We Domesticated Apes

Another 100 word story.

I only realized how popular survivalist shows are lately, I usually stick to The Food Channel network (cause I have a fatty inside me) and my usual dose of comedy.

Pretty much a play on monkey see, monkey do.

Enjoy.

*picture is originally from http://www.babelsdawn.com/babels_dawn/scenarios/page/2/

05/14/2014 (Thursday)- We Domesticated Apes

          We were watching TV over dinner:  a grocery bought rotisserie chicken, a pint of wild mushroom soup, and a gallon of Arizona raspberry ice tea.  A proper domesticated dinner.

          We were watching a survivalist show: about a man living in a swamp trying to build a tree house, another living in the forest, and a couple learning to live the homestead life.  We watched them suffer and starve.  We began tearing into the chicken.

          They’re mad! we whispered.

          As the show ended, the bones cleaned, the soup pot empty.  We all ended at the same conclusion.

          “We could do that.”

Reunion

Another 100 word story.

Found an old high school yearbook and started walking down a memory I thought wouldn't be as painful after all these years.

It was my fault.  I let sex get in the way of things:  the urge, the curiosity, the raging teenage hormones.  I ended up hurting her emotionally.  I only realized, years later, just how much pain my being in love caused her.

I moved to the USA afterwards, met up with her again after four years, the love was still there but so was the pain.

Enjoy.

*picture is originally from http://sporeflections.wordpress.com/2014/03/03/spo-reflections-on-loneliness/

05/13/2014 (Wednesday)- Reunion

          The last time I saw her was at her wedding.  She was my best friend, my first love, my everything—but I was too selfish, too young and immature.  It had been four years since we last talked, so I was surprised to find an invitation to her wedding in my mailbox.

          She was absolutely breathtaking.  I couldn’t speak up to offer congratulations to both bride and groom, or even when asked for a reason why they shouldn’t be together.

          She looked at me, happy, tears in her eyes.

          That was the last time I saw Joy in my life.  

One of Those Nights

Another 100 word story.

I'm not sure if its a psychological thing, or just plain old writer funk, I've been struggling to come up with stories.  Then I jumped into NaNoWriMo with little to no preparation so I'm struggling to reach my daily word count on that.

This pretty much sums up the night I had with my cousins (minus a lot of details), I honestly thought I was going to get a tattoo that night.  Didn't get one but ended up promising my cousin that I'd get one, and if its bad she can fix it next year when she comes back or add on to it (she's a tattoo artist).

Seeing her made me realize that I haven't been home in almost six years.

Enjoy this bad decision night.

*picture is originally from http://abstract.desktopnexus.com/wallpaper/836435/

05/12/2014 (Tuesday)- One of Those Nights

          It was one of those near-winter nights, walking down dark streets by Clearwater Beach, our belly’s full of drink and fire in our blood.

          It was a bad decision night.

          We were looking for a tattoo parlor still open as we were walking and talking.  My cousin telling us about her trip from the Philippines to New York to here.  Last time I saw her she was four—or was it six?—I listen as she updates us about her life: the changes, the pain, the miscarriage, her dreams.

          The tattoo parlors were closed.

          It was a bad decision night.

A Drink of Purple Rain

Another 100 word story.

A story attempt at trying to get over my bad weather funk.

Enjoy.

*picture is originally from http://flickrhivemind.net/User/Nate%20Bittinger/Interesting

05/11/2014 (Monday)- A Drink of Purple Rain

          I was drinking my way to happiness.  It was a one-step behind, two-shots ahead kinda night.

          I didn’t mind that a raincloud was drinking with me.  The bartender was a lousy talker anyways.

          You know what ticks me?  Raincloud asked.

          “What?”

          That song.  Rain, rain go away.

          “Why?  What’s wrong?”

          You people always think I’m the bad guy.

          “… you kinda rain on parades a lot,”  I said, ice cubes clinking in my half-empty glass.

          He gave me a pained look:  You can’t have a rainbow, without a little rain.

          I watched him walk out into a rainbow-less stormy night.

Where I Stroll on Sundays

Another 100 word story.

My crazy 3 month-no-weekend of work is finally over, slowly getting back into writing, reading, people watching (not the stalking kind).

I'm gearing myself up for NaNoWriMo with a story I've been playing around in my head for the better part of a year, asked a friend who joined it twice for tips and help in putting my thoughts into paper.  It looks good in my head, the problem is that I'm a pantser rather than a plotter kind of guy, so I need help getting the kinks out.

I guess my stories are still a little depressing, its that no-weekend funk that's still hanging about me.  I promise to get rid of it soon.

Enjoy.

*picture is originally from http://nw10photography.wordpress.com/tag/kensal-green-cemetery/

05/10/2014 (Sunday)-  Where I Stroll on Sundays

          I found myself walking along Curlew’s silent concrete hills, names and dates carved with loving phrases and good byes.  A loving husband.  A good mother.  A son gone too soon.

          I wasn’t alone walking this memory garden.  There were families with flowers, an old man talking about his day and how he misses her laugh, and there were your nobodies just like me.  People jogging around in circles with no where to go, no one to visit.

          I watched them leave as the sky turned crimson, that ambivalent color between day and night.

          Leaving me alone with nowhere to go.