Archive for July, 2014

The Chest

Posted in romance, writing with tags , , , on July 28, 2014 by WritingBrandon

The Chest

I could never understand her fascination with old things. She had fancy names for useless items such as antique or heirloom. I preferred to think of them as old pieces of shit. It didn’t matter though, because whatever made Erin happy also made me happy. Her smile was worth the endless hours at garage sales and pointless eBay bidding wars. I didn’t even bother to bat an eye at the décor shift of our bedroom. At least not until a rather large and old looking chest occupied the former home of my sleek and minimalist IKEA dresser.
“Erin?” I began, puzzled by this monstrosity that obviously wouldn’t be accommodating my 42” flat panel. “What happened to my dresser?”
“Oh isn’t it great?” she responded not even bothering to come out of the bathroom.
“Well it’s certainly different. Where’d my TV go? Don’t tell me my clothes are in that thing.”
Erin leaned out of the bathroom with her robe barely making it to her shoulders. She was toweling her hair with mischievous eyes, and suddenly I knew I had no hope of being upset, much less protesting the new addition.
“Easy Ben. Your clothes are still in that boring dresser. It’s just down the hall in your study. And I had the TV installed on the wall in the basement. Thought it would help complete your man cave.” She began to saunter over towards me with the smile of an excitable child as she pulled a tarnished key out of the pocket of her robe. “I was waiting for you to get home to open it. It is a survivor of a fire in this grand hotel in Istanbul. Isn’t it great? It’s a relic from Turkey during the First World War. It was there when my Great Grandmother was. I only paid…”
“Don’t. I don’t even want to know.”
“Well ok then, let’s see what’s inside. It’s been hard to wait for you to get home. I’m really excited about this piece. I feel like it has such history and a great story.”
Piece, that was another favored word of hers to describe a recent overpayment for used up rubbish. Erin squeezed between me and the chest backing into me with her body. Her lush raven hair smelled of intoxicating honey vanilla something or other and I couldn’t help sinking my face gently into it. My smile growing as she delicately guided the key into the time worn hole. I placed a hand on hers as she turned the key. The lock unlatched with a clumsy thunk, and Erin pulled the doors apart. A warm earthy smell wafted out and over us.
“Oh…” Erin stammered. The opened doors revealed five separate shelves equally spaced apart. On the middle shelf sat an antique ring. Erin stood motionless staring at the piece of jewelry. The setting was antique, but the Princess cut diamond was new. I reached around her and picked up the ring.
“You know it took some serious doing to get to this,” I began to explain. “Your Great Grandmother was a bit of a roaming soul after that war. With some help from your mother I found this. It is the same setting your Great Grandfather got her before he left to fight in that war. The diamond was rather small and I figured I could add something to it. This here chest was in the hotel he proposed to her in. I bought it awhile back and put it up on that antiques site you love. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist and I wasn’t going to sell to anybody but you. ”
Erin turned to me with the biggest smile I’d ever seen and I knew all my work was worth it. She balanced on her toes and gave me a big kiss bustling with excitement.
“You went through all that trouble?! Oh my gosh you’re the best Ben!” she was nearly squealing. “You’re the best husband in the history of the world!”
I enveloped her in my arms looking at the left door of the chest that still hung open. There was a fresh inscription on the inside that I was going to let her discover later. It read:
Of all the history in the world, ours will always be my favorite. Happy Tenth Anniversary. I love you. -Ben


High School Zombies Short Story!

Posted in Uncategorized on July 7, 2014 by WritingBrandon

It was the last day of school and Principal Wallace was patrolling the hallways. We’d all been instructed to clean out our lockers before fourth period just before my lunch. He stalked behind us as we emptied our personal effects from our little metal time shares.
“Clear em out!” he demanded. “I want nothing left behind.”
This went on for a few moments until his walkie-talkie squeaked something unintelligible. He ripped it from his belt and spoke directly but quietly back into it. Then his face changed and he was moving.
“Finish up and go to your home rooms.” It was all he said before he faded around the corner.
I paid little attention to him and had my mind on the after school kegger I was throwing this weekend. My folks had some property where my dad took me to hunt, and learn to survive in case of who knows what. Which pretty much was Dad teaching me to be like the crossbow wielding badass on that zombie apocalypse show. It was also where I’d been holding an annual party since freshman year. Tonight I was planning to finally tell Addison how I really felt.
“Mason! Mason!”
I scan the halls to see my buddy Alex tearing through the clusters of gathered social cliques. He is running full speed with wide panicked eyes. He reaches me grasping fistfuls of my shirt.
“Mason… some serious… shit.” He stammers between gasps.
“Easy. What’s going on?” I try calming him. He looks the way he did when he found his brother nearly overdosing.
“We have to get out of here. Now! Something awful is happening in the cafeteria.”
I can hear screams from the direction he came, and I break into a dead sprint for the direction of panic.
“Mason where the hell are you going?!” I hear Alex behind me but I have no time to tell him this is Addison’s lunch period. I sprint into the madness and see a hoard of rabid creatures surrounding a screaming student body. There must be thirty of the things and they have both Addison and Principal Wallace in their sights. Wallace broke out a fire extinguisher and was bludgeoning the things. I looked around and saw the table where graduation tickets were being cut. I tore the bladed handle off the paper cutter and flipped the table on its side, shoving it into the horde as a way to clear a path for the students.
It may have created an escape for Addison and the rest but it put me in the middle of the biting ragers. I let loose with my makeshift machete and split dark melon after splattering dark melon until I was engulfed by the undead horde. Principal Wallace sprayed the extinguisher giving him a chemical cloud cover as he pulled me loose from their undead clutches. He looked at me with calm eyes as he lifted his blunt weapon.
“Didn’t you hear me Mason? I said ‘Clear em out! I want not one left!”

Superhero change in the wrong bathroom!

Posted in writing on July 3, 2014 by WritingBrandon

Office Politics

It wasn’t even noon and already I’d been shot at and blown up. You have got to love the city. At least nobody got hurt. Well, except for the criminals taking hostages at the bank. Unfortunately, I had to break one of their arms. The others will have concussions with varying degrees of severity. They deserved it for making me late. Again. Besides, who the hell robs a bank anymore anyway? Everyone knows that they don’t keep millions on site. All of the money is pretty much just zeroes and ones in a computer these days. I figure the bank has maybe $20,000 in cash. I mean that was more than I was making in a year at this point, but I wouldn’t want to throw away years in federal “make me your bitch” prison for it.
At least after I had the time to pick up the morning coffee orders that my department always demanded. The office was full of creatures of habit that always got the same thing so I was confident when I picked them up from that place on the corner before sneaking back in to change. I couldn’t make it in the front door because if I had I’d surely have been busted for being late again by my micro-managing fat ass of a boss. So I slid in through one of the slim bathroom windows and dropped down into a stall. As I did my bag containing my regular clothes snags on the window and I damn near hang myself over the shitter. Fortunately I’m not too vulnerable and the only victim is one of the special order coffees that makes a splash in the toilet. Great. Who was going to cry over not getting a coffee? I free myself out of the possibly embarrassing situation. Thank God nobody saw or they would have thought I cracked under the stress of the office. Or even worse, that I was pulling a “Carradine” at work. I can see the headline now, “Employee dressed as superhero dies in office sex game.”
I finish changing and stuff my heroics gear into my messenger bag/would be noose. Then I glance in the toilet. I’m not fishing the cup out, because I’m not certain the coffee is the only thing that made the water warm and brown. I compose myself and exit the stall only to walk right into Tim and Eric from billing. Their faces are bewildered as they take me in. Eric isn’t even bothering to finish closing his pants, and Tim still has soap bubbles on his hands. Damn it I must have gone in the men’s room window. I really need to slow down.
Eric breaks the silence first, “This isn’t a bathroom for interns Laura. Even if they’re sneaking in from last night’s costume party.”
Well at least he was a dumb asshole. Tim on the other hand was drying his hands and giving me a knowing wink. He handed me a new paper towel and told me my “mascara” was running. It was soot from one of the bombs. I offered him a coffee which he accepted, thanking me for the coffee and everything else I do in the office.
“Oh get a room, I’d like to finish here,” Eric interrupted. “You can leave me one of those coffees on your way out Laura.”
“Oh sure thing sir, I already left it in the stall.” I smile as I push open the door.

Push- A World Cup 2014 short short

Posted in Uncategorized on July 3, 2014 by WritingBrandon

This is it. They had been battling for hours. Carlos hears the words in his head: “PUSH. PUSH.” He does and manages a break away. His legs hammer down on the lush emerald carpet as he propels the ball. The goalie seeing him matches his speed. In his hast he builds momentum that is about to be used against him. Without warning Carlos stops still commanding the ball, but the goalie lurches forward unable to stop. The net is now vulnerable and Carlos’ heart wallops. The stadium, once a deafening thunderstorm, is now ominously silent and empty sits the seat meant for his wife.
Across the city another heart beat is fluttering as it battles to stay alive. The delivery room of the hospital is awash in organized chaos. Monitors echo the heart of an unborn son. Mother struggling as the doctor calmly demands “PUSH. PUSH.” She does even though she has been battling for hours. Instinctively she knows that something is wrong. She knows the way that she always knows things. Like this morning when her water broke that Carlos could not be with her. He would be on the grass with the world watching, and she would be in the delivery room possibly losing their son. It is the very reason she refused to let him come.
She persuaded him, “Go! Your team needs you. Your son and I will be waiting after you win the game.”
She was adamant and he knew there was no way he could change her mind. With a pang of agony she is snapped back into the present and can see it in the doctor’s eyes that they are losing him, but she fights anyway. The doctor tells her staff to ready the OR but looks at her and this time she is less calm.
“He has one shot but we have to go now.”
Somewhere else Carlos knows this is his shot. He finds it strange that he has a heightened sense of things. He simultaneously feels the emptiness in his wife’s seat and the electricity searing in his leg as it snaps down. The ball spins like a rifle fired bullet and sails past desperate defenders. A stadium roars to life with primal thunder, and he is enveloped in the arms of his team. All he longs for are the arms of his wife and son.
Sometime later Carlos has made it to the hospital. He couldn’t escape the world bearing down on him in his victory, despite his every fiber pulling in him to be with his family. He finally finds his wife who is wearied from her own battles. He rushes to her and she is in his arms. She cries as he asks where their son is.
“I was wrong. I was so wrong,” she laments with eyes looking past Carlos. “And I couldn’t be happier.”
The nurse wheels into the room with a healthy baby boy as a spent mother and father smile.