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- Randall Flagg
- Rep: 139
Re: Need your opinions on my writing
I appreciate your comments. There's allot going on that you don't realize at this point and I agree it's allot to take in. I appreciate that some of you took the time to read this, it does mean allot to me. In the big picture, this is a quasi collection of short stories that all tie in to one another, kind of like Pulp Fiction.
I'll definitely take your comments to heart.
- the_real_jessica
- Rep: 22
Re: Need your opinions on my writing
Not trying to steal your thunder RF, but here's a piece I had on my pc. It's loosley based on real events of my life (somewhat embellished).. That's how I prefer & do my best stuff. It's the last thing I wrote, from the fall. In case anyones into this stuff:
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I first met her on a Saturday. A Saturday where the air was full of rain, heavy rain gusting during the midst of Hurricaine Hanna’s arrival. I was at the ATM, getting money for my night when I turned my head back in anticipation of my cash’s dispense. That’s when I spotted her, a short cute strawberry blonde so full of life. I filled with envy... and passion. She was walking, so free, yet so missing of something. That something I soon realized was an umbrella. I heard the machine ring, that familiar sound it gives while spitting out money. I grabbed my 4 $20's and turned & walked. The ATM was attached to a bank, with a brick canopy over it. As I exited the canopy section and into the dreary realities of a cold, wet world I timed my paces to coincide with hers shortly. That time, was now. “Hi” I said, she looked at me, gave a brief glare, and looked down, never breaking stride. “Wanna share an umbrella?” She again looked at me, reached into her pocket pulled out a cigarette and somehow lit it during this torrential downpour. “No thanks”and with that, she kept on walking. At a clearly intentional faster pace than me. Not the first time this has happened, won’t be the last. But this one was different in some way. This one mattered. I wanted her.
I tried my best to not look to see where she was going, so as not to look like I kept following her. Within a block I reached my train station, I turned and brought open the door, put my umbrella down and shook it as dry as I can. I walked towards the train tracks at Suburban Station and received many looks as to the condition I was in, my clothes were soaking wet. “Well look at how wet you got?” Said a indoor street performer while taking a break from playing his trumpet. “Yeah, it’s like there’s a Hurricane out there or something.” I replied.
I found my R6 train, went down the steps and waited. It was a long cold wait as I was early. In time my train finally arrived, I boarded, and 15 minutes later was home. The first thing I did was take off my jeans and shirt. The second thing I did was take a nap.
It was a few weeks later I was downtown again, and walking down Walnut Street. I passed by your everyday pedestrians, tourists, shoppers, and bar patrons, but as I passed this one bar, I caught her out of the corner of my eye like a blinding reflection of sunlight. It was her again. I did a double take to see the name of the establishment, Once I saw it and felt comfortable going in, I entered. I slowly walked up to a barstool next to hers and made a seat of it. She was writing into a small journal, the kind that are the size of a diary. I noticed it was white with pink and green jazzy zig zag stripes across it, but didn’t have a clue what she was writing. It could have been fiction, she could be keeping a diary. “Lager.” I said, as the bartender made his way over. I looked ahead, then to my right, taking in the scenery.
“Do I know you?” she asked, at which point I noticed she had stopped writing. I turned to her and looked her into her cute little eyes. She’s adorable. “I think so”. She seemed to agree, which was a relief rather than have to explain how I remembered her. Comforting to know she remembered me as well. “Yeah well I have a boyfriend.”I came to a point in my life where I expected that from a girl. That point was 15. “I see. I just wanted a beer.” I grabbed my mug securely, and took a sip from it, nice and cold, it tasted great at an awkward moment like this. “No, it’s cool. He’s going to be a while, he’s always late.” Not exactly the open invitation I came in for, but worthwhile nonetheless. After all, it was only 80 degrees and sunny outside on this day. “So what brings you in here?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” She shot back. I wanted to say it’s impolite to answer a question with a question, but I dug her style. “I chose to stop in for a beer. I’m meeting up with friends in a bit somewhere downtown.” “What time?” She asked “What time is it now?”I replied. She checked her watch, “5 after 6" I looked in her eyes, she into mine, and I replied “About 6 o’clock.” We stared for a bit, had a mutual understanding, and that was that. She went onto her writing, at which point I asked her what she was writing. “A blog.” “A blog?” We kept doing this question and answer thing, it had good chemistry and I feel we both liked it. “Yeah, you know what it is?” “I know what a blog is” I replied “but doesn’t that mean a web-log, which would insinuate using the web, and moreso a computer?” She put down her pen, looked up, and turned her head towards me. “Look, I’m writing down, my recollections for my day, then I’m going to go home tonight and type them up into my blog. I like writing first because I prefer to write. I have time to collect my thoughts while I am writing, because it takes longer. I type fast, so by the time I’m done typing a sentence, it’s time for a new one. But I haven’t thought of it yet. When I write” she continued “I have the next sentence all thought out.” There was a brief, uncomfortable pause, I felt she didn’t like my humor. “Got it?” she asked, giving me an inquisitive look.. “Got it.” I stated boldly. It was interesting, her rationale, and I liked it. She reached into her purse and grabbed out a pair of heart shaped red tinted sunglasses. She also pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and pointing it at me “Smoke?” she asked, and looked outside. “Why not.” I responded, and we went outside. There’s a no smoking ban in our city, which I love, she probably doesn’t, so we had to go outside for her to have a cigarette. We stood on the sidewalk, she lit up, and we talked.
Sometimes, you get the feeling, you’re doing the right thing in life. This was one of those moments. She said her name was Molly, she was a hairdresser, and asked if I smoked pot. I don’t, not often, not as often as I used to when I was younger. Not as often as I should. She lived in the city, and came to this place often, it was her own little spot, where the people knew her, and she felt welcome. In time she took the last drag of her cigarette, and put it out, we went inside. I sat down on the stool and took a look over, only she was packed her oversized purse up, putting away her pen and journal, and zipped her purse up. “You leaving?” I asked, being from Philly I leave out the ‘Are’ in said question. “It sure looks that way doesn’t it.” she responded. She turned and made a B-line for the door. I wanted to stop her, to ask her more questions, to get to know her, but maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Life’s funny like that, maybe God works in such ways. I finished the rest of my lager, pulled out my cell phone, and the time read 6:22. I was off. Off to meet with friends. But also off for the journey of a lifetime. Her name was Molly Stevens and today was September 6th.
Several nights later my phone rang. I was home, watching some of the worst reality TV you can imagine, and I see the # on my cell phones preview window. Which was odd, because almost everyone who calls me I know, and their name appears as they are stored into my phone book. I answer “Hey” says the females voice. “Hey” I answer, trying to play the game of I Think I Know Who You Are But I’m Not Sure. She continues on “Been a while since I heard from you.” I had this really strange feeling it was her but I’ll never figure out how she got my number. It must have been her familiar voice and the fact she was one of the few girls who hadn’t heard from me in a while, but bothered to call. “Yeah, well, it’s Thursday, and I’m a little busy throughout the week, but good to hear from you. I meant to call you.” “No you didn’t” she was right, I didn’t. “Yeah, no I did I’ve just been busy” I wasn’t. “You didn’t mean to call me because you don’t have my fucking number.” Ouch. Touche. I didn’t. But now I did know it was her. “Right... “ a long pause ensued I fumbled for the words to say.
“So, what’s up?!”
“Livin... you?”
“Ahhh, not much. So, would you like to do something sometime?”
“Yeah, like hang out and stuff. Sweeeeeet.” She stated it in a way that she got what she wanted.
“Ok, uhmmm” I was totally caught offguard by this, her calling and everything, suddenly I realized this cool, eclectic yet morbid bar I had been to downtown. One with coffins as tables, with skeletons inside and a nearly endless beer menu. Sadly I thought she would find this as a compliment “Hey there’s a pretty cool place I know of, Eulogy, down on 3rd and Chestnut, if you’d like to go.”
There was a brief, almost unnoticable pause “Yeah, we can do that.”
“Ok, how about 8 o’clock?”
“Yeah sounds good.”
We said our goodbyes, and I was glad she had called. My life seemed so much better. Within about a minute my phone rang, I looked down, recognized most of the number from before, and answered. “Hey, uhmmm, I’m not feeling so good lately.” I feared she was bailing “I was wondering, do you like the museum?”
I can honestly tell you that I have wanted to visit it for the last couple years. Finally I had good reason to go “Yeah, I’ve wanted to go there for some time actually”
“Sweeeeeet, cause I’m not too big on bars, but I’d like to go there. I have to work Saturday but I was thinking we could bike there on Sunday.... and it’s free on Sundays.”
“ That sounds good.” and with that, I had a date.
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