in 1000 Stories

the bravest – 54/1000

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It’s hard to find butterflies here, or even flies.

There are bees, though, they’re always hanging around Washington Square Park, buzzing around the sticky sweet juice dripping down your hand from the popsicle you got at the ice-cream stand.

You block out the sound of traffic and listen to the rasta drum beats and smell the weed that’s everywhere now, and the whole time this warm breeze of city filth swirls around you.

In the middle of the biggest city you find a flower ridiculously alive, crawling from a crack in the concrete.

It’s the bravest thing you’ve ever seen.… Read the rest

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love bomb – 53/1000

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My home reeks of flowers, and not in a good way.

There are just too many. Bouquet after bouquet that arrived like clockwork at ten every morning with a new way to say “I love you.”

I do love flowers, and I love the diamonds he gives me; I love the trips we take on his private jet to glittering cities like Paris and Tokyo.

But the flowers, they’re suffocating me.

It’s too much.

It’s too much to feel like you’re the center of someone’s world, too much to feel like someone’s happiness depends on you.

I don’t want this.… Read the rest

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what a world – 52/1000

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I wasn’t made for this. For these bars of hours that lock me in from one end of the day to the other.

I was made for ink and pages and thousands of quiet hours alone indoors with no one and nothing to bother me.

The world does this to us.

It puts us in cages that we’re not fit for, it locks up everything we have to give.

Nowadays my greatest dream isn’t publishing, it’s disappearing.

It’s buying land and building houses with friends so we can leave the world behind.

I won’t miss it, not even a bit.… Read the rest

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battle’s end – 51/1000

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It felt like my guts had been turned into churning lava, and I could feel things I knew I wasn’t supposed to be able to feel.

So this is what it feels like when the breeze hits your organs.

So this is what it feels like when you’re dying.

The loud clashes, clangs, shouts, and screams were my world in the darkness, because I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

I couldn’t keep watching my soldiers fall.

Then someone knelt beside me.

Lieutenant Robinson.

“Is it bad?” he asked.

“This will be the end of me.”

“But you fought so well.”… Read the rest

in 1000 Stories

the puppeteer – 50/1000

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Who do you think you are?

I get asked that question all the time, by me, by the other, little me that lives inside my head.

She’s the one who’s in control, even though you can’t see her.

She’s pulling the strings, and I’m just along for the ride.

I wish someday I’ll be able to take myself back, and be myself again, but for now, I’ll let her rule my roost. I’ll let her take the wheel.

The truth is, I have never made good choices for myself.

I’m always thinking life’s not fair, and I’m always hurting myself.… Read the rest

in 1000 Stories

goodbye / hello – 49/1000

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Goodbye to all the people who said I couldn’t do it.

Peace out to those who never believed in me, and fuck off to those who have hoped I’d fail.

I am up at five o’clock every morning to put words on a page because this is my story and I want to write it and write for a living like I used to.

So be wary, writers, of putting all your eggs in one basket, because if the basket drops, you do, too.

Get up early. Get your butt in the chair.

Wake up your imagination and say hello.… Read the rest

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I’m No Trumploving Fool

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Are you patriotic? What does being patriotic mean to you?

When I was little, I think we were all patriotic.

I think that as long as we didn’t have parents at home with rather strong and conflicting beliefs against living nicely with people in society, we might still all be patriotic.

We all learned to salute the flag, to stand for the national anthem, to remove our hats when we sang it, to respect our flag when we hang it.

And now?

Now I see America broken in half.

I’ve seen too many Ford-F150s with these massive American flags on … Read the rest

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Shakespeare’s Worries – 48/1000

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“Write an English sonnet centered on the theme of the supernatural.”

Yeah, okay, I thought as I closed my laptop. No schoolwork for me today.

Instead I’m going to go out and enjoy the fresh air under a blue sky full of clouds and dance in the grass until I have to collapse there, lest I die.

I will lay and feel the breeze and smell the flowers around me, and hear the children laughing and the birds singing.

I can’t help but think it wasn’t writing to themes Shakespeare was worried about, it was missing perfect days like these.… Read the rest