Lonely Reliance

Waiting for a sign
You're blowing up my mind
I'm lonely and I'm lost without you
Searching for a line
To help the past rewind
Discovering what is and isn't true

Wanting to define
What am I in mankind
If you're not here then what do I do
Stars constantly align
What do I need to find
To make the time refresh and renew

Lonely is long, dark and silent,
But on My God I'll be ever reliant.

The Black Death

I am the last surviving member of the Edbourne family. I am left, at seventeen years of age, to fend for myself in this cruel, sad and ending world. It is funny, in an ironic way. Two sunrises ago, I had a family. A mum and a dad, a younger brother and an older sister. Within that short span of time, I have been made an orphan. I have no friends. The Black Death has taken everyone important to me, everyone I loved.

            I am in a church with a few survivors from our village. I don’t know why we have been spared. It doesn’t make any sense to me at all. Frankly, I would rather I was dead. I don’t want to live alone, or not alone, but with people I don’t know, that aren’t my family. The year is 1350. Most people in the surrounding villages are dead. Doctors are estimating that a third of the population is dead thoughout England. And I ask, “God, why don’t you end this disease?”

            As I lie on the cold floor of the church, looking up at the ceiling, I ponder what I will do. If I don’t die, (which seems most likely) I will probably end up being sent to work for some farmer by the pope of our church.  I really want to be a knight, but I know that dream is ridiculous. I am not even of a noble family. But perhaps, which so many dead…. Inwardly I kicked myself for thinking so darkly. It was cruel and wicked to use the deaths of so many for one’s personal gain. I had just heard one of the doctors rebuke a noble for talking so the other day.

            Rats run by me as I lay still. Stupid, stinking rats. They caused all this trouble to begin with. Mostly likely they are the ones causing this horrible disease. I kicked one of them as it ran by my feet, and it yelped, and ran into a corner. A girl scrubbing the floor on the other side of the room glared at me. I glared back. I didn’t see why I shouldn’t kick the rats. I sat up and pulled myself next to the wall.

            I rubbed the back of my head. My hair used to be past my ears, but I had to have it cut short. Apparently it was supposed to keep bugs out and somehow reduce the risk of infection. I like it, but it is different, and will take some getting used to. That must be why it was so itchy. I rolled my shoulders and rubbed my back against the wall.

            The girl scrubbing came over and looked at me critically. “How do you feel?”

            “Fine, why?”

            “Stand up and turn around.” I did so, confused.

            “Oh my God,” she said, “you have it.”

I wrote this last year for school. I know it's not very good, but I thought I'd post it anyway.

Rose: The Play

I wrote this last year.

Scene: John and Rose on a bridge overlooking London at night. Rose is leaning over the bridge looking down below. John leans against the bridge beside her.

John: A penny for your thoughts.

Rose: I’m not really sure what I’m thinking.

John: I’m glad you’re back. (Strokes Rose’s hair)

Rose: It’s really good to see you again. (Smiles at John)

John: You know, I’d been thinking.

Rose: (looks away from the water and faces him) What?

John: You and I. We should get married.

Rose: You know that can never happen. (She looks below again)

John: You love him, don’t you?

Rose: It’s more complicated than that. Much more.

John: You’re not safe with him. You’d be safe here, with me, like old times. Why can’t you stay? (Raises his voice, his fist pounding the railing.)

Rose: There is nothing here for me.

(Enter the man)

John: Nothing. I’m nothing. (Stands away from the railing to be directly in front of her.)

Rose: I didn’t mean it like that. (Looks at the man, upset)

The Man: Rose, it’s time to go.

John: So that’s it then. You just gonna leave me here. Will I ever see you again?

Rose: I don’t know. (Looks at John sadly and goes to stand by the Man)

John: You are going to leave…with him. You aren’t even sure who he is. I’m not sure who he is.

The Man: I’ll take care of her, I promise. (Places his arm around Rose)

John: But you can’t promise. (Looks at the Man)

The Man: (looks down at his feet)

John: You live a life of risk, constantly in danger. She will never be safe.

The Man: She has me.

John: Yeah, you.

Rose: This is what I want.  Think about it! I was a cashier at a grocery store! Now I’m travelin’ the world!

John: What’s wrong with cashiers?

Rose: I couldn’t live like that.

John: You’ll come back.

Rose: I don’t know.

The Man: I only got a couple minutes of power, Rose. You have to come now.

John: Can’t you stay a little longer?

The Man: I’m sorry John. I’ve only got a couple of minutes.

John: (aside) Never gonna see her again and he tells me she has to leave now.

Rose: I’m sorry, John. We had fun times together. (Puts her hand on his shoulder)

John: There could be more of that if you stayed.

The Man: (Glances behind him anxiously, then looks at Rose sadly)

Rose: I’m coming.

The Man: I wish we had more time. I’m sorry. But we’ll be stuck here.

John: Go on then.

Rose: Don’t forget about me. But listen: find someone else.

John: You know I won’t, and there never will be anyone else.

Rose: (Now crying, puts her hand in the Man’s.)

(Rose and the Man leave the scene)

The Annoying Travel Companion

The Annoying Travel Companion

                Since there was now no reason for me to stay at Hanford, I thought it best that I leave old memories behind and start anew. I thought of traveling to London, or perhaps Bath, to seek my fortune away from my friends and relatives. In the end, however, after much consideration, I decided to go to Baxley, for I knew of a man whose needs for his new business might require my services. Perhaps it would suit as a good source of income, and I could meet new people and make new friends. Truly, it was the change of scenery I needed the most.

                I decided to board the train at Wexford, which I knew to be a less populated train station, and less likely to have a whole lot of conversation, which was not very pleasant if a person wanted to sleep. Upon boarding the train I was seated across from a young lady, perhaps not much younger than myself, who immediately took to conversation, dashing all hopes of catching a nap after my emotional interlude earlier in the afternoon.

                “Hello, sir-lovely afternoon, isn’t it? I looked out the window and had to admit- that it was, in fact, a lovely afternoon. Weather-wise.

                “Yes it is,” I replied shortly and proceeded to read the newspaper I just picked up from under the seat.

                “You say that it is a lovely afternoon, yet your countenance betrays you. You do not think it lovely at all!” said the girl emphatically. Her curls had begun to bounce rather rapidly as the train sped along. Some people were staring at us.  I put down my newspaper.

                “I merely agreed with you, madam.” As she opened her mouth to reply, I picked back up my newspaper. I had no idea what I was reading, nor did I care. I could only hope it would persuade her to stop talking. I lowered myself in the chair, thus bringing the newspaper higher above my face.

                “I say, why are you so dull? It is a wonderful day- and what are you reading, that you seem so intent on?” I groaned inwardly and decided that ignoring the young lady might be the best plan of action. As I stared more intently at the newspaper, I began to see patterns in the spaces between the letters. Before I could put it down to ease my headache, I felt it snatched from me. Astonished and startled, I looked at the girl, who was now inspecting the paper.

                “Have the goodness to give me back my paper, lady.”

                “I cannot believe you are reading this. Such garbage! You support these shameful and inhumane practices?” Obviously I had no idea what she was talking about, as I had not actually read the newspaper at all. I decided to act as though I did, and hence discover what it was that I supposedly “read”.

                “What are you accusing me of so ardently?” I demanded. “Have I not the right to read what I please?”

                “Yes, sir, but to read positive essays about the seeming enslaving of young children in our factories is an abomination. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

                “On the contrary, I do not support those ideas, nor do I put them into practice. I merely have an interest in literature in general.” I reached out my hand and motioned for her to give me the paper, which, in turn, she ripped in half and placed beside her on her seat.

                “I do not believe you. I think you an arrogant, impolite fool, and am ashamed to have made your acquaintance.” Suddenly this whole thing seemed rather humorous.

                “But you haven’t,” I replied, extending my right hand. “My name is Vince Warden. What’s yours?”

 This was something I wrote on a whim. Usually when I write, I have no particular plan. Sorry this is so random. I know it sounds like an excerpt from a chapter of a book.

               

Short Story - Dollar General Robbery

Dollar General Robbery

Courtney E.

            There was no other option. I had to do it. If I didn’t, they would kill me. Say I wasn’t brave enough to carry it out, and so could no longer be a part of them. This was the only way to stay alive, let alone provide for myself and my siblings. Of course I don’t want to do it. I just didn’t see any way out of my predicament. I used to hate crime. Three years ago, I would have been the last person to rob anything and the first person to report anyone doing so. I was “straight” then.  But life isn’t as easy as that. There is much more to it than being a “good boy” as I was called. Now I was twenty – one. I haven’t even applied to any colleges, and barely made it through my senior year in high school.

            I pulled my blue hood over my head and pulled up the mask. Turning around, I saw the faces of the people I now had to rely on, the gang. They were my family now, I told myself. Sure didn’t feel like family. I turned around and checked the gun attached to my belt. Shakily, I made my way into the store. There weren’t a whole lot of people, just a handful. I looked around, wondering what I should do next. I could make a run for it. Never see any of them again. Maybe even make a life for myself. But what about my family? What would my mom do without me to provide? I grimaced as I thought of my way of “providing”. Some job.

            I walked to the back of the store to gather my thoughts. I had to finish this job, or people I loved would suffer. And the gang would call me a coward. That was the biggest reason, not that I was all so sure that anyone would hire me for a real job. I had gathered quite a reputation within the last few years, and was pretty sure the people around ignored me on purpose. There was no other option, I was sure of it.

            I walked up to the cashier, my hand still shaking. He asked if he could help me, I didn’t reply but merely kept my head down and tried to focus on the gum rack in front of me. I even picked one up. I used to chew gum all the time. I really enjoyed the feeling of fresh air in my mouth. But that was when I used to care about that kind of stuff. I put the gum down and turned back to the cashier. I needed to get this over with.

            I pulled out the gun and held it in front of me. Breathing heavily, I demanded that he hand over the money or else. I don’t think I sounded very convincing. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t even know how to use this weapon, and didn’t plan too. I may be a thief, but I am not a murderer. The cashier just looked at me in surprise, and then his hand reached for the phone. I looked at the gun in my hand. Then I ran.

--This was an assignment for a writing class I took a while ago. I was supposed to turn a news story into something fictional.