Carryoutsada's Stories

The New Guy

2007-05-13T22:00:35Z

On his very first day on the job, Alec Turner couldn’t help but admire his boss.

Sadly, Mr. Sanders didn’t admire him back.

Working at his cubicle in the office, Mr. Sanders would come by, yelling at him to work harder.

“You’re way behind schedule,” he would say, frowning, “You better keep up, or else you’re out of here.”

But sometimes, instead of working harder, he would work even slowler. And just so he could see “the big man.”

While other female co-workers would flirt with him, Alec set his eyes on men. And you guessed it, especially Mr. Sanders.

On Valentine’s Day, the female co-workers left valentines on Alec’s desk, but he threw them away. He himself wanted to leave a valentine for Mr. Sanders, but surely, he thought, he would get fired.

But just to be cute, he left a Hershey’s Kiss on his desk, which later Alec saw him eating.

Quite pleased, Alec still fell all the way back in Mr. Sanders “schedule”, which then lead him to be fired several weeks later.

Intentions

2007-05-08T11:40:13Z

I let out a sob.

Really, after murdering my beau, I shouldn’t be crying. But there he was, lying on his side, with a bullet in his back.

There was barely any blood.

But sitting on the side of the bed for the past three hours, I watched the blood slowly seep into his jacket. Taking a sip of the wine sitting on the bedside table, I got up.

I come down to his level, rolling him onto his back with my free left hand. His eyes are wide open; scared, possibly?

I never saw a dead body before.

I touched his lips- they were blue, and they were cold. I tenderly played with his facial muscles, making him smile.

Biting my left hand’s thumb, I slowly got up. I put the wine glass back on the bedside table, and took the queen-sized blanket off the bed.

Shaking it out, it gently touched him. Looking into his eyes one last time, I let out a small sigh, and then threw the blanket over him.

Graduation

2007-05-06T15:19:39Z

It’s her graduation day. I sit proudly in the audience, watching her walk to the center of the stage.

The principal shakes her hand, smiles, and then a group of other teachers greet her, too.

Smiling, she approuches the stand, and begins.

“I never thought I’d be honored like this…” she says, “I could have never make this far without the help of my parents.”

My brother, who is sitting next to me, grins at me and my wife. And looking straight, I can see my integelliant beauty staring into my eyes.

“I would also like to thank my teachers, especially Ms. Spears- without her, my writing would have never made the school newspaper. And to all my peers, who supported me for the last four years. I congratulate the class of ‘07. Thank you.”

The audience claps, but my wife and I clap the loudest. Looking at her, I can see that she is blushing, as she walks by the applauding students.

My daughter made it to graduation, with honors and a bright future. This is my daughter- my pride and my joy.

Cut

2007-05-05T21:08:03Z

The line of blood that surfaces on my wrist after a slide of the blade startles me.

I didn’t know there would be so much blood… I thought, feeling light-headed. I stare at the wound for several minutes, watching the blood gush out, and then, slowly stop.

I can’t do this, I think as I sponge up the blood with a paper towel, Cutting isn’t cool- it hurts!

After most of the blood is cleared off, I see some more dried to my skin. As my mouth falls open, the wound begins to sting.

My breathing becomes heavier. And as the pain continues on, I start to scream. I rush over to the kitchen seek, turning on cold water and jerking my wrist under the faucet.

I feel dizzy again as the pain ceases. I put my hand to my forehead, swearing I’d never do this again. After the spell passes, I turn off the sink, take another piece of paper towel, and carefully dab the wound.

Walking into the bathroom, I take out the box of band-aids. Placing one on my wrist, I put everything away and go and lay down.

Suicide

2007-05-02T21:09:13Z

When I turned five years old, it was the fifth anniversary of when my daddy left. It was also the day my mother shot herself.

My mom was always a delightful person, and she was always there for me. When a girl pushed me down in kindergarten, my mother took me out for ice cream and made sure to contact that girl’s mother.

When the police started asking me questions upon her suicide, they tried to get me to answer, “Was she depressed?”

Every time they asked, I would sternly say, “No.”

But the police tend to stretch the question, thinking I didn’t know what “depressed” mean, but I did. My mother had explained that that was wrong with my father, whenever I asked.

Now, I am older, and for the rest of my childhood, I had lived with my grandmother, a woman who made me emotionless and hard. I had always wished to break free- to return to Mom and be apart of the life I had always wanted to still be in.

But thanks to the sound of gunshot, it can never be.

Hooverville

2007-05-02T11:52:38Z

It’s the tenth day. About half the children are near death; so hungry, they chew on their lower lips and sometimes hands.

It’s the tenth day. Two of the children have ran off in the fields to go find and pick berries from a bush, and haven’t returned.

It’s the tenth day. Josephina, one of the youngest, is homesick and is hiding in the cardboard box that we found when we got here.

On the tenth day in the Hooverville, I told the kids, “Children, we should go up north.”

Everybody pauses from what they were doing. Some kids were moaning of hunger, others were running about and playing, and some were just lying on their backs, looking up at the clouds.

“Ms. Caroline,” a seven-year-old shouted, “Where are we gonna go?”

I thought for a moment. I was beginning to think North Carolina, or maybe New Jersey, but then I said, “Where do ya’ll want go?”

Most of the kids jumped up, and shouted, “New York! New York!”

“I don’t know…” I began. But, hey? What the heck! “Alright.”

They then cheered.

Blackout Fantasies

2007-05-01T11:53:40Z

“It’s too hot out!” Peter moaned beside me. I turned my head to look at him, cracking my neck in the process. As I rubbed it, I narrowed my eyes at him. We were out on our building’s terrace.

“Mona! Don’t look at me like that!” I rolled my eyes, and then he kicked me in the leg. “Sorry,” he said, grinning.

That did it! I got up, but paused for a moment. Ahead of me was the beautiful panorama of Manhattan, but unusually dark. I can recall when Peter and I got home from camp, that none of the stop lights were working, and that everyone actually used the stop sign that day. In Peter’s opinion, it was “like civilized people all over again.”

“Are you having a fantasy moment?” I blinked, then realized that Peter was talking to me.

“No,” I said, still looking ahead, now gazing at the Empire State Building. “I just think it’s, uh, cool to finally have no lights to see.”

Peter snorted, “Mona, we should go downstairs. I bet your head is too far up in the clouds.”

“You know what? They just might be.”