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Literature Text
Warning Sammah: It might make you cry... but I'm not sure lol
The sun light bright in dirty windows. Shining in leaves surrounding a door to the front. Swinging open to unsure smiling faces. Hesitant hellos, unsure footing. Recognizing the house introducing my world he’s never seen. Trying to make us all comfortable joking about the scene. Ignoring the true reason we’re there. It’s just too hard. Out in the heat, waves over black pavement. Sharp laughter in a wrong pitch through empty neighborhoods. Down country roads and railroad tracks sizzling in the heat. Honking horns. Should we pass? Lights green, let’s go. Sprinting across intersections. Giggling, nearly hit. More blaring car horns. Establishments cold with air conditioning and smells of too much spice. You sit. Do you know what we want? I’ll order something. Waving them to sit and converse. Register clinging open, handing over mountains of change. Blushing cheeks. Sorry, no dollars. accepting nod and sorting managers. Here’s your drink. Thanks, sir. Pepsi spilling nozzles, sloshing in empty plastic cups. All I can afford. Nervous laughter and only a chicken biscuit and Pepsi, four people. Alex is here! the heat is here again. Hugging goodbye is harder when you realize it’s the last. Bye, Kelsey. Bye, Alex. Reversing cars, accelerating out of parking lots. Home? Three agreeing nods. Over the train tracks, funny conversations while we at last warm up. Ready for school, Bastian? Ready for school, Sammah? Ready for Illinois, Kenzie? Silence. Black, springs cilver in sunlight. Crying out laughter bouncing into the sky. Watch this! Bouncing higher. Screeching, nearly falling from the broken trampoline. It’s getting harder. Reassuring laughs that aren’t so reassuring. Diamond earrings and fare well cards. Burning eyes, tears dissolving in heat. I’ll miss you. Tight hugs and gasping breaths. This is harder than I thought. It’s not really goodbye. Fumbled words and blotchy faces, cheeks slick with tears. I love you, Sammah. I love you, Kenzie. I’ll miss you, Sammah. I’ll miss you, too. Waves goodbye and hurrying inside. Closed doors. Peaking through windows as the car drives off. Gasping sobs, lying in bed. Deep regret. Sleep.
The sun light bright in dirty windows. Shining in leaves surrounding a door to the front. Swinging open to unsure smiling faces. Hesitant hellos, unsure footing. Recognizing the house introducing my world he’s never seen. Trying to make us all comfortable joking about the scene. Ignoring the true reason we’re there. It’s just too hard. Out in the heat, waves over black pavement. Sharp laughter in a wrong pitch through empty neighborhoods. Down country roads and railroad tracks sizzling in the heat. Honking horns. Should we pass? Lights green, let’s go. Sprinting across intersections. Giggling, nearly hit. More blaring car horns. Establishments cold with air conditioning and smells of too much spice. You sit. Do you know what we want? I’ll order something. Waving them to sit and converse. Register clinging open, handing over mountains of change. Blushing cheeks. Sorry, no dollars. accepting nod and sorting managers. Here’s your drink. Thanks, sir. Pepsi spilling nozzles, sloshing in empty plastic cups. All I can afford. Nervous laughter and only a chicken biscuit and Pepsi, four people. Alex is here! the heat is here again. Hugging goodbye is harder when you realize it’s the last. Bye, Kelsey. Bye, Alex. Reversing cars, accelerating out of parking lots. Home? Three agreeing nods. Over the train tracks, funny conversations while we at last warm up. Ready for school, Bastian? Ready for school, Sammah? Ready for Illinois, Kenzie? Silence. Black, springs cilver in sunlight. Crying out laughter bouncing into the sky. Watch this! Bouncing higher. Screeching, nearly falling from the broken trampoline. It’s getting harder. Reassuring laughs that aren’t so reassuring. Diamond earrings and fare well cards. Burning eyes, tears dissolving in heat. I’ll miss you. Tight hugs and gasping breaths. This is harder than I thought. It’s not really goodbye. Fumbled words and blotchy faces, cheeks slick with tears. I love you, Sammah. I love you, Kenzie. I’ll miss you, Sammah. I’ll miss you, too. Waves goodbye and hurrying inside. Closed doors. Peaking through windows as the car drives off. Gasping sobs, lying in bed. Deep regret. Sleep.
The following is not mine but by Andy Couturier, writer of Writing Open The Mind where I got the techniques for all these stories [[the above however is mine]]
Choose an incident. Or a time in your life. A five-year old bio-chemistry experiment that got botched. You and your brother, trying, still trying to get along. Teaching organic gardening in Bulgaria. When you went to Louisiana for that family reunion so long ago. A superlative friend that you don’t get to see anymore. Anything that has the faintest recognizability as a story will work for this one. Write down a prhase to hold the thought there at the top of that open page in front of you. Now. We’re used to telling things chronologically. And then . . . and then . . . and then. That’s not a problem. But what if you had a reel-to-reel tape of this story, and had, just for example, Richard Nixon’s secretary just accidentally erasing all over that tape. Didn’t she have a footpedal or something, or that’s what he said anyway, and it’s useful for our trick here. Let’s just say she had restless leg syndrome all over your narrative. Or, think about it another way. Some censor was reading all your barracks mail, blacking out every “and,” “which,” and “that,” and lots of here-and-there parts as well. The story is told, but as though in fragments, glimpsed through fog. So in this piece of work, instead of weaving those glimpses together into some kind of clever narrative, we’re going to leave them as they are-a series of impressionistic flashes, torn pieces from newspaper life. Try to put them down without any transitions at all. Don’t pause to figure out what goes best next. Better to put something broken and wrong and rude in there than to stop the pen. Not stopping is important for the mind to begin to let go. Go ahead and ring the bell and write for about 15 minutes, pen directly to paper, image, image, go!
Choose an incident. Or a time in your life. A five-year old bio-chemistry experiment that got botched. You and your brother, trying, still trying to get along. Teaching organic gardening in Bulgaria. When you went to Louisiana for that family reunion so long ago. A superlative friend that you don’t get to see anymore. Anything that has the faintest recognizability as a story will work for this one. Write down a prhase to hold the thought there at the top of that open page in front of you. Now. We’re used to telling things chronologically. And then . . . and then . . . and then. That’s not a problem. But what if you had a reel-to-reel tape of this story, and had, just for example, Richard Nixon’s secretary just accidentally erasing all over that tape. Didn’t she have a footpedal or something, or that’s what he said anyway, and it’s useful for our trick here. Let’s just say she had restless leg syndrome all over your narrative. Or, think about it another way. Some censor was reading all your barracks mail, blacking out every “and,” “which,” and “that,” and lots of here-and-there parts as well. The story is told, but as though in fragments, glimpsed through fog. So in this piece of work, instead of weaving those glimpses together into some kind of clever narrative, we’re going to leave them as they are-a series of impressionistic flashes, torn pieces from newspaper life. Try to put them down without any transitions at all. Don’t pause to figure out what goes best next. Better to put something broken and wrong and rude in there than to stop the pen. Not stopping is important for the mind to begin to let go. Go ahead and ring the bell and write for about 15 minutes, pen directly to paper, image, image, go!
© 2009 - 2024 VellumMessengers
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Aww it did. xD