artistsrunwild's Stories

Mourning The Morning

2008-05-03T12:46:10Z

This is a time when the sun hangs low in the sky, the moon vanished
When the air is cold and thin, still in the leaves of the trees
And the dew sits upon the grass, soaking the soil beneath
When the birds awake their young, ready for a new day
A time of quaint, earthy noises, which disturb none and shall not be disturbed
Of silence and tranquillity
Reflection and simplicity
A time I miss

This is a time of first thoughts and feelings, of first visions and pending mistakes
Of comfort, of warmth and contentment
And smells, of burnt toast, sweat and urine
A time of alarms, clock radios, incessant beeping
When the whole world doesn’t seem so daunting or confronting
A time of remembrance and solitude
Release and rebirth
A time I miss

I am asleep

When I wake, my world is noisy, agitated, threatening and complicated. The air is thick and the sun shines from above. My world reeks of rubbish and stress and sounds like ring tones and relentless chatter. My alarm did not go off; I overslept. I’ve missed the morning.

Change [Six Word Memoirs]

2008-02-13T03:18:24Z

Change…

is often the only constant.

Investigation: Interview [Part 1]

2008-02-11T11:43:35Z

I asked her to sit down on the hard wooden chair beside my desk. She co-operated, sitting down cautiously as if she were not allowed. She shuffled nervously, straightening her skirt and tucking the majority of it under her legs.

“Mrs James, I will be needing to ask you a few questions…about your husband,” I stated, writing down nothing of interest on my note pad. I was new at this and I was trying my hardest to look professional.

She looked up at me with tired eyes. She pulled an old packet of cigarettes out of her coat pocket and extracted one. She stuck it between her lips and lit the end of it with an antique lighter, displaying a skewed copy of the American flag. It was obviously old as the red had faded and the white of the stars was a murky gray.

“It was my mother’s,” Eleanor James said quietly, as if reading my mind. It made me uneasy, having her figure me out so easily. She smiled half-heartedly and tapped her smoke on the ashtray sitting on my desk. “I better answer your questions then.”

Right Now [6 Word Memoir]

2008-02-10T13:07:13Z

Everything awaits.

I’m just not ready.

Acquiring The Dolls [Ana Cristina's Pic Challenge]

2008-02-02T12:45:52Z

“I’m looking…it’s just that I doubt I can find anything in this-” Jaclyn paused and glanced around the decrepit antique store. ”...place. I agree but I just don’t see the need-”
She had just spotted something that could be perfect. She stooped down to pick up an old 1950’s doll from a wicker basket. “Teressa” read the tag. “Well, we’ll have to change the name,” Jaclyn muttered. “What, oh sorry, I think I have found it. Khan, honey, you will adore it. It says kitsch, it says priceless, it says vintage – a huge seller with the yuppie types. Done.”
She stashed her phone in her over-priced handbag and snatched the doll by the blond curls, carting it over to the counter.
“Whatever you want for it.” Jaclyn stated curtly.
The greying lady at the counter’s eyes clouded over as she regarded the doll. “This was my daughter’s. She passed a few years ago. Is it a gift for someone?”
Jaclyn laughed rudely. “My husband’s an artist. His current project is a mobile of naked dolls in vulgar positions. Now, how much?”

The Phone Addiction [Part 4]

2008-01-30T12:48:57Z

It was excellent, let me tell you: thanks to my mother, I was able to experience my first nightclub, my first drink and subsequently my first pass-out due to alcohol complete with vomiting and a hangover, my first kiss with some random twenty-year-old at a bar and a lot of other firsts before I was eighteen and legally allowed to do all that. Of course, those things also occurred because I had a raucous bunch of friends, who all had equally inattentive mothers and fathers – but I will award my mother as the sole proprietor of most of those events.

Truth be told though, it still bothers me. We can’t even go away without her being attached to that thing the whole time. She even types on the computer, trying to do work or write emails whilst on the phone, even though the conversation that follows is hollow and distracted. She’s not very good at multi-tasking.

All I know is that my kids, if I have any, won’t ever have to put up with me having a phone glued to my ear. I’ll at least use loud speaker.

The Phone Addiction [Part 3]

2008-01-30T12:44:23Z

Well, alright, I will give her some credit.

She would notice but she wouldn’t put down the phone or stop talking – she would just absentmindedly watch the chaos around her, whilst continuing to chat to her friend Susan about how to do a proper cross-stitch and I am being one-hundred percent honest with you – perhaps only ninety-three percent honest and then seven percent poetic-license, but honest for the most part.

As I said before, her being constantly pre-occupied on the phone was a blessing when I was in my mid-teens. I would ask to do anything or go anywhere and I would get a lazy grunt and nod of the head in return, which I, being the stereotypical rebel teenager, took as being “Yes, Leia, please do go out and have a rollicking good time with your fellow friends and do not hesitate to be out past your bedtime as I’m sure you will be responsible and very safe in concern with your whereabouts and our knowledge thereof.”

The Phone Addiction [Part 2]

2008-01-30T12:43:09Z

I would complain about wanting to go out and play or not being able to find the TV remote and she wouldn’t listen, let alone respond and so I hated all phones for that.

But as I got older, it didn’t seem so bad. When I asked if I could go out with my friends to the pub when I was only fifteen, she just nodded absently and sent me on my way. I don’t think she even remembers that happening – probably because her conversation was so enthralling, it would have killed her to stop listening and taking part.

I swear to you that a nuclear bomb could go off in our house – yes it sounds cliché but at the state of my room, previous occurrence is not so far-fetched – and she would not notice.

The Phone Addiction [Part 1]

2008-01-30T12:41:16Z

My mother’s phone rings constantly.

I don’t think a second of the day goes by when her phone doesn’t ring or she’s not incessantly chatting away to the uninterested person on the other line.

The constant talk about nothing in particular, the annoying jingle of her ring tone – it drives me insane. I hate it. I think all phones should be banned just so my mother will never pick one up again. Don’t get me wrong – it’s not that I have trouble with her having a social life whilst I’m locked up in my room slaving for hours over piles of never-ending assignments – it’s just that when she’s on the phone, nothing else seems to matter.

It took me only 6 years of my life to realise that if my mother was on the phone, there was nothing, absolutely nothing that could get her to hang-up prematurely or even pay attention to what was happening outside of her conversation.

Foolishly [A Poem]

2008-01-30T12:33:08Z

Foolishly, I let you be
More than you once were to me
Foolishly, I let us be
More than we were supposed to be

I clung to your heart
Starved for affection
And drove myself insane
I clung to your love
Desperate for affection
And drove myself insane

Foolishly, I let you be
More than you once were to me
Foolishly, I let us be
More than we were supposed to be

I gave myself up
For our sinful pleasure
And threw away my peace
I gave myself up
For your greedy pleasure
And threw away my peace

Foolishly, I let you be
More than you once were to me
Foolishly, I let us be
More than we were ‘sposed to be

I took us there
And left us bare
Never to return again

artistsrunwild: Her Answers To Nouvelle Bardot's QUIZNESS

2008-01-22T10:44:12Z

When people say “somethink”; type LyK DiS and people who walk slowly. They should go straight to hell. AND QUICKLY !

An old 1950’s style one in some horrible colour like lime green or pastel pink. Classic.

I like to see random references to pop culture or really obscure jokes that reference earlier parts in the movie – when I’m the only one that laughs, I know I’m the only one really paying any attention.

Wow. How to narrow it down. The printer was not working one day (I do Digital Art and my portfolio was due) and so me and a friend “channelled health” – which consisted of pressing our hands against the printer, running on the spot and chanting in a made up language VERY LOUDLY .

I dreamt my dad got pulled over for a DUI and his breath test registered 1.3 – to give reference, our legal limit is 0.05; and we were all in the car and it was 4 am and he had been drinking all night apparently. Very strange.

Good Arrows – Tunng
Yes Yes Vindictive – Operator Please
9 – Damien Rice

My pleasure.

My Place of Security and Predictability [The Place Challenge]

2008-01-18T11:31:02Z

It’s not a celebrated place among most, I have to admit. Normally, people dread going there. They hate the obnoxious sound of the bell that signals to the masses when their next hour of torture is scheduled to begin. The taste of the cardboard food sold at the canteen and the mystery meat specials.

“Mrs Mac’s Chicken Pie – No longer contains rabbit!”

It wasn’t always my favourite place. There are parts of it that I can easily leave behind. The sight of my principal in a skirt that was a little too short to hide her generous behind and the way her ankles spilled out of her shoes; that I won’t miss.

It will be the atmosphere, where everyone was headed to the same goal; albeit some less eager than others. The way, secretly, no one cared what they looked like and there was no one to impress…except the decent looking student exchange from Peru. The coffee smell that drifted from the common room as we tried to wake up. The way everything was within reach, close enough to touch.

It was a wonderful place.

artistsrunwild And Her Quirks [Pen's Challenge]

2008-01-17T09:52:12Z

1: I often making growling noises at my dog or members of my family or just randomly to myself
2: I like acting like a child and having pretend tantrums when I dont get what I want
3: I toast my toast and then wait until it gets cold before I eat it
4: I colour co-ordinate everything and I am very picky about the colours I use and they must always be the same when talking about the same topic even on separate sheets of paper
5: I get unimaginably irritated when people walk slowly in front of me or stop on the stairs
6: I often have German conversations with myself – most of the time, they are movie scenes at the height of the drama
Sometimes I have ones in English, where I do role play. This got me into trouble once. I was pretending to plan sneaking out of the house with my friend and Mum overheard me talking to myself and thought it was for real. I was almost grounded.
7: I am obsessed with long words and drop them into the conversation regularly – here is my favourite word at the moment: Irregardless

Bec Doesn't Get What She Wants

2008-01-13T05:58:54Z

Bec dragged on what was left of her cigarette before snubbing it against the side of the bed. It left a searing burn mark on the sheet but it wasn’t her bed or her room. She didn’t care. There’s never gonna be a cheery face inside this crowded room.
She rolled over and sighed to find he was still there. Disappointed. He mumbled sleepily, which Bec suddenly found unbearably irritating.
She didn’t want this. Random guys, one night stands and the possibility of a STD . Yeah, let’s be vulgar. First of all, it was too much hassle. She had been trawling bars for a week just to keep herself occupied. Get the vulnerable. Far too many drunken nights that ended with used condoms and vomiting. Just like this one.
“I’m going,” Bec said to him. She stood up and threw her dress back on. She grabbed her bag and walked to the door. She picked up her bra and hung it on his door handle. “A memento.”
She wasn’t happy. None of these guys were the one she really wanted – Tyler. And you don’t always get what you want.

Held Together By Only Bits Of String

2008-01-04T12:38:58Z

She hated the fact that there was never quiet in her house. Only silence. Ghosts drop hints and whisper things.
A smashed bottle. A yell. A scream. And then there it was. It was defeaning. The calm before the storm. The sickening silence that meant someone was about to get hurt. Swells the panic. I can’t look.
Rusty’s sister began to cry muffled tears into her pillow because it frightened her the most also. They knew what has happening when they heard noise but in the silence, their imagination filled in the blanks and that was much worse. There’s no soul behind these eyes.
He had been gentle for years now. Family portrait on the wall. He hadn’t hurt any of them but then he had lost his job, which had become her and her mother’s fault. Then it was other things, smaller things and soon enough, it was back to being every day. She hadn’t told Tyler the whole truth about the man that hurt her.
A slammed door. Rusty began to pick up the pieces, same as always. Just blood and bones and bits of string.