It
It's been a
Couple days since
It last looked in the
Mirror
It looked again today
And found
No shred
Of comfort near
A lonely
Desolate soul
Keeping hidden the ache
In its heart
Treading day to day
On eggshells
Struggling to do
Its part
Hiding the cracks
In its mask
Antihero of its own
Story
Wondering if the
Climax will come it
Weeps for a moment
Of glory
A song
A voice
Inspiration so far along
A wound
A stitch
Motivation so far gone
Do you have it?
A reason
A method
A way of traveling through
Or does force
Rule the life
Of it,
Of you?
Old Toy
Put me aside,
So I don't have to pretend,
That I still matter to you,
I no longer have any use,
No purpose,
Put me aside like an old toy
I knew I'd only ever be around for your lonely days,
I was never the one you chose,
You only settled,
Cause you knew you couldn't do better,
Always had me on my toes,
Trying to do what I thought I was supposed to,
Trying to make your dreams come true,
How was I supposed to know I'd never be enough for you.
The Back Seat
My older sister Carla was supposed to be babysitting me.
She’s in high school, she just got her braces off and figured out how to stick contacts in her eyes, but she's bad at putting on her Proactiv so she’s got lots of zits. I can say all that because I’m her sister. Just like how I can say she has hair on her toes and her boobs are different sizes.
Also, she likes to shower with the door open so everyone can hear her bad singing more clearly. That’s not really relevant, but it’s a fun fact.
Anyway, Carla is 16 and has never been laid, and she thinks that’s a really big deal. She was really hoping to get laid with our neighbor, Tommy, according to her diary. She and Tommy had been best friends since before I was born. They learned how to ride bikes together, and I guess used to take bubble baths together, according to my mom. To be honest, I wouldn’t want to get laid with someone I took a bath with. That’s just creepy.
Anyway Tommy used to look goofy but he turned into a good-looking kid with shiny hair and played on the tennis team at school. Somehow, through some kind of tennis connections, he ended up dating a college girl with much better boobs than my sister. And once you do good boobs, you can’t really go back, so I’ve heard.
That was the worst week of my life, when he started dating Tennis Boobs. Carla locked herself in our room all day and played the boring Coldplay songs and cried. I was like, hey, can I get into our room? I left my Game Boy in there. And she was like NO! So I couldn’t even play Donkey Kong.
Anyway, I’m getting off track here.
Carla was interested in this new guy at school named Zach. He was kind of a loner, a brooding type, which is sexy, according to her diary. She called him a Bad Boy, but Carla’s idea of Bad Boy is a guy that plays Dungeons & Dragons in the state park after the sun goes down. He wore cargo pants and hoodies and smelled kind of Bad, but I guess he did have nice hair.
Anyway, about 15 minutes after mom left for her date, Carla came bounding into our room holding her phone up for me to see.
“He asked me out. He wants to go out. Oh my GOD!” she said, shaking the phone up and down in my face. I couldn’t read it when she was jiggling it up and down like that, but I saw a lot of exclamation points from her side of the conversation. God, she was already ruining it.
“Congratulations,” I said, “Maybe now you’ll finally get laid.”
Carla stopped bouncing and looked at me.
“What? I don’t care about-- that,” she said. “I just want to have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“And anyway, you shouldn’t be talking like that. You’re way too young.”
She typed on her phone, frantically. She paused, the phone dinged, and she looked up at me in awe.
“He wants to see a movie at the drive-in tonight.”
“You’re babysitting me.”
“I know, I know.” She flopped on the bed. “But what if this is it -- what if this is my only shot? What if he thinks I don’t like him and moves on to Heidi or something?”
Uh oh. Heidi had better boobs.
“I like movies,” I said.
“This movie is rated R,” she said, as if that was a big deal.
“So? Nobody cares.”
“You’re 10 years old.”
“You’re 16, technically you can’t see it either.”
“So, I can’t just… that’s not… you’re… I’m.... UGH! I’m not bringing you on my date!”
“I’ll hide in the back seat and play games, he’ll never even know I’m there.”
“What if you just stay here, alone, for a couple of hours?”
“What if I call mom?”
Carla narrowed her eyes at me. Then she was typing again.
“Alright. Whatever. But if you ruin this for me--”
I held out my pinky for a pinky swear. “I promise I’ll be good.”
15 minutes later I was sitting in the very back seat of our mom’s SUV as Carla drove across town to pick up Zach. She was nervous, and a bad driver, so she was swerving everywhere and I wanted to throw up.
She stopped to pick up Zach from his house, hitting the curb when she pulled the car over. We were definitely on the creepy side of town -- his front yard was overgrown with weeds and there was a fenced-in backyard full of barking dogs -- big, fat, cranky ones.
“Get down, he’ll see you!”
Carla was spreading another layer of make-up over her zits, kneading her skin like she was making Christmas cookies. It was getting dark outside, but it was still about 90 degrees, and her face was extra shiny and her hair was extra frizzy. The sight of herself in the rearview mirror was making her stressed, which made her neck all red. She was a hot mess, as they say.
Zach came brooding out of his front door, banging the screen door behind him, tossing his golden bangs. Carla inhaled sharply, nervous. I ducked down.
Zach opened the side of the van and slid into the back seat, one seat in front of me.
“I told my parents you were an Uber driver,” he explained to Carla. "They don't trust teenagers."
“Oh,” she said, “Cool. Um…Gotcha.”
I heard her fumbling around with the gear shift as though she’d forgotten how it worked. But eventually she pulled herself together and the car started rolling.
It was really quiet and weird for a few minutes, so I peeked up. Zach was looking at his phone -- I could tell from the way his head was lowered.
“Nice night,” Carla said.
Zach looked up. “What?”
“Oh I just said, "Nice night," because it’s probably what an Uber driver would say. So it’s like, kind of funny because that’s what I’m pretending to be.”
Oh my god, Carla, just shut up and make kissy faces in the mirror, that’s all this guy wants.
“Oh, hah,” he said, looking back down at his phone.
This was not going well.
We got to the drive-in and Carla tuned the radio to the right station for the movie, trying to make small talk. Something about science class, something about lunch, something about Heidi. It all felt so forced and dumb. After a few minutes, Zach went to go get some popcorn from the concession stand while a smiling hot dog danced on the big screen.
I popped up to say hi to Carla.
“Hey,” I said, “How are things going?”
Carla turned back to look at me, furious. “Get down!”
I didn’t.
“We had an arrangement!” she snarled.
“Are you having fun?”
Carla glared at me, motioning for me to get down, flapping her hand.
I couldn’t really watch the movie, because I had to hide, but it was a horror movie. I could tell because of all the shrill violin music and screaming. Something about a guy who goes to a hotel with a lady and she turns out to be a demon or something.
It had been quiet for a while, so I peeked up over the seat.
Carla and Zach were holding hands! Plot twist!
I ducked back down and played some more Donkey Kong, surprised that things were going that well. Maybe Carla had some game after all.
I heard them talking to each other in low whispers -- and then different sounds started. Muffled, slippery sounds. Sure enough, when I peeked up again, they were sucking face, really going at it. Or at least trying to -- neither of them seemed very good at it. They both had their eyes squeezed really tight, like they were trying to focus.
Ew.
I noticed a light on the back seat and looked down -- Zach’s phone was lighting up with messages. They were both so occupied, I couldn’t help myself. I reached around and snagged the phone, wanting to see what kind of bet he lost to end up in this situation.
I looked at his messages.
A bunch of random numbers -- no names. And they were all sending him one word.
Faggot.
Faggot.
Ur a fuckin’ FAGGOT.
Hmmm. I tried to remember what that word meant.
I heard Carla’s voice again -- she was whispering.
“Um, maybe we shouldn’t -- there’s people… around.”
“It’s dark in here, no one will see.”
“Yeah... Okay.”
I peeked up.
Zach was in the process of lifting Carla’s shirt off her body. It was getting stuck up around her head. Oh man. They were really going for it. I kind of couldn't help but watch.
“Um, maybe--” she said, muffled.
“It’s okay. Just relax.”
His hand was shaking and he reached for his pants pocket. He patted his pocket -- something was missing.
He looked around on the ground for it, looked toward the back seat, and he saw --
My face lit up by his phone.
“What the FUCK?!”
Zach scrambled backwards, fumbling for the car door. Carla shot up -- she couldn’t really see 'cause of all the shirt bunched around her head.
She sounded panicked. “What? What, what is it? Are they that bad?”
Zach got the door open and fell out onto the pavement.
“Zach!” Carla finally got her shirt down. “Did I do something?”
“There’s a fucking -- child -- in your car!” he spat, pointing at me.
Carla looked back at me. I waved, nervous. She sighed.
“It’s just Izzy, my sister. I was babysitting her and--”
“And you brought her here? What the FUCK?”
“Stop swearing!”
“Stop swearing?!! That’s what you’re fuckin' worried about?!”
A couple of car lights were coming on, people checking out the commotion. On screen, a creepy naked woman was crawling down a hallway towards us.
Zach looked at the screen and screamed.
Then he pinched the top of his nose and took a few deep breaths.
“I’m going home,” he said, finally.
“Should I drive you or--”
“No. I'm -- I'm sorry."
He flipped up the hood on his sweatshirt, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked towards the road.
Carla sat, her hands gripping the wheel tightly, staring straight ahead.
She didn’t say anything for a long time. And then she let out a long, shaky breath.
“Sorry,” I said.
She shook her head.
“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have…” She shook her head again.
I crawled up into the front seat so I could get a better look at her. Her foundation was runny, her eye stuff smeared, her lipstick rubbed off. And there were little tears sneaking out of her eyes. She brushed them away.
I put a hand on her shoulder and she leaned her head down and started to blubber, the way kids do when they hurt themselves and someone comes over to comfort them.
I whispered:
“If it makes you feel any better, I think maybe he was homosexual.”
She sniffed.
“What?”
“Everyone was calling him a bad word. I think that’s what it means.”
“What?”
“I mean he probably doesn’t like any boobs, not just yours.”
I held out his phone so she could see the messages.
We caught up with Zach as he was walking home, his fists still in his pockets, his face all scrunched up and red. It was starting to rain -- a summer thunderstorm. Really coming down.
Carla pulled over and rolled down her window.
“Hey, get in,” she said, “We need to talk.”
Zach kept walking. Carla kept the car moving.
“I know what you were trying to do,” Carla said. “Please.”
Zach looked at both of us. He looked like he might just keep going. But then he stopped.
He opened the back door and got in.
They didn’t talk, not really. Instead they both just sat there in the dark car, each of them brushing their faces every few moments and sniffing and breathing heavy. It was taking so long that I took out my Game Boy and played a few levels of DK.
“I’m hungry," I said.
We went out to the 24-hour McDonald's drive-thru for fries and shakes, and ate everything in the car. Mom was going to be so pissed about the crumbs.
Before we dropped him off, I reached back to give Zach his phone.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You're welcome. Block those guys, they’re fucking punks,” I said.
His eyebrows shot up.
"Uh... Thanks."
“And don’t worry,” I said, “I already knew the word "fuck.""
Cursed
No small task
these worshippers of Venus laying track across that blackest of seas Leading Corrina
with footprints of soot toward
death everlasting
Usurping that ferryman's task and distracting Cerberus with simple bribes of poetry and poor judgement six eyes turned blind
to a willful passage into that sweet damnation
Struck deaf as well
by those raucous cries
denoting ecstasy floating
among the undead
offering needle and thread
to the swift pawed offender, using a right hand to stitch closed the oozing egress of a dancing soul while licking dewy crimson droplets from claws
on that
sinister left
RE-CREATION
His look was nondescript, neither a man nor a boy, and if one viewed him up close, you could not give a verbal account to describe his complexion by any known crayon or paint color or any shade in between; he appeared colorless. His face was expressionless as he stepped off the cracked curb at the corner of an intersection, and at first he was unaware that the roaring truck, which had appeared out of nowhere, had brushed against his rumbled and indistinct clothing. "Hey, you god-damned fool, watch where you're going", the driver of the truck yelled as he sped up, a lack of conscience preventing him from caring whether or not the 'god-damned fool" was injured or not. Mumbling to no one in particular, he picked himself up from the deserted street and heard words coming out of his mouth that he had no control over: "well, I ain't no damn fool so I must be God". A still noise filled his head and before him his vision witnessed a black hole that sucked the world down into it in less than a millisecond. There was no ground beneath him and he was puzzled by the fact that he was standing; the world must have ended and he realized that he was most likely dead. Several yards away he noticed an old church (must be a vision) and next found himself enveloped within it's illusionary walls. He stumbled into the nearest pew and picked up a bible only to find it's pages blank. He heard a voice above him and knew he was suffering from shock and auditory hallucinations as he heard (or thought he heard) the voice of God. "You have been chosen to rewrite the creation of the world. I'll lend you my pen and you can use the blank pages of that old bible there to write it down in. You only have seven days so don't waste any time". The former God vanished.
"So, now I am the new God and can create anything I want", he said out loud. But, he had a major problem. He couldn't write and could barely read. But then he realized that since he was God there was no need for those skills. He could dream up anything he wanted and all of his dreams would come true.
He fell into a deep sleep and immediately began to dream. He dreamed of his baby's first smile; of playing in snow drifts amid whirlpools of falling snow; of listening to the laughter and songs of the wind that only birds could hear and understand. Of looking at the poor and the rich and the beautiful and the not-so-beautiful and believing that they were all the same. Observing the filtering sun hiding amongst leaves and stillborn grass; of places where wealth is measured by the melody of a songbird whose gentle tune asks us to respect the earth; of stars that beckon one to the woods where you could plant seeds of hope where children and the generations to follow would have a place to play; of days at the sea shore where one could find peace and harmony from the tides of life that tempt to create storms within one's soul.
His final dream was filled with music and took place in the 'sixties', one of the most happiest and memorable and peaceful times of his life. It was a time that identified the essence of his soul and put a voice to the feelings he had began to develop towards humankind. It was a time that helped him to mistrust materialism, despise racism, decry the classification of the classes, respect the environment, honor equality in all forms, strengthen his empathy, develop an honest work ethic, to love nature, hate hurt, respect mankind, hate war, strive for non-violence, share in people's pain, trust more and distrust less ... to honor LOVE and PEACE.
He woke up and realized he wanted nothing to change. So, as God, he shouted, "Let It Be"!
Fibro Fog
I have Fibromyalgia, it’s a condition which affects people differently. One of the ways it affects me is in my writing in that in the morning often my head is very woolly, my thinking is very woolly and I find it difficult to express myself. Medical experts call this Fibro Fog and it dulls my creativity, I don’t know if I’ll ever be free of this. I’ve had it now for about 6-years and it makes my life very difficult. Right at the beginning, I had to stop work because I couldn’t cope. I’m gradually getting better at coping with the symptoms but it still affects my life in many ways.
My ambition is to write a novel not just one but many. I’m starting small, by writing short stories, blogs and I’m researching a novel about a smuggler in the West Country in the 18th century. I’m also writing poetry which I quite enjoy as it’s very short and suits my attention span in a way because I can quickly knock out a poem and depending on how I feel it can be done quite quickly.
I’ve joined some writing websites, The Prose and Medium.com. I’m on Twitter @andrew_westcott and facebook.com/andrew.westcott58. I’m going to be starting my author website shortly where I will be writing blogs. I’ve started a crowdfunding page on Patreon http://bit.ly/2ljwF6O to help me cover the costs of indie publishing; cover design, editors and proof-reader.
picture from metro.co.uk
