(Short Story 1, For The Love of Clothes!)
Margaret was a stunning 5’9 blonde with corkscrew
curls and large captivating lime green eyes. She had just turned forty and
looked as if she hadn’t aged a day. She was slender through her obsessive
compulsive nature of working out until she nearly collapsed. She was a bit of a
control freak, maybe due to a lack of being able to control her own body. You
see Margaret couldn’t have children and even after seeking the most top notch
of medical professionals and researchers, the results still came up as
inconclusive as to why she would never be able to bear a child of her own. Most
of the time she remained a bored housewife and instead of loving a child she
chose to love her husband, but even more so the material things he bought her.
Her husband Richard was a successful ER
surgeon who seldom was ever home, but attempted to remind her he still cared
for her by buying her anything and everything under the sun.
Richard was the apple
that didn’t fall far from his wife’s tree, for he was obsessed with his
possessions as well. Some may even call the dynamic duo greedy, spending money
only on themselves, an archive of luxurious vacations and Maserati’s, but never a dime to visit their ill stricken parents
whom neither hadn’t seen in over a decade. The couple thought themselves to be
happy with this life, but would soon find out how very much they were not.
Richard was also charming, but hubris to a fault through his own undeniable
luck in the investing in the stalk market and investing that luck into owning
his own wing in the hospital. With so much money one would think they would
donate money to charity or maybe even the up keep of Richard’s share in the ER wing of the hospital, but no, never
on anything of substance or moral value. He was also forty and was 6’3 with a
toned body, full head of black hair and bright blue eyes that contrasted with
the midnight hue of his hair like nothing you’d ever seen before.
Although Richard had no
problem dropping money on his privileged life style for the sake of his
marriage and his image, he never once thought to invest in a suave wardrobe
that resembled his looks that were nothing short of being GQ. He wore socks with his sandals even in the midst of the long
winters in Manhattan, he wore tattered bird watching hats, Khaki shorts with
holes that were borderline to revealing way too much of his well-trimmed and
chiseled butt, but mostly he had a scandalous collection of retro and paisley
printed tie dye shirts recycled from the early 70’s. This drove Margaret mad for she was all about
dressing to the nines and putting her best little black Gucci dress forward for all of Manhattan to envy.
One day alike many when
Richard was working at the hospital, cunning Margaret decided to take control
of her husband’s wardrobe malfunction, that she felt was in dire need of her
help. She haste-fully stuffed the worst of his clothing choices into a garbage
bag, just how she viewed them, as being “garbage”, got into her pink Maserati and drove the bag of clothes to
the Goodwill store. This had been
Margaret’s first donation ever of giving alms to the poor, but certainly not
her last.
A couple weeks passed
and Richard didn’t seem to notice that the bulk of his tacky clothing was
nowhere to be found. For this Margaret got the best beauty sleep of her life,
falling deep into slumbers with her angelic face atop her plush TempurPedic pillow and her bombastic
body deep within the couples Egyptian
Cotton sheets, dreaming of her next naughty splurge at Saks Fifth Avenue that made everything in her life feel just right.
Until one night Richard arrived home early speaking of the unspeakable.
“Mags honey, the
weirdest thing happened earlier this evening at the hospital.” Richard said as
he made his way toward the couch.
“What on earth Rich?”,
She replied plopping down next to her husband on their Mahogany colored leather
couch to listen more closely.
“A patient today, well
not even a patient, a homeless man came in wearing a paisley printed, bright
green, tie-dye, tattered shirt. I could’ve sworn it was one of mine, but I
couldn’t quite make it out on account of the blood all over it. He got into a drunken
brawl with another homeless man over some food they both found while dumpster
diving together. I thought I was the only one who liked those funny lookin’
shirts. Anyhow, it was real weird and I haven’t been able to stop thinking
about it since.”
“That is indeed bizarre
sweetie.” She said with a menacing smirk on her face.
“Yes, very much so!” He
responded and then got up off the couch to make his way up the stairs to bed.
That night as Margaret
lie in bed next her husband, she thought how mindless it was for her to donate
his clothes to a local charity, but the odds of the homeless man coincidentally
ending up with her husband’s shirt and then in the same hospital he was
employed at was simply unfathomable. She grew manic with the urge to dispose of
more of his retched pieces of clothing, but this time to a charity whose
customers were not tangible to her husband. Margaret was so fixated on doing so
she crept out of bed, and again haste-fully stuffed the worst of his clothing
choices into a garbage bag and tip toed down the stairs to hide the bag in her
car trunk. She then delicately crawled back into bed with her husband and shut
her eyes until the urgency of disposing his clothes drifted away just like her
brain’s cognizance.
The next morning
Margaret looked up the address to the Haiti relief fund for donors in the Yellow Pages. She then overloaded the
bag in her trunk into an old box that used to be filled with clothes her
husband ordered for her online from some pricy designer named Yves
Saint Laurent. Again, she hoped into her pink Maserati and this time drove to the post office to mail off another
piece of Richard’s wardrobe hoping for it never to return to haunt her again.
A year passed and the
couple continued living the same lifestyle they had always taken for granted.
One night Richard arrived home exceptionally late from the ER, Margaret woke up at 3:47AM to the floor boards creaking. After
contemplating whether she wanted to fall back asleep or greet her husband who
had just arrived home for a solid half hour she finally made and decision and
slowly walked down the stairs, sliding her left hand along the banister. She
sat next to her husband in complete and utter silence for a quite a while on
their leather couch. He then got up to pour himself a glass of Scotch aged ten
years from their marble countertop bar, particularly, Scotland’s finest Talisker on the rocks. Then he sat back
down next to his wife on the couch and turned on the TV. To both of their
bewilderment an infomercial came on featuring the Haiti Relief Fund. In commercial appeared a family consisting of a
husband, wife and young boy opening up a box entitled “Yves Saint Laurent “and out of the box came nearly all of Richard’s
outdated shirts. The husband looked at his wife with complete and utter joy and
their young son ran up and as a family they rejoiced in hugs, laughter and
tears of joy.
Richard turned to look
at Margaret with amazement.
“It’s not a coincidence
another destitute man ended up with distinct clothing resembling mine in a box
of clothes I bought you, is it?” He said to his wife tersely.
Margaret broke down
crying hysterically.
“Yes it’s true I
believe that box to be full of your clothing I got rid of and shipped off to
the Haiti Relief Fund , and yes it’s
true the homeless man at the hospital was probably also wearing your shirt I
donated to the Goodwill! I’M SORRY,
I’M SO SORRY RICH.” Margaret pleaded falling to her knees.
Richard paused for a
long while to reflect on what had just happened. Then after thinking for quite
a while he seemingly had some sort of revelation and then re-opened his mouth
to say:
“Margaret we have been
pretending to be happy for a very long time and although I do not condone this
type of behavior. I also realize through this experience that we take each
other and everything else in our lives for granted including, but not limited
to my choice of clothing that you despise and evidently took to liberty of
getting rid of. Look, look how happy that family is who has nothing with my
hideous box of clothes and we have so much and still are never satisfied.”
“You’re so right, all I
ever wanted was a family and we never had that opportunity and now have turned
to the wrong things to make us happy.” Margaret responded with tears in her
eyes and the most sincerity he had ever heard in her voice.
The next day Richard
called in sick to work for the first time ever and together the couple took a
subway instead of a taxi for the first time down to 42nd Street
where the adoption agency was located. Six months following their visit to the
agency the couple flew back from Haiti with an adopted Haitian baby boy nestled
deep in Margaret’s arms. They both then looked at each other, smiled and
laughed with tears of joy overflowing in their eyes just as the Haitian family
did in the infomercial and thought themselves to be the luckiest people alive.
(Short Story 2, Don't Play With Fire or You Will Get Burned)
Once upon a time there was a middle aged woman named
Eleanor who adored animals more than her own kind. She had been disheartened
through many trials and tribulations with humans. The only human that ever held
a place in her heart was her mother. For this she never left her mother’s nest
and remained a refugee from the real world, spending most of her days lounging
on her mother’s couch.
One
day grown Eleanor lifted herself up off the couch and went for a walk. Upon her
small journey she noticed many dead animals, mainly foxes that had faces
resembling that of her small Pomeranian pooch. Disturbed and outraged by so
much death Eleanor returned home to her safe headquarters under her mother’s
roof.
“You
mean road kill?,” Her mother said staring at Eleanor like a deer in the head
lights.
“Oh,
that’s what they call it eh? Mommy, people are so evil how could they savagely
kill all those animals like with their big metal soup cans on wheels?, She
replied stroking her Pomeranian aggressively as it lay on the floor.
“It’s
the cycle of life my dear, survival of the fittest.”
Eleanor
walked down the endless hallway to her room. For her mother’s nest was a ranch
style home lacking any stairs. Here she pondered to herself for quite a while. How
unfair she thought it was that these animals didn’t have opposable thumbs and
the same level of dexterity as she. If only they could fight back she thought.
“YIP,
YIP!” She heard the high pitched barks outside her door.
It
was her Pomeranian. She opened the door and gazed deeply into his beady black
eyes.
One
day she mustered up the courage to go into town, but not just any town. The
town surrounding her mother’s house was said to be haunted with superstitions
riding on walls. Here she stumbled upon a witches shop.
“A
witches spell casted upon your day, makes all the foolishness go away..”
,Chanted the witch like elderly woman on the other side of shop door where a
sign hung that read “ENTER IF YOU DARE.”
“Can
you give me the power to make animals more powerful than humans?” She inquired
without making eye contact.
“Sure
I can. It’s a little something I like to call ‘VooDoo.” The witch like woman
replied engulfing her hand into a velvet bag of tricks.
The
woman handed Eleanor a small doll made out of sticks, woven in burlap. She then
handed Eleanor a small toy soldier’s sized bullet that would fit into a very
small toy gun.
“Tonight
when the clock strikes midnight you will place the small bullet into the VooDoo
doll’s chest and you hold the doll close to your chest and chant, ‘give thy
animals, thy strength, to take my strength and never falter to thy strength of
thy humans again,’ Until you are out of breath.
She
grabbed the doll and small bullet timidly out of what she now believed to be a
real witches hand and exerted herself home haste fully. She nearly collapsed at
the foot of her mother’s door. It felt as if she had just dragged an anchor out
to the middle of the deep blue see and was now sinking to the bottom of the
dark ocean floor.
That
night Eleanor conducted the witch’s ritual. The next morning she decided again
to go for a walk, but this time around the block. As she walked down the long
serpentine street she spotted no dead animals resembling her dog.
“BOOM!”
She heard.
As
she watched a Range Rover combust
into flames, flip and tumble infinite times in the middle of the road as if the
car were a guinea pig on a never ending run on the interior of a wheel. What she
saw next, amazed her. A zombie esc fox standing on its hind legs in the middle
of the road with the slip of a set off grenade in its right hand. Again,
Eleanor took off like a rocket desperately yearning to get home.
That
night she lay in bed and wondered if what she had seen was real or if it was a
figment of her imagination. Granted Eleanor didn’t get out much and being out
of touch with reality wouldn’t seem so far-fetched for a woman of her stature.
Again,
Eleanor heard more loud BOOMS, but this time the noises were so loud she could
not hear her own thoughts. They awoke her abruptly and prematurely from her
slumber. She peaked out of her bedroom door to find her neighborhood caught in
the midst of pandemonium, explosions and dead bodies on the side of the road
everywhere. She thought to herself, with so much blood on the animals’ paws,
did they not know they were still dead?
Realizing
the debacle right outside her bedroom window was indeed reality she locked her
mother in the house form the outside and jolted back to the eerie town. Here
she again came upon the witch’s doorstep. With eyes as red as fire coral, and
as big as the solar system itself, the witch said:
“Back
so soon? There are more dolls in need of a home.”
(One Act Play, Rainbow)
Rainbow
By
Gabrielle Johnson
Characters:
Bill
Frank
Rainbow
(Act 1)
(Curtain up. A
flamboyantly dressed man slams down the Democrat and Chronicle News Paper with
a front page article entitled “The Prospect of Same Sex Marriage in NYS Nearly
Impossible under the Bush Administration”)
Bill:
(Enraged screaming) Let freedom ring my ass!
INT: It is the summer of 2007’ in upstate New York. A
Bubble Yum pink Volkswagen Bug pulls into the driveway of the rainbow painted
house. Frank, Bill’s lover walks over to his fuming boyfriend who is sitting in
a rickety lawn chair in their front lawn.
Frank:
(Concerned)
What’s wrong sugar lips?
Bill:
(Passionately)
I want to set our relationship in stone! I love you more than anyone Frank.
Apparently the institution of marriage is a hoax. It is for those who want
health insurance and tax breaks. According to the D and C the Bush administration
deems our relationship unworthy of such benefits. Well here’s what I say to
that no good cow-tipping red neck of a president of ours, he can go back to his
simple life on a farm where his simple mind can join him and leave us folk in
peace. This is the 21st century he better open his mind to this
reality.
Frank:
Or
what Sug? We have no control. We are only one couple and a couple we will stay
with or without a rock! For god’s sake Bill do you realize how long it has
taken the Jews, women, blacks and all other the other wild cards in America to
be treated as equals. Our time will come, be patient! I’m not going anywhere.
Bill:
Whatever
Frank, as the wise Beyonce once said to the single ladies, “If you liked it
then you should have put a ring on it!” Soon I’ll be singing that diva’s tune
to you.
Frank:
You
already do, you diva. Let’s hope for the best, but expect the worst. After all
gays will be gays and we certainly aren’t the last of them!
EXT:
The realist and the dreamer leave their front yard to
go back into their home resembling nothing short of a Providence Town house in
the midst of the infamous gay pride parade. The couple prepares for their
garage sale the following day.
Inside Bill and Frank’s House- Continued:
Before lifting a finger for the garage sale the next
day Frank falls asleep on the couch watching the Ellen Degeneres show. Bill
haste-fully gathers his beloved collection of 1980’s Ken dolls with a vast
array of neon clothing choices for dress up from the fire place mantle. He sets
up two long tables in the front yard. Here he props up a bunch of old relics
for sale, including the Ken dolls. Bill props the Ken dolls in Kama Sutra
pornographic positions. Many of the Ken dolls have their pants dropped and
appear to be fondling each other in a rated R manner. Frank wakes up three
hours later.
Frank:
(Stands
up off the couch) Where did all the Ken dolls go on the mantle?
Bill:
(Sitting
on the other couch pouting) I’m selling them! It’s time get real and deal.
Frank:
(With
a monotone voice staring blankly at Bill) I think you’re overreacting.
Bill
:
(Spitefully)
No, if I were a woman this would be considered overreacting! But men don’t have
feelings and not being able to marry you doesn’t hurt my feelings.
Frank:
(Under
his breath) Diva..(Walks away)
Bill and Frank’s House-Continued: The couple falls
into a deep slumber on opposing sides of the bed.
EXT: The garage sale comes fast the next morning.
Bill and Frank make their way separately outside. The couple sits on
contrasting sides of the front yard each at a different table. A long pause
follows neither Bill nor Frank make a peep to the one another. Their first
customer is a devout catholic
grandmother from the south accompanied by her young grandson. Her grandson
points and looks at the Ken dolls Bill posed in confusion. The grandma takes
one look at the display of Ken dolls seemingly having an orgy and falls to the
ground. She has a heart attack. Her grandson screams to the couple for help.
Frank:
(Pissed
off) What the hell did you do you wisenheimer!?
Bill:
(Panics)
It was just a practical joke. No need to get your panties in a bunch!
Frank:
(Serious)
Call the ambulance you bafoon! Stop wasting time this ladies going to croak!
Bill:
(Quickly
dials 911 on his pink BlackBerry) Send an ambulance to 42 Bateau Terrace! A
woman just had a heart attack on my front lawn. (Hangs up)
INT: The elderly woman is declared dead before the
EMT arrives on scene. When the ambulance and police officer pull into the driveway
and see what has happened Bill is arrested and for public indecency and
involuntary manslaughter. Frank curls into fetal position and cries
hysterically pleading with the officers not to take Bill to jail. Bill resides
in the local jail cell at the police station for sixty days without bail or a
public defender to try his case. If his case is not tried he can spend up to
ten years in the Monroe County Jail. Frank takes matters into his own hands and
calls for back up inside the house.
Frank:
(Dials
the LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender) American Civil Liberties Union,
there is no answer so he leaves a voicemail) Hello I’d like to report an unjust
crime against my partner Bill. He was angry after reading an article about
same-sex marriage being unpromising in NYS and laid out a bunch of naked Ken
dolls having intercourse at our garage sale. A religious woman who looked as if
old enough to die had a heart attack and officially passed away after laying
eyes on Bill’s practical joke. Anyhow, he has been charged with public
indecency and involuntary manslaughter. He has been in the local jail for sixty
days without bail, a public defender or a trial date. I believe they are
denying him his rights because he is a gay man. This is a hate crime! Please
help me get my lover home safe! (The LGBT sends the paparazzi to get footage of
Bill looking dingy and hopeless in jail. The story makes national news. Change
is in the works for same-sex marriage.)
(Curtain
down.)
"Circular Mirror"
The circle is never ending just like the
reality inside of it.
Insides are reflected out.
The circle plays games.
Every
time we cross paths there is a new phase.
It depends on the mood. One day a glass
is full the next it is a quarter empty.
Phases of the moon in the midst of a
storm abloom;
The phases are theatrical one day
comedic the next day sad.
Who knew the moon was so moody?
The moon is seen during the night, but
seldom the day, for the light is unforgiving and the moon knows not to play.
Mankind is reflected onto the moon and
vice versa.
A one sided bias story is told.
Know that the moon is ominous and dead.
Never trust the moon for it fills
mankind with dread.
The moon has Halitosis gaze upon it if
you dare for it is: hexed, haunted, hollow and very hungry to be filled.
(Poem 2, Floor)
On
the floor, where he put her he would yell, “whore.”
A
face shattered next to a broken window pane
;
Blood projecting out from a blue vein.
She
said she hit a deer, all the while we can smell her fear
;
Trapped in your own home.
An
occupied house, yet picture frames left empty, they stand
alone.
She
hit the wall.
Into
the car my brother would crawl.
He
saved her life.
Was
this an accident? Or a tragic attempt to end a mother, a
wife?
(Poem 3, Now)
“Now”
I was digging through an archive of old photographs
in hopes of filling the empty album,
Here I came across a photo dated fifteen years back,
I am twenty years old,
For the first time in my life I felt exposed,
I began to cry,
The 4x 6 was occupied by four people I had no
recollection of knowing,
Including myself,
Growing together should have been the focus,
How did we stray from hopeful to hopeless?
The four of us pose on a white wicker bench wearing
our best smiles,
Two are faking a smile.
I wonder if through the camera lens the photographer
can sense the same?
A lingering
sense of pain,
None the less we keep our smug smiles,
As he shoots
us for a while,
Our parent’s facades begin to hurt.
He chants, “let me see those hundred watt smiles!”
So we gave it our best shot,
As any human would,
How I used wish they could.
I was too young to understand,
But now I am grown,
And my brother, a man.
The same year the photograph was taken my parents
filed for divorce.
My father would say let me give the world to you,
And my mother would say the world is not enough.
She was not patient,
She could not see,
Her latent actions resulted in what came to be.
Forget.
Forget regret, forget what if?
Forget back then,
Anger is no one’s friend,
Revel in the now.
The love in the photograph is lost,
But can still be found.
Within ourselves,
Be grateful,
At least we have our health.
Today I know it happened for a reason,
Today I stop looking from outward in,
Allow myself to embrace the wind.
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