Ultimatum

No one wants to get into a car accident. There’s never a convenient time for it. 

This one Saturday, I had the whole day to myself and aimlessly drove around town, seeing and doing things I always promised myself I was going to do. 

The sun started to set and I began to hear laughter. Not the wholesome laughter either; it was the loud snorts and whooping from college kids. I remember that scene very well. That’s not my world anymore. 

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Wheezing

I’ve snuck out and my parents don’t know where I am because it’s 1998 and cell phones aren’t a thing. 

It’s late because I spent all night drinking, showing off to a bunch of college kids I don’t know. 

The party was a bust and I’m on the road now before I get into some real trouble. 

It’s interesting when there isn’t any lights and there’s a guy on the side of the road. 

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FunHouse

“Baby, it’s time to get up,” Camille said.

“Okay,” Richie mumbled with his face buried in his pillow.

“Come on, sweet pea. You’re going to be late and I can’t drive you to school,” Camille returned to Richie’s doorway to say. After a few moments, she returned. “Richard, I am not feeling well and I don’t have time for this.” Camille peered into the darkness and saw something wasn’t right.  

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WFAE Charlotte PodQuest Contest

This week in the life of an author in a battle against procrastination, I learned something very important. The importance of balance. Without it, your life can be thrown to the wayside very quickly.

I submitted an audio play idea of mine called The Fall of Adam and it was accepted. You can vote for me here. I have now added social networking and marketing to my repertoire. Some have real panache for it. I’m engaging in social media in a way that I have never done before, but between you and me, I prefer writing. However, I must say that this poses a new writing challenge for me: how would I script the presentation of me as an author to the world? With that blank canvas, I see possibilities.

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B.A.D.

Wednesday, Two-thousand something something…

I stare at myself through the reflection of a cracked mirror. This isn’t an allegory that I’m fractured. Please, this isn’t poetry. 

I can see my molars through the different shards as I yawn. Fillings. Metal. That’d be a bitch if if they cracked. I brush my teeth diligently ‘cause I don’t like implied future pain. And for the love of God, floss. There’s a broken brush in front of me. My hair is messy. Knotting. Now, this is optional. What a conundrum. Who am I brushing for? Me? The big  Man upstairs? I always wanted Rastafarian locks. 

“Alright Brian, what’s on the agenda today?”

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