|
| |
storie_for_blather_reality_check
|
|
|
Sensuality
|
She looked down at her stomach… its smooth flatness a deception. Pregnant. She pressed a hand against her abdomen, a baby. What would she do with a baby? She remember her mother scolding her to look after childhood pets. This wasn’t a puppy, it was a baby, her baby, two combined cells, the result of a single night of pleasure.
A friend of hers had an abortion. She hadn’t wanted a baby, she hadn’t thought, and she had gotten rid of it quietly. Her friend was now happily married and trying to conceive. They had been trying for years. She had been there with her friend watched her cry as they took the bloody mass away. And she watched her cry now when they passed families on the street. ”I will love you,” She whispered fiercely to her unborn child, “I swear.”
He watched the woman rush for the bus. She rode the bus everyday, often toting a briefcase in one hand and her toddler on the other. She was a beautiful woman, her body still slim, despite her motherhood, but her face often looked sad, stressed. She placed her child in the seat across from his and lowered herself wearily into the seat next the boy. He watched her over his newspaper, and noticed that she shortly fell asleep. The boy was mild mannered, but he was a little boy and soon he was up and fiddling with the briefcase. The man simply watched the boy, but when the briefcase burst open, spilling it’s contents across the floor. He went to the child, who was near to tears and smiled, “We’ll make it better. Watch.” He cleaned up the papers and placed them in the case. Then he picked up the boy and sat him on his lap. He pulled out a pocket watch. The watch no longer, and hadn’t for many years, but it was his only inheritance and so he carried everywhere. He let the boy play with it, showing him how to open and close it.
She awoke when the bus came to a halt. She woke quickly, startled. Had she been sleeping? Where was Brian? She rose a fearful look on her face and then she saw him cheerfully playing on the man’s lap. He smiled at her and she sent him a look of grateful relief. Oh how stupid could she be falling asleep on the bus. What if Brian had fallen or hurt himself? What if…? But he hadn’t, he was safe, calm down. She smiled at the man and went to thank him.
”Look, mommy is awake. Do you want to play with mommy?” She settled next to him and once again he noticed her beauty. “Thank you so much. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I was so stupid.” “Don’t’ worry about it he was no trouble. I used to have a little boy.” A look of pain passed over the man’s face. He smiled at her again. “It was really no trouble. He’s a beautiful boy, he must get that from his mother.” She flushed. It had been years since she had talked to a man, really talked. He sensed her embarrassment and put a hand on her shoulder. She almost leaned into it without thinking. Had it really been so long since she’d been touched?
”What happened to your son, if you don’t mind me asking?” “He died, of AIDS.” “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” “He got it from his girlfriend, she’s dead, too, and their son,” the man’s voice faltered. She comforted him now, putting hand on his arm. He did lean into her. The next words she spoke surprised even her, “Would you like to come over for dinner?” He looked at her seeing her expression, “Are you sure?” “Yes, yes I am.” They smiled at each other. Her eyes glanced out the window, “My stop is next. Here’s my number. Thank you.” They both knew she was thanking him for more then looking after her son. She took the boy in her arms and rose. He stood as well, looking at her face once more. Emotion flickered across his face, but only fro a moment. He took her in his arms and kissed her. She was stunned. Kiss, he had kissed her, a man had kissed her. She smiled at him with a dazed look in her eyes, “Goodbye.” “See you tonight,” he replied. “Yes,” she replied with something close to awe, “Tonight.”
|
030918
|
| |
... |
|
|
blather reality check
|
heh, bravo (no sarcasm)
|
030918
|
| |
... |
|
|
endless desire
|
if i became (the) picture
would you see me for who i was--
am.
who i am. i am not gone. . .yet.
je suis.
now let me start again
if i became (your) picture
would you see me for who i am?
or would you glance by me
as the children do when they
are taken to art museums
they'll never appreciate.
my grandmother always scolded me,
i remember,
for rushing past so quickly.
i always wanted something to do,
to touch.
tangible--i love that word.
tangible feels tangible to me,
a secret onomatopoeia.
that's no an easy word to spell.
oh see, now i am off track.
i would rush for something to touch.
"hands on" i suppose.
espcially in aquariums.
they'd have beautiful displays
and pictures
but the world was racing past me.
a million miles an hour
and i wanted to grab all of it.
the way you think of dust in the wind.
autumn dust. magical thing.
i always picture dust from
disney movies. brilliant sparkle. pixy dust.
just a child, leaping, fingers as
wide as i could make them.
out stretched arms.
i just needed brilliant dust.
life. in that field i've never
been but always dreamt of
passing me a million miles an hour.
i suppose you could say i've always
wanted to make
life tangible.
something i could grab in my hand
and admire. not something to
stare at from behind some barrier.
or alarm system or guard or camera
or anything.
what artist never wanted someone
to run their fingers down the dried paint
admire the colours, the texture?
rough or smooth or neither.
any artist who's work receives
my admiration would be ok if i
understood it more. if i explored
beauty. appreciated it.
or so i thought,
. . .in the days when i thought
the world longed for me to love it back.
when i thought everyone saw me and
wanted me to see the them in return.
i understand why i was wrong,
no need to tell me again.
i know now that those things don't matter.
understanding
appreciation
love
from a wandering girl, a dreaming girl.
exploring the things she thought she could grab and hold.
if i became (a) picture
would you see me for who i was?
or would they glance by her
as the people do when they
are placed in a life
they'll never appreciate.
hands tangible dust love girl wrong.
you can walk away.
but i've been planted in the ground
and i'd like to bloom,
if that's ok.
|
030918
|
| |
... |
|
|
ed is sorry
|
i didn't mean to post that there.
see tangible_life
|
030918
|
| |
... |
|
|
Novice
|
The first story is soo beautiful, but I'll read the other one later
|
030919
|
| |
... |
|
|
snotty blather critic
|
yes, single moms love it when strangers get on the bus and put their children in their lap.
|
030919
|
| |
... |
|
|
TK sneeking back on
|
"The watch no longer, and hadn’t for many years"
Yea!! And what about not putting the word WoRk between the word Longer and the comma!
I mean give 'em a break! Why do you feel the need to criticize so much?!? Can't you just appreciate the time, effort and work s/he put into making the storie! Nooooo of coarse you can’t you have to find something wrong w/ it!
There is beauty even in ugly things!
I bet if some one gave you a rose you wouldn’t like it bc it had thorns!
Truly I'd like to see if -you- could do a better story!
To critic and make suggestions is ok, it's useful and helpful, but to criticize is just rude and thoughtless!
----------
And as for you Sensuality..
I really enjoy the stories you write, even if their not all completely realistic/smutty it seems to me as if you put a lot of thought into each character and their situation. I hope you decide to make a perminate residence in Blather; I don’t want to see you leave just bc some ppl are rude, thoughtless and sometimes out right mean.
|
030919
|
| |
... |
|
|
Typo
|
critic = Cra-teek
|
030919
|
| |
... |
|
|
Typo
|
even if their not all completely realistic/smutty it seems to me as if you put a lot of thought into each
is supose to be
even if their not all completely realistic and (so far) most of its smutty it seems to me as if you put a lot of thought into each
----
Also read
things_that_annoy_me
|
030919
|
| |
... |
|
|
snotty blather critic
|
I'm sorry. On any other day, I wouldn't have blathed that.
I'm tired of all the lies, lies in stories, stories which wrap the complicated, dirty, smelly, painful life in which we are surrounded, wrap it up in pretty pink paper with a bow, and pretend that its Christmas.
People don't meet, fall in love, and live happy ever after. It just doesn't fucking happen, and saying it does is rubbing sandburrs in my eyes.
My exgirlfriend just got married.
|
030922
|
| |
... |
|
|
once again
|
Dear Snotty Blather Critic,
You used the wrong adjective. You meant cynical or bitter, but it's ok and you know why? Because you're right. Not completely right, but you got the basics right. Life is not pretty, people do not USUALLY meet and fall in love and live happily ever after, but it does happen, or you have to believe that it happens. Have hope Critic. Life is not all down hill and that's why there are stories. Because real life is just no competition for a healthy imagination.
Smile... you are loved
|
030922
|
