#50 - Dear Me

Today’s words: Standing, Commemorate, Pleasant, Chalkiness

Word count: 486

Completion time: 46 minutes

Summary: Sometimes you just need to thank the person you were for being who you are today

--

I am standing in the same place, looking up at the same walls, inhabiting the same body as when I was thirteen years old. Breathing in, I can’t smell a thing, but I know that every inch of this room smells like me, past and present; if you could bag this room up and send it to a lab, you could clone me, body and soul. I kneel down onto a pile of stolen books that are still stacked by the chest of drawers and imagine that I’m 5ft 2” again. Yes, four inches do make a difference.

I didn’t realise it for a while, but now I know...I use this room to commemorate you – I never took those Nirvana posters down, never painted over the jagged lines you draw with a compass when you were angry, never gave away those stuffed toys and Barbie dolls. This room has remained the room of a thirteen-year-old girl that, thinking back, was a little shit.

You were everything I find uncomfortable: whiny, attention-seeking, sympathising with the bad guys because they were ‘cute’, using boyfriends for material possessions, claiming to be more fucked up than everyone else even though you had no idea what anyone else was going through. How pleasant. You would stand there and show off your scars as proof that the last 13 years of your life had been hell. You had no idea what ‘hell’ felt like and I can say that because I did know what you were going through, I am you!

Remember how much you wanted to stand out? So random, so creepy, so misunderstood, people would vom lol if they knew what was going on inside your head. How do you know that what you thought about wasn’t the same as what everyone else thinks about? I bet you all your pocket money that your demons’ fire could be extinguished by people you walked to school with every day; and how could you disprove that? How could you prove that you were the worst?
 

Recall the time you boasted about being depressed to anyone who would listen? That you had this big unrealistic plan to go to America once you were 18, buy a gun and kill yourself ‘like Kurt Cobain did’?

Well that’s it, you got your wish, you’re gone. 

All that’s left is a chalk outline of who you used to be. I choke a little on the chalkiness as I revisit the past and come face to face with you. 

You don’t recognise me but I’m all too familiar with you. 

Your eyes look right through me but all I can see is you. 

I don’t exist but you are the reason that I am alive.

Sometimes you need to crawl through shit to find the light; so, thank you.

One last look around the room and I switch off the light, closing the door behind me.

Goodnight.

#49 - Now You See It

Today’s words: Sign, Knock Kneed, Ray, Burier

Word count: 350

Completion time: 1 hour

Summary: Some prejudice you just can’t avoid no matter what

As soon as some people are born, a grave is dug.

Naturally, the baby is oblivious to this, and sometimes the parents won’t know either, but still the burier keeps on digging; they dig in the snow, the rain, even in the height of summer when a small ray of sun is enough to peel skin away from uncovered limbs. It’s an arduous task but they don’t stop until it looks the grave’s big enough to erase a body altogether.

Knock kneed and panting like a dog in heat, the task is done. Wait. But, how long? As long as it takes. It could only be a year or two, but hopefully it’s more.

As the child grows up, they might start to feel a little empty inside, depending on who they associate with or how strong they are. They’ll put a hand to their chest just to check, but everything appears to be in working order. Shrugging it off, they continue with their lives until the pressure weighs down.

It starts with dirty looks.

Nasty words.

Maybe a few shoves.

And it escalates

Impossible to escape

Are you gay or are you straight?

Never mind that, what about your race?

You look a disgrace, don’t look me in the face

An eyesore to the core. Go on, get away from this place!

Then they see it. They see their own grave. Sprint as they might, they can’t run; their fate’s been decided from day one. What can they do to change it? Nothing. This is not something that can be changed like a bloody plaster.

So they try to fight, they run, but because they’re too focused on getting away, they fall into that oppressive hole with such swiftness that you’d consider supernatural interference if you had seen them go.

The sign planted in the dirt differs with each person: gay, lesbian, transgender, bisexual, asexual, queer, pansexual, disabled, too fat, too thin, person of colour...there’s a whole set that the burier likes to keep, and it’s growing a little more every day.

Now you see it,

Now you don’t.

#48 - Word Vomit

Today’s words: Laugh, Maddening, Retiform (arranged like a net), Frightened

Word count: 537

Completion time: 1 hour 21 minutes

Summary: Some people, like me, are really bad at getting their point across even though they know exactly what they should say

--

“She asked me what the time was, right? And I’m like, ‘time to make me a sandwich’! Get it?”

I laughed sarcastically.

“Haha, yeah, you got it!”

I never liked this guy, yet I was walking to work with him. Why? He happened to bump into me at a pedestrian crossing and I tried to nudge my protest out of its hiding place in my throat but it didn’t work. Fuck.

As we walked and he bragged about something or other, I couldn’t take my eyes off of the retiform-like pattern on his tie. I stared intently as we strode past various shops, the pattern constantly coming into focus before blurring again with every step that he took. It made me think of the cages that humans kept animals in just so that they could profit from them, which brought me back to a conversation we had had months earlier:

 “Why vegan, though? Why not a vegetarian? It’d be easier, right? There’s no waaaaay I could give meat up, proper carnivore, me! Like, where do you even get your protein from? That shit must be unheal-THY.”

I think he had successfully asked me almost every typical question in one go.

I’ve met a few meat-eaters who only really seem to talk about their diets once they find out that I don’t eat or use animals. These same people think themselves the experts on nutrition, too.

I uttered a little laugh before trying to figure out how to say that vegetarianism still supports animal cruelty and that I can get protein from various vegetables, nuts, and pulses just fine, but nothing came out aside from that stupid fucking laugh.  

I decided to try again, even though I was frightened by what my mouth would come up with:

“Well you know, eating meat—No, um, using animals is bad.”

These maddening words... What did you just say? Back up a second, you really just said that, huh? This isn’t a Word document, you can’t just backspace that shit, it’s out in the open now. Who are you, Mr Mackey? Meat is bad, mmmkay?  That’s exactly like him saying that veganism is stupid. Tell him why it’s bad, tell him properly!

“Every day, animals are being killed...all day every day.”

...

Okay listen to me, half-pint, repeat after me: ‘Indulging in animal produce is not only harmful and exceedingly cruel to the animals who are forced to give themselves to us, but it’s also needless – it’s possible to get an abundance of protein, iron, B12, various vitamins etcetera from other sources! Who are we, as human beings, to take things from animals without their consent?’

Yes, that sounded good, very good...okay, here we go:

“Eating animals is mean, and you can get iron from like, spinach and stuff.”

“Haha, what?”

Fuck!

Fuck...

It was always like that; I’d have something really great to say, but when I began to speak, the ideas had been filtered through a dumbing-down device.

I suppose I just get overwhelmed with choosing a proper retort because to me, it’s obvious why animals shouldn’t be treated like that...but I guess other people don’t see it...and I can’t tell them...because I get choked up.

I’m sorry, guys.

#47 - Stop

Today’s words: Time, Belief, Project, View

Word count: 352

Research time: 20 mins

Completion time: 40 minutes

Summary: Not being able to control your own body, can you imagine it?

Disclaimer: Tourette’s affects people in very different ways, so don’t assume there are ‘rules’ that the disorder has to follow every time

The theme (and the summary, hohoho) of this story was suggested by my friend, who does actually have Tourette’s himself. I also read about/talked to 3 people who have it.

I know very little about Tourette’s syndrome so if you have any questions, do your own research and check out this site – a lot of stuff on that page helped me to sculpt this story.

--

My little brother likes to disassociate himself from his body. 

He’ll tell me that he’s living with a perpetual outer body experience because he doesn’t want to face the reality of his existence. Many a time he’s come home, left his bag by the front door, and run upstairs, screaming, “I hate my body!” and it’s heartbreaking because we can’t do anything to help him, just like he can’t do anything to help his tics. The freedom that people talk about to do whatever they want whenever they want, free speech, “my body, my rules”...he doesn’t have that; he has to do whatever his body wants, not what he wants.

Our family has come to expect the same reactions when we go out in public with Gordo: they’ll view him as inferior, laugh, stare, point. Someone devotedly accused him of being a devil child once and I’ve never seen mum that angry or upset. Our water hadn’t even arrived at the table before she stormed off, Gordo in hand, insisting that she’d make us something “spectacular to rival the stench of ignorance” once we got home.

I try to educate people on Tourette’s because for those who don’t know much, it can come across as disruptive or annoying. Often he’s told to stop making a scene but what people don’t understand is that he has no way of controlling it; he can hold it back for a few seconds but in the end he has to punch himself in the arm or say a word that’s completely out of context. He’s told me before that it’s a little like holding your breath and after several seconds feeling the urge to breathe again; in the end, you just have to let your body take over no matter how much you protest.

It isn’t a belief, it’s straight-up fact – my brother cannot prevent his tics.

Eventually, I want to start up a project, something that brings sufferers of Tourette’s together so they can share their experiences with each other and the world.

Not being able to control your own body, can you imagine it?

#46 - The Black Character

Today’s words: Instruct, Fiction, Increase, Juvenile 

Word count: 518

Completion time: 59 minutes

Summary: It’s possible to write a black character without making them a Black Character

--

Oh hey, I see that you’ve thought me up as a black male character. That’s cool and all, as long as you make me a person and not some cookie-cut character that you’ll find all over the news, in a majority of films, and various other public media sources and works of fiction. 

Before we go any further, I’m not having at go at you at all, I’m thankful; you’re my creator, you decide what I do and don’t do, whether I’m a ‘good guy’ or not, you have my life at your fingertips...but you’d better be careful – that pen is a loaded gun that you think is safe until you blow someone’s brains out. It might happen by accident, or even on purpose because you assume that almost all black guys stick to certain personalities, talk a certain way, or dress in a fashion that may as well be the Black Guy Uniform. Let’s flip it around a little so you can see what I’m getting at – how many ‘white guy’ stereotypes are there, in general? 

When I think ‘white guy’, nothing instantly comes to mind that would fit a stereotype, all I see is a white guy (who for some reason is wearing a suit but I wouldn’t say a suit is stereotypical to a white male, but maybe it is?). However, when I think ‘black guy’, my mind takes a negative turn, it thinks of thugs in gangs, delinquent juveniles, guns, baggy clothes, ‘broken’ English, aggression... Who the hell planted that there? Why did I think that? Why is the media trying to push me to think negatively of black people? Why are they telling me to distrust and avoid my brothers? Why is it that I am encouraged to hate myself, to be ashamed of a colour that is as much a part of me as my beating heart? I didn’t choose this, rather, this is a part of who I am! But hold on...if you make me even a little angry, I’m just that angry black guy who’s capable of beating you senseless if you look at him the wrong way, right?

So here’s the deal: I instruct you to increase my worth. Don’t make me a side-character whose only purpose is to be a token character that is only there as a prop or for someone else’s story progression. Develop my character, make me interesting, make people see that there is more to me than what they would expect from me. 

It’s okay if you want to make me gay, it’s okay if you put me in suit, it’s okay if you make me speak formally, it’s okay if you make me shy, vegan, smart, inquisitive...because no matter what, I will still be that black male character that you want to write in, I just won’t be The Black Character.

And hey, I’m not saying that every TV show or movie or whatever writes us in bad, poorly developed roles, but more often than not, that is the case. So write me well, please.

...What do you mean you’ve done it already?

#45 - X

Today’s words: Decorated, Dapperling, Assign, Detect

Word count: 573

Completion time: 46 minutes

Summary: A character explains why it’s really not okay to make someone do something they don’t want to, even if it appears to be a really minor thing

I’ve very recently gotten interested in CM Punk who is straight edge, and I've made a friend who is also straight edge, so this sort of happened after I wrote the first sentence of the story.

Disclaimer: Not all straight edge people are this verbally aggressive, this was very influenced by CM Punk clips (a cocky wrestler) and he's supposed to be a bit of an ass.

~

“How’s my decorated dapperling feeling this morning?”

He looked at his sleeve tattoo in the mirror across the room and walked past her to grab his jacket from the back of the computer chair. “One – get out of my room. Two - ‘dapperling’ is another word for a midget.” Both of his arms slid into the black biker jacket with the ‘Drug Free’ patch on the back and he shrugged his shoulders a couple of times. “I’m nearly six feet tall.”

She twisted her mouth and looked at the floor. “Whatever, it rhymed.”

“‘It’s always ‘whatever’ with you.” He tried not to sound pissed but it came out spiteful anyway. “Fuck, like... I don’t like how apathetic you are sometimes, about shit that actually means something to me.” The topic was obviously going to rear its head again, he just didn’t know when.

“Is...is this about the other day?” 

He could detect humour behind her words so he turned abruptly and walked over, standing not one foot in front of her and sizing her up. “You ever pull something like that again and I will leave, I swear. The only reason I’m not? I don’t have any cash to blow on another apartment right now...but I’m not obliged to talk to you, and you certainly don’t have to invite me to one of your ‘nights out’ again.” He backed away slightly and smoothed his hair out in the mirror. “I’ll assign you the role of...NPC.”

Her face creased up. “What?”

“You’re now officially a non-playable character in my life.” He turned towards her again and raised his eyebrows. “I do not have to look at you, talk to you, or pay you any attention whatsoever and everything will remain exactly the same.” A forced smile took up half of his face. “Starting now.” He made a move to leave and make it to the cafe with time to spare.

“What, you’re seriously still mad at me because I gave you a little alcohol?”

His feet stopped walking him to the door and he raised a hand by his head, palm facing out. “I’ll tell you one more time so that when I slap it to your brain it’ll stick...” he spun around, face reddening with frustration, “...I don't drink; what you effectively did on Friday night was give me a big ol’ ‘fuck you’ and a kick in the dick. And,” he laughed loudly, “as if you fucking ‘gave’ it to me, you forced a shot of shit down my throat after I refused and nearly pushed you into the queue behind us!”

“It barely even went down your throat, you big baby!”

“Are you seriously...?!” He made a fist. “You’re telling me that if you didn’t want to do something, eat something, drink something...whatever, and I physically forced you to do it, you’d be okay with that? You’d laugh it off? ‘Ho ho ho, that’s just Chris being Chris, what a joker’? Fuck no. You’d probably punch me in the face or fucking report me!” The anger was starting to fade, replaced by sadness and disappointment. “I seriously thought you were better than that.”

“Hey, I was drunk, I...”

He laughed again and turned away. “Yeah I reeeeeeally need to go, you’re making this situation worse by the second.” As he power-walked down the stairs, he mumbled, “I’m going fucking crazy, talking to an NPC; may as well be talking to myself.”