This is a culmination of my too many interests. It's is an in-between place. It's more focused than my Myspace blog, but less so than my author blog. Here you can find artwork, photography, writing, poetry, book covers, manga and pointless videos. All of these things mesh together to become a reflection of their creator in an in-between place colored like shadows and flavored like frappuccinos and chocolate. It's one heck of a world.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Spiffy Old Stuff: Controling Grasp, a flash fiction

 old stuff     

It’s time again for the weekly blog feature, “Spiffy old Stuff”, in other words it’s that time when I post something you may have never seen before! What fun, huh? You can see past entries in the Table of Contents, by the way!

This week I am certain you’ve never seen this before because it is from October 28, 1997! (You have to love very precise dating!) It is a little old…

flash fiction

As I said, it’s from 1997. I wrote it for my creative Writing class (one of the few I actually wrote that year instead of just recycling stories I’d written in my other school the year before!). The idea came to me while I was sitting in the small gym (it was the old gymnasium that had become kind of a lobby hang out kind of place) hiding between the pop machines and skipping class. (Yeah, skipping class while still IN the building – how brilliantly weird is THAT!?!?!) 

Without any further ado, please enjoy:

Controlling Grasp

She sat surrounded by noise and bustle. The yellow artificial lights glowed brightly overhead and made the room seem warmer than it actually was.  But it was warmer inside than out, so who was she to complain? 

She snuggled herself down beside the glowing red and blue pop machine where no one would notice her.  She didn't want attention from the high school students who were milling around and enjoying their lunches. They were all color but no substance; laughing loudly and pointing out the flaws and inadequacies of everyone else in the crowded lobby, crushing ego's as easily as they breathed in and out.

She watched them. They clung together in tiny, fragmented groups, but the unification wasn’t permanent. They reminded her of one celled organisms scurrying around, merging and separating, and yet accomplishing nothing significant.

Her attention was drawn suddenly to a group of boys in front of the pop machine. They shook it violently and shouted how they’d been cheated. They wanted their fifty cents back! A lousy fifty cents was worth such a ruckus?

She instinctively shrunk away from them and their loudness.  She'd seen what groups of boys had done to others, how they left them ravaged and praying for a death that would creep ever so slowly.  She’d decided long ago that this wasn’t to be her fate. She wasn’t going to die miserable and afraid because she was careful. Always so careful. She avoided danger of any kind and, most of all, she avoided people as much as possible.  
Besides the general danger, most people just weren't worth the effort, anyway. They were nasty, mean things that always ended up hurting the things they loved because they couldn't leave them alone.  It was that selfish desire to possess and control everything that did them in.  They had to control their friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, even their enemies.  They had to feel important; as if the world revolved around them and their needs and desires. She wanted no part in that, so she stayed completely to herself, controlled only by herself.

But the laughing kids made something inside her ache with a soft longing to belong to something more. Loneliness washed over her. She tried to blink it away and think about something else, but there wasn’t much to think about that would cheer her. So, she closed her eyes and imagined the most beautiful thing she possibly could.  She pictured the summer sun shining brilliantly over her meadow and the brightly colored wild flowers dancing in the warm breeze.  She could almost smell it, almost feel it, when a loud clang shook her back to reality.

A green metallic pop can lay too close to her. She cringed as a tall blonde boy reached for it, but he didn’t seem to notice her. She exhaled slowly and unconsciously thanked some unnamed entity.
Her relief was short lived. Before she could even finish her prayer of thanksgiving ,the boy’s red headed girlfriend cooed, “Oh look! Isn’t it pretty!”

She tried to shrink away, but the girl swept her up so that her fragile water color wings were crushed against her small delicate body. The girl opened her hand to poke at her treasure, but the butterfly spread her wings and took off. She flew for her life, darting over the heads of the other oblivious kids, the blonde boy right behind her.

 “I’ll catch it,” he called back to his girlfriend. But he couldn’t catch her – he just couldn’t! She had to escape!

The door flapped open ahead and a blast of cold air embraced her. Cold, but safe. If she could only make it…

The hand shot out of nowhere and closed in around her.  Her wings bent painfully and she cried out as she was roughly handed from one person to another. She beat herself against sweaty, tightly closed fingers, but to no avail.

She was dumped into another hand and her left legs snapped.  She screamed, but the throng of kids didn't hear her, they could only hear their own laughter. The sound was too loud as they passed her from one to another, finally delivering her into the hands of the red headed girl. 

She looked into the girl's large emerald green eyes. There was nothing special there, nothing unique. Just the usual casual curiosity and her own pitiful reflection. For all her rules and caution here she was, staring into the eyes of her death; green eyes that didn’t even care.

Crushed and bruised, she was too tired to fight anymore, and she let her head fall. The colors blurred into a smeared the noise slid into a roar that faded away into nothingness.  

The red head frowned and nudged the butterfly. Nothing happened. She tied again and then pouted prettily. “You killed it, Alex!”

The bell rang loudly and the girl casually brushed the butterfly from her palm. As she turned and headed for her classes, the fragile body drifted slowly to the floor, where it landed like a piece of tattered silk.


I was morbid. *shrugs*. I’m still morbid, actually. Morbid is good!

On a side note, I have decided to cross post stuff to that blogspot blog because I have a friend who can’t get into MySpace anymore but wants to read stuff, so….  We’ll see how long it lasts for, LOL!

Song playing at the moment – “Burn the Night Away” - There for Tomorrow


Anonymous said...

This is so beautiful..morbid but beautiful! That short story was so sad, I actually hated that stupid teenager.

And thank you for being so considerate about my being unable to reach you through myspace. Hugs.

Joleene Naylor said...

Thanks, Jen!

Hee-hee, I know! I hated them all, LMAO!! You can probably tell that though ;)

Anonymous said...

I really liked that. Yes it was morbid.. morbid is good :D How sad is this? when I thought I was reading about a girl I didn't care if she died. When I realized it was a butterfly, I was saddened lol. I have issues.

Joleene Naylor said...

LMAO! i am a big fan of morbid ;)

Gad to see the anonymous thing is working! now to figure out how to get notified of comments....

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