Story Snippet..4/14

There is a certain pattern to running through dark and rain-swept alleys. It is a pattern of fear and relief. Fear cropping up at every shadow that you come across, with the expectation of some unknown yet horrifying danger waiting to jump out at you. Relief when you get closer and realize it is nothing. You forget the danger and feel safe, at least until turning the corner and the next shadow is holding a danger.

 

Despite all logic telling me that such dangers did not exist, they still held my attention. I ignored the rain and the cold and all the things caused by it: a line of moisture that seemed always to find a dry path down my back; how my rain-plastered hair hung in my eyes; the way that the water caused my undergarments to ride up.

 

About the only thing that I did notice was the increasing difficulty it was too keep my pace up because of my waterlogged footwear. That slowed me down, something more than annoying – it was almost fatal. I stumbled, and something nicked my shoulder. Pain flared up and I instinctively grabbed for it. My balance off, I fell in a clumsy somersault, landing on my back and skidding a few feet.

 

I paused a brief moment before scrambling to my feet. I spun around, bringing my hands up in a futile measure of protection. Whatever defenses I could put up wouldn’t stop whatever was thrown at me.

 

There was a scuff behind me. Shit, I’d forgotten about the second one – the swordplayer. I swallowed, turning towards him. First threats first, after all. His grip on the blade was unwavering, aimed directly at my throat. One easy lunge and it would be through me.

 

My name is Karen Thompson. And I’m…

 

Communication 4/12

Hey all, I’m feeling introspective again so I decided to write up a quick blog post to out how I felt.

Here we go!

So, most of my life I’ve never been the best communicator. A lot of this may be a result of how I’ve chosen to communicate in different situations and what I’ve been led to believe is ‘acceptable’ communication. Biggest example of this is in my early 20s I always seem to have problems resolving issues or confronting others with my friends. It took things escalating or elevating to something physically happening before we actually went about solving problems. Even then! We still never had meaningful convo about it, more like a bunch of time passed and we got over it. My question for my readers is why do you think it is that most males are raised in this manner? In particular, African American males. As children we’re essentially taught that if we don’t solve the issue with fisticuffs or letting time pass to squash it then we’re done with that person. As I’ve gotten older, I don’t really feel like that’s an acceptable alternative anymore. I want to be able to rise any child I may potentially have to avoid that type of pitfall and pass on guidance to any other children I may be able to as well.

Thoughts?

F is for Failure

WiL D Palazzo:

Here’s a post from my big sis’s blog I thought you folks might like!

Originally posted on Nikewrites' Blog:

failure

Failure is not what I really planned to write about on my “F” day for the A to Z blog challenge.  I should be posting my “E” day post, but I’m still working on it. It’s bigger than I intended and may not be posted until “Z” Day.  Life has gotten in the way of my writing time. It’s difficult to settle the mind and create when stressed.  But I am pressing forward! So this week, look forward to double posts and possibly triple posts while I catch up on the challenge!  I’m not giving up on this challenge!!

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Feeling introspective 04/11

I’ve lived a hard life.

 

Not to say it’s been hard in the sense that my parents and older sisters didn’t do everything in their power to make my life comfortable as a child. No, I’m not saying anything like that. In a sense of the type of experiences I’ve been through since I’ve been an adult and the continuing evolution of my expectations for the people in my life. I really find it interesting that at times the people I find I can most depend on for support aren’t even related to me by blood. I think that is most interesting to me because of the way I was raised and one of my parents constantly beating into my head a singular idea about family members not caring or wanting to be there for me.

I think the way I’ve lived my life and learned from my mistakes, hardships, and tragedies have offered me a very unique perspective. I mean, it’s a really humbling experience to lose quite a few significant things you worked your ass off to gain. These experiences and this perspective will either shape me into a strong person capable of shaping my own destiny or disillusion me to the point where I’m content with just getting by. All my life I’ve watched different people be ‘content’ with their lives. Be “alright” with just living paycheck to paycheck or working the same dead end job for 4-5 year with no consideration or dream of something larger. I’ve always hated that train of thought. It disgusts me, I can’t imagine being able to be happy living that way. With all I’ve been through, all I’ve sacrificed, and all I do to live my life to a certain standard the idea of living that way long term makes me physically ill.

This is why I wake up every day. This is why when people ask me how I am I always reply that, “I’m alive, how can I complain?” It’s hard to live in this world. I am extremely fortunate to have good health and the ability to still pursue the vast opportunities that are out there for me in this world. The only question is what will I have to sacrifice next in order to continue pursuing this path.

Long time no see

Hey guys. It’s been a while, but I just wanted to post this update to not only let the world know that I’m alive and well but this Insomniac has more dreams he’d like to share with you guys in the future. It’s been a pretty topsy turvy roller coaster ride for me since my last update o please stay tuned as I plan to share a lot of new and interesting things with you folks. What can you do to encourage me to post more or even share more work in the future? Please RT my blog links, comment, and contribute to the discussion here so we can develop a nice little niche community here. I’m hoping wonderful things can arise here in the future.

I’d like to end with two notes:

#1 This very wonderful novel I played a part in editing was released today.

You can check out her blog for exclusives and what not over here, http://herscribbledthoughts.wordpress.com/

#2 I’ve had this issue weighing me down of late.

http://www.gofundme.com/7s7pyw

Alright. Hope to see you guys commenting and participating in the future!

The dead of night…

The dead of night, or the calm of morning. It didn’t matter much to Icy. Morals and scruples became meaningless when one allowed oneself to truly attempt and justify their continued use.  In the end, it boiled down to the desire and emotion that one held on to, be it a fleeting moment, or the span of a lifetime.  Those who held on to their morals often operated in the light of the morn, while the opposition dwelled within the refined shadow of evening.

 

Icy preferred neither and both at once.  She was a creature of time, not recognizing any supreme value in either day or night.

 

Her time was now.

 

A deliberate caution hindered somewhat by protesting muscles, Alice Rodgers shifted her arm from the warmth of the expansive chest of Jordan Woodson, reaching for the cold grip of her P .38 handgun she had kept underneath her purse nearby.

 

“So soon?” a gruff voice queried.

 

Her face not betraying the underlying surprise she felt, she turned her vision to the jaded, demanding eyes of the Demon.

 

“You’re supposed to be asleep.”  A light accusation, considering the severity of the situation.

 

“You should know better than that,” he replied, his tone quite a bit lighter than Icy knew it should be.

 

“We finally stopped only twenty minutes ago.  It’s going to be sunrise soon.”  In the darkness of Woodson’s bedroom, Alice’s fine-honed vision caught the moonlight confessing the position of her gun, in Jordan’s hand. His grip was light, but she could tell his every sinew was taught, waiting for her movement to be the slightest bit unfavorable to him.

 

“Looks like the Riot wore you out.  Now you know why I don’t dance.  This was kind of interesting when Nells attempted it on me.”

 

Icy couldn’t help her smile, then.  The story of the wannabe toppler of Jordan Woodson, Nells was quite the tale among his lieutenants. What wasn’t quite clear was how she was caught.  What was crystal clear was how she had paid for her treachery.

 

“You’d put me in the same room as her?” Alice asked with indignance.

 

“You put yourself there, Icy.  I’m just finally lettin’ you see that.”  He stifled a yawn, a movement that flustered Alice, despite herself.  “Why don’t you get some sleep, darlin’?  I’m gonna start breakfast.”

 

He rose without another word, stopping only to throw on a lavender robe and don some fuzzy slippers.  Alice’s patience broke in those moments of silence.

 

“What do you mean?” They were quiet words, but well-reinforced with a deadly venom.

 

“If you have to ask, you’ll never know.  It’s good to see you still have ambition; it means that the guvs didn’t get to you.”

 

Once his presence was gone, Alice allowed herself to wrap the sleeping bag around her naked body and shiver.  She was very aware that she wasn’t cold, and more aware that Woodson was perhaps the sickest, craftiest man she had ever come across, and attempted to cross.  Questions began spinning in her head about the past, about the day the Demon was taken down, but the most prominent question that played with her psyche like a finely tuned harp was thus:

 

Why did she love that man so much more, even now?

Revival

Hello all! It’s been some time hasn’t it? 

How’ve you guys been? Doing anything interesting with your lives? If not? Ehhhhh well I hope you are and have some sort of positive vibes going for you!

 

I have been pretty busy since October rolled around and I once again rejoined the working world. Was totally pulling the double job thing up until the Xmas season and essentially gave up life for a bit. Now that the Xmas season is over though, I’ve found quite a bit more time and I’m able to do a bit more of what I want to with my time. 

That being said, I brought something for you guys to read and comment on for me. PLEASE! Let me know what you think folks and drop a comment below k? ENJOY!

 

*****************

 

Richmond Gray was happier than he probably had a right to be.

 

His life was, to his own admittance, a how to guide concerning the tasks to avoid doing with one’s time.  Taking up his father’s invitations to some of his more messy (read: bloody) conversations with store owners concerning protection revenue would not be considered a very good move by society’s rules.  Exploring his fascination with sharp objects by experimenting the resistance of the neighbor’s animals’ hides to fine blades was not much of a personal achievement.  Studying the martial arts and tai chi might have been a character improvement if not for the cold, violent ways the man applied them, especially on his own father.

 However, he enjoyed what he did, and that was what mattered.  Certainly, he could have allowed the negatives to pull him down, but he preferred to attempt a lighter, brighter outlook on things. Not that he could ever achieve the full optimistic effect, given his profession. He wouldn’t reduce himself to an idiot’s blind glee while being an assassin, people would think ill of him.

No, Richmond would be happy with his ways, and society could look the other way for all it mattered; he had the people around him who understood him, the most important of them being the one he was wed to.  Sweet Geri had been a grateful breath of fresh air when his situation was dire enough for him to contemplate taking the quick way out, of course taking a couple of orderlies and doctors with him for the trip.  She knew Richmond, and took comfort and security in him, unlike his other unsuccessful domestic disputes.

 

The hot, feverish sex didn’t hurt much either.

 

Peaches, a roof over his head, satisfaction in self; Richmond was all smiles about his situation, despite the fact he might not live to see another day, should Remy Forsythe have his way.

 

But still, The Silent Knife thought as he looked down at the eternally quiet body of their ‘prisoner’ as the man sank to the bottom of the pier, he enjoyed his work, and life was good.

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