so. Besides, it went both ways.”

“Yeah, man, Stacy was my best friend until the time she came over and met you. She never bothered to hang out with me after that.”

Steve grins. “Yeah, I know, but it’s not my fault she thought I was cooler than you.”

“Whatever,” I reply.

~~~

Another installment of the last short story I wrote during my first semester freshman year of college. Early shit, yo.

Next installment: I’ve Got Pictures on My Mind

~EJ

Only Happy When It Rains – Sour Milk 2

boomboximagesTo start this story from the beginning, click here.

“What is?” Steve asks after a long pause. He is sitting on the chair next to me, which has taken far more abuse than the couch.

“I think I was happier when I was depressed.”

“Huh?”

“I know that sounds nuts, but if I think of the good times I had back when I was in that whole teenage angst stage, and then think about how I feel now that I’ve, grown up a bit shall we say, I think I’d pick the teenage angst deal over this.”

“But, Sara, you wanted to kill yourself every other day.”

“I know, but that was because everything that happened was the end of the world back then. Now, I have real problems and I know that suicide is no solution to anything. What a paradox! I don’t really mean I want to be depressed, though. I just miss all the fun we had, in here especially. Do you remember the first night we claimed the garage for us kids?”

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. He is starting to get that far-off look in his eyes, the same one I feel. “That was so cool. Dad had just finished building it, and they’d thrown the old couches and chairs back here, and then they put in the electricity. Was it you who thought of bringing a CD player?”

“I think so. And Sean, Jerry and Brad were with us.” Sean and Jerry both lived across the street and were still juniors in high school. Brad was the boy in the green house. We hadn’t seen him in awhile.

~~~

The second installment of an old short story.

Next installment: The Trouble with Twins

~EJ

The Old Garage – Sour Milk 1

pt1wjpu1apqfnlpn_580 “It’s weird,” I say. I look around me. I’m sitting on an old couch, long worn out and starting to tear, that my parents got before I was born. Across the back part of the large driveway that has seen countless games of rollerblade hockey and an abundance of chalk drawings, sits my bluish gray house. There are angles and lines everywhere, a window now and then. I used to think it looked unfriendly, kind of aloof, but then was when I had an imagination and houses had personalities.

Inside the garage, the one my dad and his friend built that one summer that I thought I discovered who I was, are so many scattered things a cyclone may as well have hit. My sister’s rollerblades and a pile of bike helmets in one corner, a table covered with pieces of different puzzles in another. The telescope that broke the first time I used it is against the back wall, in a jungle of bikes and scooters. The windows have collected dust, so much so that it’s hard to see through them to the green house with that cute boy my friend May was always chasing after. The walls are unpainted and a bit uneven. The two small lights on the ceiling, which is also unfinished, still work, and that is a good thing.

~~~

This is the first section of a story I wrote during my first semester away at college. It’s sort of autobiographical fiction and was probably the first thing I wrote that wasn’t sci-fi or other-worldly in some way.

Next Installment: Only Happy When it Rains

~EJ

Point-of-View Poll Results and Story Update

Green_Eye_by_sdy284A few months ago, before the start and end of Breaking Bad‘s final season, I wrote a post on here about this really odd story I was conceiving at the time, and asked for some input on point-of-view. I wanted to create a feeling in the reader of almost being too close, too intimate with the two main characters in the story. Usually the way to create that sense of closeness is achieved through using first person, and certainly one approach would be to write from one of the character’s own perspectives, put the reader in her head, in her sensation of the situation being painfully awkward too close for comfort.

But I was a little burnt out on first person and thought there might be other ways to go. When I pictured writing the story in my mind, I saw it as third person, he, she and all that.

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Writing Question: Point-of-View Poll

povimagesSo I’m working on this new story, and I don’t even know whether to call it fiction or non-fiction, it’s something experimental in between the two. Most of the story is just a conversation between two people, and yet it’s intense and full of drama. I actually want the feeling that the story evokes, at times, to be uncomfortable, too close for comfort, because if such a conversation were to take place in real life, it’d be awkward and uncomfortable (and still intense and full of drama). Oh also, in the story, it’ll be a little unclear if this conversation ever happened or was just in the character(s)’ imaginations. Yeah, I’m weird.

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A Somewhat Double Life – Dark As Roses 3

dar3imagesTo start this short story from the beginning, click here.

I take the box of this week’s letters and hold it close to me so that Kevin can’t hug me. With a quick wave I leave the office and head for my car across the parking lot. I throw the box in the trunk and close it tight. I get in the car and speed off to meet my two best friends for lunch. I like them because they’re never bursting with color, but dim like me.

When I arrive at the cafeteria on the ground level of our dorm building, Jade and Andrea are already waiting. “Hey, we were about to go inside without you,” Andrea says.

I catch up with them. “Sorry. Crowley let us out late again. Always seems to do that on Mondays. Then I had to run to the paper office to hand in my movie review.” They nod knowingly as we fill our plates with food.

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The Perfect Couple: A Complete Short Story

southernlightsI am sick. Yes, very sick. My psychological problems go well beyond any normal adolescent developmental problems or troubles. I doubt my condition could even be classified by any therapist. I fondly refer to it as the Unconditional Love Disorder. I think it started the moment I read my first cheesy romance novel, at age seven. Ever since I have been totally obsessed with finding unconditional love, someone who would do absolutely anything for me.

Ironically, I have been in some of the worst relationships ever, even though my standards are so demanding. My first boyfriend, Charley, after two months, told me he had to leave me to find his inner self. I’m not stupid, though. I knew he really just wanted to spend more time with his “cult,” whose only purpose was to play Dungeons and Dragons day in and day out. I wonder if that can even really be called a cult, probably not.

Continue reading The Perfect Couple

~~~

This one’s from my senior year of high school. It was my first attempt at writing a satirical story. I knew so many girls (myself included at times) who were so over the top melodramatic when it came to love and boyfriends and I wanted to take it to a whole new level to sort of poke some fun.

Angie suffers from UCS, Unconditional Love Syndrome, a mental fixation on love and romance beyond any normal teenager’s. When she expresses concerns to her best friend, Jade, a science geek who wants to perform Frankenstein experiments on frogs, about her new boyfriend’s loyalty, Jade concocts a contraption and a scheme for Angie to test her new guy’s devotion.

As always, for more writing samples, you can always check out the Samples page. There’s also a section for Published and Early Work (most of this latter section is downright mortifying, but you know, oh well).

~Emilia J

Josie – Sunshower Chapter Four

To start this book from the beginning, click here.

josie4images“Josie, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Ray Ann and I were unpacking in our room, after a late lunch and a morning in the control room. I took a shirt from my bag, folded it and then placed it in the open drawer in front of me.

“Don’t you think you were a little cruel to Arden before?”

“You heard that?”

“Yeah. I could be mistaken, but I think the guy was trying to be nice to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to be nice to him.”

“Why? Is there something he did that you haven’t told me about?”

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Moonchild: A Complete Short Story

Moon and Passing TimeHere’s a short story from about fourteen years ago, that is, as always, mortally embarrassing and totally freakin’ weird:

I stepped carefully over the broken branch on the fork in the road, and turned south. It was barely visible on the dimly lit path. Trees to my right swayed in the crimson autumn breeze, breathing ominous power all about. I felt chills race each other up my spine. The sky was the deepest blue, so deep that it almost looked black. It was sprinkled with the calculated mystery of tiny stars. The moon was high and brilliant. Its iridescence reminded me of hollow, glowing eyes, yet I worshiped its magic. The air was cool and restless around me as I stopped and stood in the darkest clearing these woods had seen. Again the trees shivered, and I saw their shadows dart across the grass.

I had always loved darkness, but during that month, it was a full-fledged obsession. I just couldn’t get enough of it. I wished to drink it, feel it trickling down my eager throat. It had been my only solace since he left, only an eternal month ago, in the middle of October. Here, and only here, could I wallow in my sweet agony.

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