NosebleedMy vision blacked out. It felt like someone pushed me, and before I knew it, I was on the floor. I didn't know what had happened in the spur of the moment, but it was clear to me that I had hit my head on something during my tumble. Blood poured out of my nose as the skin around it began to blue. The blood overflowed my cupped hand and splattered on the ground as I stood myself back up. I smeared it on the dresser that I use to stabilize my body as I stood back on my wobbly legs. My hand print would probably stay there for a while.My door gently clicked closed. I wasn't sure if it was from the wind pushing through my room, or if it was because someone was still standing on the other side, but I wasn't about to go on not knowing. I shot my hand out and grabbed the handle of my door, twisting it viciously before ripping it open. No one was standing there. The hallway was empty.&
I Know KittiesMy mother tells me that I don't know the first thing about cats. She tells me, "Don't go near an angry kitty! They don't like it!" I believe she doesn't know what she's talking about, though. I always go near angry kitties. I know just what cats like.My white ball of fuzz, appropriately named Fuzz, is sleeping on my bed right now. She's so cute and fluffy and I cannot help myself. I have to hug her! So I pick her up and squeeze her, pressing my face against her long soft body. She's a Turkish Angora. I love the shorter body fur (but not too short!) and the loooooooooooong pretty tail with bundles of fur on it. She's so elegant, so pretty, and yowling at me with love!I can feel her claws pressing into my face and arms. She's hugging me back, too! Oh, how I love my little Fuzz! I swing back and forth as I hug her some more.
Midwrite CrisisI think I hit the midlife crisis of writing, because I want to go out and buy an expensive, luxury pen complete with pocket protector and pocket dictionary to strut around in and appear cooler than I actually am. I couldn't even imagine walking around downtown in black slacks, a white button up shirt with a pocket over the right breast that bounced a tiny dictionary and a fourteen karat gold fountain pen with a dragon crawling around it. Of course, the protector would be in the pocket incase the pen were to bleed, but why would it? It's a fourteen karat gold fountain pen with a dragon crawling around the sides.But then I come up with ridiculous things like the aforementioned and realize that I didn't dry out the supposedly endless well of story telling creativity; I merely fell into it. Now I'm splashing around the chilly waters of inspiration with no ladder to climb back out. These waters make a writer feel very cynical and sarca
Cities of MisfortuneDishes stack up citiesof roaches and misfortunefrom the bottom of the sinkto the curtains on the sill.They sway and staggerfrom the cold winter breezethat sneaks in as the dooropens and closesto accommodateguests and family.Cities go unnoticed byevery passing eye, omnipotencetoo great to acknowledgethe smaller things in life.Until they tilt too farand crash land on thetiles melted with snowand shatter into the livesof the too importantand too good to clean.