Waterloo Sunset


I decided I’d do a creative writing piece based on a song. Enter my iPod. Put it on shuffle, and the first song that came up was “Waterloo Sunset” by The Kinks. (Click song title to listen)

Waterloo Sunset

He sat there in the fading light, dangerously close to the edge of the bridge, legs dangling from the openings in the rusted metal bridge. His arms draped themselves over the top rim, sloppily, like a shirt cast to the floor after a long day at work. He stayed.

He forced himself to look down, over the muddy water. Water, he thought. Water. Water. Water. Whenever his mind would start to wander, he snapped it back into place. Water. Nothing else is important. It’s just you, the metal, and the water. That’s it. He must have been a strange sight, sitting on the bridge at 6pm, his mousy hair tinted titian by the sinking sun, the briefcase casting a long shadow next to him. He shivered. The delicate tremor shook his slender frame, and for a minute he imagined himself old, faded like a black and white photograph. Slowly he pushed himself up, collected his briefcase, and hailed a taxi. He didn’t much like it. The light burned his eyes.

Staggering to the windowsill, he gazed out across the river of people and lights and traffic. I wonder where he is now, he thought. I wonder where She is. He thought he saw her, and him, down on the sidewalk. She embraced him. They kissed.

The man pulled on the white plastic blind, and gently rested his head on it, closing his eyes to the dark room.

Forget Me


Memory has a way of hanging in the air
It leaves little trails of scent wafting
spiraling toward you
Wrapping you up, like an indian samosa,
in trails of yellow spice.

It dances on your tongue,
Sweet and bitter and blue
like a melody of taste, each note made of hard candy
and each measure draped with smoke.

It brushes against you,
rough and damp and cool against your skin
then retreats to its corner.
Where it is forgotten.

All Grown Up and No Place to Go


Stories Without Words (again)

Stories Without Words. An Endless source of inspiration (Check the links).

Gently, she placed the phone back in its holster. She didn’t want him bothering her anymore. Every day, without fail, she would get a call from the same number. The same old, tired voice on the other end of the line would tell her that she would only mess her life up again, and he would have to bail her out. Two hundred dollars, maybe, or a trip to AA. A Weight Watchers membership. A loan. A lawyer.

She didn’t need him, even. Sure, he gave her money. But he shouldn’t, really. He was just clinging to the last vestiges of her infancy, clutching at the baby he still thought her to be. Her feet were jabbed into the floor as they carried her to the old ’70s couch that sat dismally across from her small TV. He had given it to her. She could have bought her own furniture. Or found some, by the side of the road. Someone else’s reject. She hurled herself down on top of it, hoping for something dramatic–a spring breaking loose, maybe, or a cushion ripping. Her red dress echoed the screaming color of her brain, throbbing with anger. Her head was swelling, it really was. She pictured it inflating, a giant red balloon, floating away from her. Her forehead whined its discomfort.

She stood up, lay down, and slid herself below the couch. She was six again, staring up at the bare metal, the yellowing polyester batting poking out from the gaps like fungus.

She didn’t need him. “I’m a grownup”, she told herself. “I am.”

It’s been a long time


Now I’m coming back home
I’ve been away now
Oh how
I’ve been alone

The Beatles

It has been a long time, way too long actually. My life has been so horribly hectic, though. I had a death in the family, and dealing with the aftermath of that has been very time consuming and difficult. However, I thought I’d share something with all of you!

The City

Walking through the street. You see everyone for who they are–what they are. There’s no hiding. Breathe in. The smell of sour milk, fryer oil, and body¬† odor wafts into your nose. Just keep walking.

“Spare change?” You hear. The first time you heard it, maybe you saw. Maybe your head turned and you saw the small, crumpled figure. But now you know. You learn not to flinch. Just keep walking.

The row of buildings along the street block the sun, even though it’s a warm day. They make you shiver, casting the street in darkness. Just keep walking.

The crowd pushes towards you. You’re swallowed by them, a hundred moving bodies engulfing you, small and insignificant. Hear them babble, talk to themselves, metal in their ears. You are alone. Stop.

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