I Want a Divorce (W.E. 16)

Exercise 16:

Two people (from your story or novel or memoir or simply two people you've overheard or imagined) are talking. One is putting off telling the other some important information (a bad report card? that she wants a divorce?). The other feels increasing tension in the hesitation and indirection...

I Want a Divorce (Free-write)

                She wanted to tell him.  Something inside told her not to.  She knew his reaction would be quick.  Instead she said nothing.

                “I thought you wanted to go to Colorado with me?”  He asked her with a grim look upon his face.  “Last weekend you were so excited about going and now…”  He looked at her like his heart was breaking.  What could she do?  In her mind memories flushed back from Wednesday evening. 

                She stood there in the rain waiting for him to come, but then her cell phone rang.  She walked under the dry overhang just in front of the double doors and answered it.  It was him.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t make it.  My boss needs...”  She frowned.   She had discontinued listening to him.

She was dripping wet an alone for dinner.  She’d wanted nothing more than to share this evening with him.  Instead all she had was the dripping wet clothes stuck to her body.

It had been weeks since she’d been able to spend time with him.  This night, she felt for sure that he would come.  Her heart was broken.  “Sure…” Her voice spoke of its own accord.  She was responding to him as if it were a rhythm she knew the beat to by heart.

She heard his voice through the speaker like it was a message from death himself telling her it was time.  “I’ll see you at home tonight.  I love you.”   She didn’t respond him.  She simply ended the call.

She went to the restaurant as planned.  It was a fancy little place called Phoebe’s.  It wasn’t the most expensive restaurant in town, nor was it cheap.  It was by reservation only.  He’d made reservations about a week before.  It was their anniversary today.

As she entered she was greeted by a woman.  This woman was a short 5’1” with brown hair and deep blue eyes.  On her right cheek was a small mole, a beauty mark.

The woman tried to lead her to their table, but she didn’t want to sit there now.  “Would it be alright if I just sat at the bar?  My date isn’t going to make it tonight.”  She said as if it meant nothing.

Her dripping wet blond hair was a deep representation of her inner turmoil.  Only she knew this.

The short woman showed her to the bar, as if it wasn’t an obvious find.  In a way it bothered her to be thought so little of.  He’d broken her ability to accept even the smallest of things.  He’d given her too much pain.

She sat at the bar and the handsome young bartender with blond hair and green eyes walked over.  He appeared to enjoy working out.  His muscles looked a little bit like Jean Claude’s pythons.  It brought a smile to her face.  It occurred to her she couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled.  “What can I get you?”  He asked.

“Club soda.”  She said gloomily looking down at the bar.

“Really?   You seem kind of down.  You look more like a gin and tonic kind of woman.”  He said with a handsome smile that she noticed as she looked up to his glaring eyes.  His hands were on either side of the bar and he was leaning forward a bit.  His tank top showed all of the right musculature.  He was very attractive.

“Actually, sure.  I’ll have that gin and tonic.”  She gave a half smile with the left side of her mouth.

As he prepared her drink he asked “So what’s got you down gorgeous?”

“My husband...Actually, I shouldn’t complain.  Some women have it worse.” She answered, drawing lines with her index finger across the grains of the wooden bar top.

“Don’t belittle your problems like that.  Whatever they are, they are important to you.  If they weren’t they wouldn’t have gotten you so down.”  He responded and walked over to help a couple that sat down at the bar.  They must have been waiting for a table.

She fingered the glass between her hands.  He doesn’t beat you.  He doesn’t cheat on you that you know of.  He cleans up after dinner.  He takes the dog for runs.  He puts the toilet seat down.  He even helps with the laundry.  He’s not so bad. She tried to convince herself it was nothing.

She took a drink of her gin and tonic and sat it back down on the bar.  She looked down the bar at the couple.  The woman was laughing, and touching the man’s arm affectionately.  He was smiling a new lover smile.  They must have either just met, or haven’t been together very long, she thought. It must be nice to be in love like that.  I can’t remember what that’s like.

She took another drink of her gin and tonic and sighed.  So what if he works late and constantly breaks his promises?  So what if he would rather watch the game than lay next to you and stare into your eyes like he once did?  You’re a mature couple now.  You can’t always get the things you want.  There’s no sense in complaining.  Your romantic life is over.  Deal with it.

She finished her drink and walked out of the restaurant.  It was still pouring rain.  In fact it was pouring harder now than it had been when she’d entered the restaurant.  The weather fit her mood.  She put her face to the sky and closed her eyes, letting the water wash away her pain.

She walked a ways and sat on the bench waiting for the next bus.  She was glad she had forgotten her umbrella this evening.  Part of her wished she’d catch pneumonia, the other part thought her foolish.

She thought again about the past 2 months.  He’d blown her off at least 10 times in 2 months.  In normal relationships this would mean the end. Then it occurred to her.  She wanted it to be the end.  Did she really love him anymore?  Maybe she was just in love with the idea of being in love.  She wanted a divorce.

He yelled at her.  “Where are you today?” 

“I’m right here.”  She said in response.  It came out flat.

“Are you?  Because you seem like you’re somewhere else.  I wish you’d just tell me what’s bothering you.  I can’t tell if you’re even listening to me anymore.”  He sounded hurt.

“I’m listening.”  She responded, standing up from the couch.  She seemed bored with the conversation.  She walked toward the kitchen.

He followed her into the kitchen.  She rummaged through the fridge looking for nothing in particular.  “Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to you?  Tell me what’s wrong.”  He stated, but his voice appeared to be cracking.  She could tell she was breaking his heart.

“I can’t.”  She said as she turned to him, closing the fridge and looking right at him.  “I can’t tell you because then it will be real.”

“Is it something you want?  Something I can do?”  He asked her sincerely.  She realized at that moment that it was really what she wanted.

“Yes, it’s something I want.  Yes it’s something you can do for me.”  She said to him as she headed into their bedroom.  He followed her.  He watched her reach into the dresser drawer and pull out some papers.  She brought them to him with a pen.  “I want a divorce.”

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Authors note:

I bet you're wondering why I chose to write about a woman who wants a divorce.  To be honest, I didn't.  I was going to write about her cheating on him.  It would have broken his heart.  But the character told me she wasn't that kind of woman.  She just wanted something more than what she had.  She wanted a divorce.  Sometimes as I write the characters seem to develop the story for me.  I let the characters tell me who they are and what it is they would be doing.  I guess I envision it.  Like a world in a different existence.  A world of my mind I suppose.  I hope it sounds as good to you as it does to me. ;)

If you have any interesting writing exercise ideas send them to me on twitter @lylathewicked or leave me a comment to this post.

The Electricity of a Touch (W.E. 10)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so. 

Exercise 10:

A character observes another character's skin. This might be a lover's skin, or the wounded bare feet of a homeless man in a subway. What can you learn about the person by looking at their skin? What can you learn about yourself?

The Electricity of a Touch

                Her skin wasn’t like the perfect skin of the windup in The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi.  It was imperfection, yet at the same time seemed so perfect.  It wasn’t rough like any adults skin I’d ever felt.  It was soft like a newborn baby’s skin.  It was as if she’d been born just yesterday. 

She was a ripe 20 years of age and yet, her skin felt so brand new.  I wondered if it was some kind of lotion she’d used, or if she were an alien from another planet. 

Where she had scratched just moments ago, her skin turned red like the flushing of skin during arousal.  It seemed to me that her skin was really sensitive.  I wondered how it felt for her to be bitten by a flea or a mosquito.  I could only imagine how sensitive it must feel to her.

I found myself unable to keep my hand away from her skin.  I was so fascinated by it.  My fingertips lightly trailed down her arm as if it were the first time I’d ever touched her.  It felt smooth to the touch. 

Her skin was covered in small moles, but it was as if they weren’t even there.  It was like a table with grains underneath that you could see but were unable to touch.  It was like her skin was laminated by a thin soft substance.

My curiosity got the best of me.  Where she’d scratched her chest, it reddened.  I wondered if that patch of skin felt the same as her arm.  “You must have scratched yourself right there.”  I reached out and found my fingers trailing over her collarbone.  My fingertips brushed over the redness of her chest, and it felt just as smooth as her arm. My fingers grazed across her skin so light and feathery.   “Yeah.” She replied, looking down as I touched her skin so gently.

Touching her skin made me feel so warm inside.  It was something different that I’d never felt before.  It was intriguing.  Was I attracted to the way her skin felt?  What an odd notion.

At that moment I hadn’t realized how close I’d come to her.   The gesture, I knew, could only be an intimate touch.  Why was I so fascinated by her skin to not even realize I was being so intimate?  We were just friends.

Now I wondered what it might feel like to her, for someone to touch her in such a place.  I wondered if her skin was sensitive enough to send shivers throughout her body at just the simplest touch.  I wondered if I might have invaded her personal space, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

Did her collarbone feel as sensitive as my own did, or was it greater in sensitivity?  I knew there was no way to measure our different levels of skin sensitivity. 

Maybe I was over thinking it. Maybe I felt more than she did.  Was it the touch of her skin, or was it the thoughts driven by the touch that made me feel like I’d just done something I shouldn’t have?  Did I want her to feel the touch as if it were an intimate act?  I couldn’t tell. I was now trapped in my own thoughts.

I felt myself afraid to touch her, and afraid to speak to her.  I wanted to talk to her.  I wanted to ask her what she felt, if anything at all.  But how could I ask her without showing my true desires?  I’d have to say nothing.  This friendship meant more to me than the answers she could give me.  Perhaps I was afraid she’d say she felt nothing at all. 

No electricity.  Only I felt the electricity.  The electricity caused by her perfectly imperfect peachy skin covered in puffy red marks from scratching.  The most wonderful skin I’d ever felt, and may ever feel.

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Author's Notes:

I found this an interesting thing to write about.  I thought, how might someone feel to touch such soft skin?  What reactions might this stir up?

I have no idea what you can tell by looking at someones skin to be quite honest.  I guess if they like tatoos, that's a sign they aren't afraid of pain?  In the case of this story, could the woman with the soft skin be a sensitive person?  Then comes the question, is she sensitive physically only, or emotionally too?  Tell me what you think in the comments. ;)

What did I learn about myself?  That I pay more attention to the way things feel than they way they look.  Not just physical touch, but also the feelings a person obtains from touching things.  I'm starting to think I'm more about feeling than seeing.  I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, being a writer and all.  I need to learn to open my eyes and see things visually as opposed to just by touch.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the read and give this skin describing exercise a shot!

The Conflict (W.E. 09)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so. 


Exercise 09:

One of the important things in good prose writing is to have more than one thing happening at once. In this exercise, describe a kiss, taking your time and trying to visualize the action clearly and precisely. However-- have something else going on at the same time.  Maybe one person is thinking of a different boyfriend, or perhaps someone's leg is falling asleep, or maybe one person is worried about the garlic pizza he had for dinner.....

The Conflict

Her lips were so unexpectedly upon mine. The last thing I wanted was to be kissing my best friend right now. Her lips, soft and warm in a way that I couldn’t have ever imagined, it wasn’t repulsing. It wasn’t something I ever thought of until this very moment. But here she was kissing me right at this very moment. My lips respond back to hers and I’m unsure why. Perhaps it’s from the idea that I don’t want to make her feel rejected knowing damn well how much it hurts to be rejected.

My mind screams at me to stop this madness. A woman kissing another woman is revolting. It’s against all that god has written in the bible. Man shall not lay with man for Christ sake; does that not include a woman kissing another woman in such an intimate manner?

I could feel her hand upon my cheek holding me there as she intensified the kiss. I felt my face beginning to flush, and my mind became a little hazy. Was I enjoying this?

I knew that if I kept up this crazy charade that I would find myself in the depths of hell burning for all eternity. I cared about my afterlife, so why couldn’t I stop kissing her back? I cared about her feelings and knew that if I shoved her away as roughly as I wanted to, that she would feel great pain. Not the pain of physical punch, but the pain of a broken heart. I was having conflicting desires between what was right and what was wrong.

I found my right hand gripping the collar of her t-shirt, keeping her in place. I felt my lips responding. I felt my entire body, my entire being responding to her. Her sins were tempting me down a road from which it’s too late to turn away from.

I want so badly to shove her away, for her to stop responding to me. I wanted her to vanish from this very place and time for making me unable to resist her in such sinful ways. But she just wouldn’t stop.

I found her pushing me on the bed, and my mind was screaming no but my body was screaming oh yes.

Then in an instant it was over. Her lips were no longer on mine and she was looking down at me. Her face seemed expressionless. She didn’t seem pleased, nor did she seem unhappy. She seemed simply empty. A word wouldn’t escape my lips, and she seemed to have nothing to say either.

Why did you stop kissing me? What did I do wrong? Are you angry with me? Are you sad with me? What’s going on? I thought and I couldn’t stop wondering as she just stared at me. Then it occurred to me that I was enjoying such a sinful act and I started to feel sick to my stomach.

Then she got up without a word and walked out. I just lay there on my bed for a few moments wondering if she would return, and then I heard the sound of her car starting up and I knew she was leaving. I got up quickly and rushed to the window just in time to see her driving off. On a normal day I wouldn’t have noticed. I would have never rushed to the window to see her pulling away. But something in me changed.

What the hell just happened?

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Authors Notes:

I just went with the idea of a religious woman being repulsed by the concept of homosexuality due to belief. But obviously she learns something about herself that leaves her entirely confused about her friendship and possibly what she really believes in. If anyone wants to continue this one, feel free to. I thought it would be best left in confusion. 

It's a representation of the confusion we all feel inside of us about this or that. Sometimes the world seems so clear to us, but then something unexpected happens and throws our world off balance. I hope you can in some way find this as something you can relate to.

This exercise was quite fun. It led me in a very unexpected direction. I don't know where the idea came from. Sometimes I just read exercises and certain ideas become triggered.  I guess I'd call these exercises catalysts.

Some of the best things in writing can be conflicting thoughts, feelings and emotions. This short story is a quick representation of this.

By the way if anyone knows of any other really cool ideas for writing exercises tweet them to me @lylathewicked

Opposites Attracted (W.E. 08)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so. 

Exercise 08:

Write a character sketch, starting with someone you have once noticed and observed.
     1. Begin with a physical description. Try to include more senses than just the visual--how the person sounds, smells, the texture of their hair and skin, etc.
     2. Next, write a little about what you can't observe about the person from the outside. This can be facts--job, where the person lives, favorite movie, type of music, etc.
     3. Finally, drilling deeper, write some secret or dream of the person--something that perhaps no one knows.

Opposites Attract

Physical Description:

Her hair is dyed blond, almost white and you can see the undercoat of dark brown peeking through the bright openings. Her eyes are brown like almonds, yet so bright and shiney. Her smile is warming like a tender yet comical story. Her make-up is very subtle, just to accentuate her features. Her skin isn’t quite white, but slightly peachy. It feels soft like touching baby’s skin. She’s about 5’2” tall. She’s not wide, nor slender. I would consider her of average healthy appearance. Her arms and chest are covered with tiny little moles that you could only see if you were right next to her. She smells like a warm, windy and calming day. She normally wears a red belt around her midsection made of faux leather. It’s some kind of fashion sense, and underneath the belt is a dark black shirt with sleeves tyed with knots near the beginnings of her shoulders from the end of her arms. Upon her shirt is some kind of streaks of gold, splattered like far away spray paint. Her pants are usually simple jeans. I never noticed her shoes in great detail. On her left hand is a promise ring, and on her other hand many other scattered rings of less significance.

Her Home:

Her porch is probably old and rotting away. Upon the back portion of the porch is a ton of mostly smoked roaches. The outside of the house seems to be deteriorating as well, but could be in worse shape. Inside the house smells rank like it hasn’t been aired out since people have been living in it. The air is stale and smells almost molding. The rooms, even during the day seem so dark and lacking in color. It’s not a very welcoming abode. It feels as if you’re walking into a dungeon. Within the fridge is expired food, something her grandfather seems to collect. Her room is organized yet slightly messy with a few clothes lying around in particular spots. It’s still too clean to be considered a mess. It seems very organized. Upon her dresser, a lighter and some weed.

Is it true love?

I’m not going to claim this is true, because it’s probably not but I’d like to point this out. She’s written some poetry before that shines her in a sad light. Though she claims it was written not with the intent of sadness, but out of randomness. I don’t buy it. I recognized the feeling she wrote into that poem to be something that only someone feeling that great sadness could describe.

Though she talks of her boyfriend frequently as of late, and has the promise upon her finger, a part of me believes that she’s looking for something more. Though she seems happy on the outside, nobody is truly that happy are they? Perhaps they are, and I just can’t comprehend this idea.

Of course she loves him. Though when he’s around and she’s trying to hint to him about things, he doesn’t seem to get her. It’s as if they are from two different worlds. With older couples you see more understanding of each others personalities. That to me is love.

She and her promise guy have been together for 3 years, and known each other their whole lives. They practically lived next door to each other. But I think deep down, if she had the choice to love with all of her heart, and that someone loved her just as much back, that she would in no way hesitate to leave him. Another part of me wonders that if she truly loves him, what if he doesn’t truly love her?

 Though their relationship may seem like roses, maybe they argue behind closed doors. If she met someone who just got her on that deeper level, maybe then she’d see that what she’s feeling now, isn’t true love. Everybody deserves true love. For all I know she already has it, but from what I can see is, they aren’t even on the same page of this book. Opposites attract.

Trixie (W.E. 07)

For those of you who don't know, this is a blog about writing exercises. These exercises I've found around the web and may possibly come up with on the spot. This is just for fun and to get me into the habit of writing frequently. I hope you will join me on this journey of writing. I will be posting every Tuesday and Friday as long as I have steam to do so. 

Exercise 07

Imagine that you are lying in a hammock, gazing up the trunk of tree that holds the hammock. You are profoundly relaxed; summer is almost over. Your mind drifts with the slow rocking of the hammock. Your spirit soars toward the top of the great white pine. Suddenly....

Trixie

Suddenly a downpour erupts. The day that seemed so bright is no longer full of delight. I try to get up too quickly and find myself face planted in the mud forming beneath the hammock. Great, now I’d need a shower.

I make my way inside my humble abode, dripping wet with mud and rainfall. It really hits me now, summer is over. I thought I’d have had a few more days of freedom before the rains came, but nope, they always have to ruin the fun.

I climb into my shower and feel the hot clean water cascading down my body followed by soap suds. I was cleansing myself not only of the rainfall and the mud, but also of the entire summer. It was so chaotic.

My summer started off easily enough, as summers usually do. I spent the first days of summer by the pool, but then Tammy called. I knew my summer would pick up now that Tammy was in the mix. She’d finally flown in from Florida. She visited me in California almost every summer since she moved about 4 years ago. We were best friends since we were 5.

Tammy and I use to date ages ago. We were 16 at the time, and everyone thought we were the cutest couple. I had a spikey boy band haircut.  She had cheerleading spunk.  Or as I noticed, double D's.

When she arrived this summer she decided it was time to get me out there, playing the field as it were. I’d been single for so long that I couldn’t even count the times I’d jerked myself to climax.

 So we ended up at a club. I always thought clubs were where people who wanted to hook up went, not people who were looking for long term like I was.
I know I don't really seem the type, but I'd rather be having sex with a woman I was planning to spend the rest of my life with.  I was never one of those guys up for one night stands and all that crap. I want one woman. Just one who wanted to be mine.

Then I saw her. She was standing next to a guy with bright orange hair. I think that was what drew my eyes in the direction I found her in.  Bright orange was undeniably the most bright I’d ever seen hair. I couldn’t tell if it was a wig or if it were his real hair, dyed.

She had long blond hair. It cascaded down her shoulders to about maybe 4 inches down her back give or take. Then her eyes met mine. I couldn’t tell the color of them because of all the flashing strobe lights in my eyes from her direction. At first as she walked toward me I thought maybe she had seen a friend she was trying to meet up with. All this time Tammy is yapping in my ear and I can’t hear a word she’s saying because of the loud voices and loud music surrounding us.

She steps up close to me.  I have to lean forward to hear her.  She stood about 5’4” to my 6’0”. She spoke into my ear and it sounded like a whisper.  She wanted to go outside and then get a drink. I couldn’t hardly hear her.  Needless to say I followed her as she made a pathway out of the building.  Tammy must have gotten lost in the crowd, or realized I was following a lady out of the building.
As we stood outside in the cool night air, she extended her hand which I gently shook.

“I’m Trixie. What’s your name handsome?” She pulled a box of smokes from her pocket, offering me one. I shook my head and she put one to her lips as she leaned against the wall. She lit it with ease and took a long drag.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I said.

“Whys that? Is it some weird name like Penis or Jack Mehoff?” She asked curiously and slightly sarcastically.

“No it’s nothing like that. Leopard.” I responded and she looked at me with a smirk.

“Leopard? Your names Leopard?” She asked as if she didn’t believe me. She started to laugh, rubbing her eye with her thumb of the hand now holding her cigarette pressed between her pointer and middle fingers.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” I said with a grin.

“Alright Leopard, how about we get ourselves a little drink? I know a great place just up the street.” She started to walk before I could respond. I don’t know what made me follow her. Everywhere she went I seemed to follow. I saw her put out the cigarette and stuck it back into its box.

I found my phone in my pocket and I texted Tammy. I told her I went to go get a drink with this hot blond I met. I’d tell her more back at my place later.

As we went into the dark bar, we ordered a few drinks and found ourselves headed toward a booth in the corner. It was very secluded.

“So, got a girlfriend Leopard?” She asked with a smile, taking a drink of her beer.

“Nah, I’m a single cat.” I said, using the play on words.  I thought it went well with her insistence on using my name so frequently.

“Rawr.” She started, then continued “So, do you go to Club Seks a lot?” She lit her cigarette once more, and took a drag. She flicked the ashes into the ash tray on the table.

After a few drinks we ended up back at her place. At first we were just going to watch a movie. I can’t even remember the name of it now, but that’s not important. The important part is that we never made it to watching the movie. We ended up in her bed, naked.

The next thing I remember is waking up to a tent made from the hard wood between my legs. She’d walked into the room just then and laughed, seeing my makeshift tent.

“I didn’t know we were going camping.” She said sarcastically with a laugh and a smirk.

“Yeah…Morning wood, gotta love it.” I said as I stood up and headed toward the bathroom. I wasn’t at all embarrassed about her seeing me this way. I mean, she must have seen me plenty last night. If only I could remember more of it. Why didn’t I remember it?

“So, you gotta get out before my boyfriend gets back.” She called toward the bathroom.  My mind must have assumed she was single.  I thought she meant she was single based on the fact that she asked me if I was.  Great job brain, you forgot to ask.

“Seriously? You got a boyfriend?” I asked feeling disappointed. I’d had such an amazing night, and I wasn’t looking for just a one night stand.  I pulled my pants on followed by my shirt. “Can I see you again?”

“Sure stud, next time I want to go camping.” She laughed and teased me. “I’ll call you.” She noted.

“Well…alright.” We swapped cellphone numbers. I kissed her on my way out, telling her she was beautiful.  I thanked her for what was an amazing night without a doubt, regardless of my lack of remembering it detail for detail. She only smiled.

“Any time Tiger…whoops, I mean Leopard.” We both laughed at the continuous play on words.  Nobody had ever played such an interesting name game with me.  I don't think another woman could make it feel as entertaining.

Then I was driving back to my place, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her. That blond hair, those blue eyes, and the boyfriend I’d just found out existed only a few moments ago. She was taken. What was I thinking asking her to call me?

I went into my apartment and found Tammy on the couch watching tv. “Hey, where you been all night?” She asked, and she looked over and saw my awful sex unkempt hair. “Uh oh…did you find a lady to once?” She asked me with a raised eyebrow.  It was her way of asking if I'd had a one night stand.

“I hope not just once. The problem is…” I said as I headed into the kitchen to get a beer. I opened the fridge and continued as I opened my beer bottle. “She’s got a boyfriend.” I took a big gulp.

“That sounds like some crazy stuff. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life or anything…But are you sure that’s something you should be getting involved with?” She asked out of concern.

“No. The problem is I’m starting to fall for her.  I think.” I took another drink and plopped myself down on the couch.

“How? You just met last night!” Tammy exclaimed.

“I knew after I saw her for the first time. She’s so great Tam.” I stated.

“Boy, you’re all kinds of crazy for this woman. Alright, I support you. But if she breaks your heart, I’ll cut her like a bitch.” She slices at the air with an imaginary knife.

I went for 3 weeks without a call from Trixie. Still, she was all I could think about. I started to get depressed thinking she wasn’t going to call. Tammy tried everything to get me to go out with her again, but I continued to resist.

Finally my phone rang, and it was Trixie. “Hey, Trixie.” I said nervously.

“Hey Leopard, wanna come shag a bitch in heat?” She asked.

“I’m down.” I said, meaning I was feeling sad, and not so much about the being interested in having sex with her again. If she noticed, she didn’t show it.

“Then get your ass over here because I want your dick inside me.” She said seductively, yet sarcastically.  I could hear that she was smiling.  I remembered her smile like it was yesterday.

I made it back to her place where she invited me inside. Again she insisted we watch a movie, but the second she got out the vodka and whiskey we were gone.  Again I ended up in her bed naked. This time I wasn’t so lucky.

I was one with her when a man started shouting and throwing things at me.

“What the fuck is going on Trixie?  You god damned slut.  Is this what you do when I’m not home? Huh? Is it?” He shouted.  He appeared to be older, maybe in his 40’s.

“You better get out of here.” She whispered into my ear and I nodded.  I quickly wanted to get out of there and yet at the same time wanted to stay and protect her.  Something told me this was a battle she could handle on her own, probably one of many she’d fought.  She was no damsel.
Somehow, half ass drunk I managed to make it home safely.  Part of me wasn't thankful.  I felt like shit for fucking some other guys woman.  I wanted her all to myself, if only we'd met first.  One too many ifs.

I didn’t hear from her again for the entire summer, other than a text to let me know she couldn’t see me again, but that it had been great.  It ended with, “Maybe we’ll meet again in another life and the sex will be just as mind blowing.”  I heard her sarcastic tone as I read the text and I was crushed.

I spent a majority of the rest of the summer getting drunk in my pj’s on the couch and being depressed.  It felt like the world was ending.  I couldn’t even figure out why.  Tammy warned me.  Despite all logic, I'd fooled myself into thinking Trixie was good for me.
It took some convincing by Tammy and my inner self, that it wasn’t a loss. She was just a summer fling, that was all. But I know deep down a part of me will always be in love with that girl I met in the club: Trixie.

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Authors Note:

Okay well I hope you enjoyed reading this short story as much as I enjoyed writing it. It just seemed to flow from my fingertips. This wasn't the first thing I wrote tonight, but it was definitely the most satisfying. This is so far the longest story I've created from the use of one of these nifty little exercises. It is also my favorite so far.
By the way if anyone knows of any other really cool ideas for writing exercises tweet them to me @lylathewicked

Emma (W.E. 01)

So I've decided to make a blog of the short stories I come up with using writing exercises. I found these exercises on the web.  ENJOY! I will be posting on Tuesday's and Friday's. Expect a variety of stories, plots and themes.

Exercise 01

“She had found a jewel down inside herself and she had wanted to walk where people could see her and gleam it around.....”

Emma

          Lily knew that nobody could see this jewel with open eyes. The only way they could see it was with open arms and open minds. She swelled inside so much that she often felt it unbearable.

          She smiled to herself as she skipped down the cobblestone path. She wondered deeply if anyone understood what it felt like.

          She looked up at the clouds floating gently past in the bright blue sky of midday. She would describe it like floating on a gentle puffy white cloud, a magic cloud. It was to fly endlessly and hopelessly, as if your feet couldn’t ever touch the ground.

          She looked down at her feet.  Though her feet touched the cobblestones beneath them, she felt as if she was hovering just above them. She spread out her arms and screamed in delight as she ran through the meadow.

          Finally she could run no more, but the delight hadn’t faded. Deep inside she was filled to the brim. She fell to the ground and lay on her back panting for life’s sweet spring air. Her cheeks were rosey red as she smiled and stared at the sky.

          Then she heard the grass move. If it were possible to smile any larger, she would have as she saw her. The girl of her dreams stood before her. She had only just realized it a short time ago. Her eyes glimmered in the sunshine. Her lips had a smile that mirrored Lily’s. It was a smile full of love. Her hair was orange and it shined so brightly in the sunshine. Her eyes reminded Lily of the spring. The freckles upon her cheeks were the cutest thing Lily had ever seen. This was her girl. Emma.