The Plantation

It had been twenty years since Myop had been back to her childhood plantation. She had left as soon as she was old enough at the age of nineteen. Her mother and father were unbearable to live with, with all their lies and deceit. The dusty road leading to her parent’s old southern home was a very bumpy, long road. The southern home was white and quite large, with four pillars holding up the porch. The house was set off the dusty road on a hill overlooking the plantation. There was a massive oak tree with limp limbs that hung almost to the ground. Myop looked out the window of her carriage as they approached, looking for any signs of her parents, but as they got closer her assumption looked to be true. The house was deserted and her parents had long since left.

The carriage stopped in front of the house, dust spewing into the windows of the carriage. Myop sat for a moment wondering if she really wanted to get out and face her demons. Do I really want to re-live this? She thought to herself. The memories were stirring deep in the darkest part of her mind. She fought to suppress them but strained to keep them down. Being in this place was too much to handle. She closed her eyes taking a deep breath. The cab driver, who had been holding the door open for Ms. Myop, finally asked, “Miss Myop, are you okay?” The cab driver startled her, bringing her back to the present.

“Yes, Jerome, I think that the ride was a bit rough for me.” She said as she began to stand up and exit the cab, Looking Jerome in the eyes. Jerome was a large black man, but was very kind and soft hearted. He had been Myop’s cab driver for the past ten years, and they had become great friends.

 The feeling that she got on this plantation was the same feeling she had had as a child: light and good. However, now that she was older and knew the ways of the world, Myop knew what actually went on here at this plantation. As she looked around the field, her eyes fell upon the memory that defined her life. She was looking at her father’s fire pit. Her anger at her father showed all over her face.

Jerome, who had been watching to see if Ms. Myop was truly okay, gently said, “Ma’am, I know when there be somethin wrong with a lady, an I be seein that there be somethin wrong here with you. Now I know you don’t wanna talk bout it, but that be the very best thin to do, naw.”

She continued to stare at the fire pit with a scowl. Her memories were as clear as day now. She could remember everything that her father and mother had done and said, and she hated them for it. “Jerome, my parents were Klu Klux Klan members,” She said with a stern voice, never turning to look at Jerome. “My father was a high ranking member, and that fire pit over there is where they would perform their burning cross rituals. They would erect a large wooden cross and then light it on fire symbolizing the ‘cleansing fire of Christ’. They would do the ritual every time they were going to hang a black man.” The words hung in the air for a few minutes. Neither person said anything. They both just stared at the fire pit.

“I found the place that they would hang the men,” Myop’s memory was now streaming all her childhood memories. She had never said any of this to anyone and to finally be able to tell someone was a relief. “I would watch from my window,” Myop turned to face the house pointing to the top right window, “while they would burn the cross and then they would march down into the trees there and hang the men. I was too young to do anything about it. So, I would pretend that I didn’t know what was going on and days after the hangings I would go and cut the men out of the trees and try my best to bury them.” Myop stared into the trees. She couldn’t help but think of the hot summer days spent digging shallow graves for young sharecroppers. “One summer, I must have dug fourteen graves.” Myop said. Her hair began to stand up on end just thinking of all the men that were buried out there. They were put to death because they had a different skin color. How could they…

“How ol’ were ya Miss Myop, when you buried all dem people,” Jerome asked quietly.

“I was thirteen years old,” said Myop.

 Myop fought back tears. How could someone have so much hate inside of them? She didn’t understand as a child, but she understands now. Hate comes from fear, and fear comes from things that you do not understand. “From the moment that I had found the first body lying in the leaves, I have hated my parents,” She said quietly. The anger that had been built up in her reached a boiling point. She had buried all these feelings like she had buried all the men, but today she would dig up these memories and end this.

Myop ran to the carriage ripping the door open. Inside was a single can with the words “KEROSENE” written in bold words on the side. Grabbing the can, she turned towards the large house and began the march up the hill to it.

“What you doin wit dat can, miss Myop?” Jerome yelled up to her.

Myop stopped and turned to face him and yelled back, “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

Goose Poop

Steve just left his English class, walking with pep in his step. He had just got his scores for his test back, and the results were much better than he thought they were going to be. He was so excited that he was walking faster, and taller than usual. All the other students walking by Steve gave him looks of disgust, but he ignored them. Nothing was going to ruin this moment.

As he walked he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. It was so nice outside and so nice inside that he just tried to take it all in. Steve felt a thud in his chest that pulled his eyes open with a jolt. He looked down to see who it was and it was a little Asian transfer student.

“So sorry,” she repeated over and over.

“No, it was my fault. I’m sorry.” Steve said. She walked quickly with her head down and left Steve standing there to watch her. He began his march down the hill again, this time keeping his eyes open so that he didn’t make the same mistake again. He didn’t want to let anything else get in the way of his perfect day.

His march led him down the sidewalk and across the street to a nearby duck pond. “This is perfect,” Steve said as he watched the ducks and geese swimming in the pond. His eyes watched the pond to his side and held his attention, like a beautiful sunset. Steve’s next step gave a gross sounded squish and stopped him in his tracks. His attention was ripped from the duck pond and it wrapped itself around his foot. Steve closed his eyes, this time in anger. “Why today,” he thought. It was such a good day. Steve lifted up his leg to reveal the perpetrator of the sick squirt: A huge goose poop.

 “Seriously?” Steve headed for the grass to wipe the poop off his shoe. As he walked into the grass, the same squish noises were heard. Steve stopped and dropped his head. He had walked into a mine field of goose poop.

“Stupid geese and your stupid poop!”

The mind is a Prison

The mind is a prison,
locking you deep inside.
It seals the door with guilt,
and gaurds it with pride.

It tortures you with memories
of things that you used to bring you joy.
Now all that is left to do, is sit
let the mind torture you.

all the mistakes that were made
are now sealed by time
youthful follies and faults
now hold you like a crime.

The only way out is the way in.
Memories

Home from Sea

The port was busy that day. All the sailors were anxious and had a hard time tending their posts. When the captain announced, 2 weeks ago, that they would be returning to port, the men all cheered with excitement. None of them had seen their families in months. A young man, named Arthur, was among the crew. He was a young man, in his early twenties. Arthur wasn’t as excited as the other men. After all, he had joined the navy to get away from his family troubles. His father was an alcoholic and the two of them had always butted heads.

Arthur leaned against the rail of the ship letting all these things weigh on his mind. The one thing that he could not be more excited for was to see Elizabeth again. She was the one person that he could not wait to see. The first person that entered his mind when the captain announced the news of their return was Elizabeth. Arthur and Elizabeth had been childhood friends. His whole childhood had been spent playing in the yard, river, and pond with Elizabeth. They were best friends, but as they got older she became more appealing. Before Arthur had joined the Navy, He would admire how beautiful Elizabeth had become. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on, and in a matter of minutes, he would finally lay his eyes on her again.

The sails flapped with the wind as it drove them to their dock. Arthur’s job was to throw the rope to the man on the dock and to tie the boat up. He had been scrambling around the deck reassuring that his ropes were in place and the right knots were tied. The captain was not big on mistakes, and when one was made the whole crew had to be punished. It became routine for Arthur to double and even triple check himself. The sails began to drop, signaling their final approach to port. Arthur glanced over the side of the ship to get a look at where to toss the rope. The rope was heavy and thick, and needed a strong man to be thrown at such a great distance. Arthur was not very big, but he was very strong and was the best at throwing the rope for docking

Arthur got a running start at the dock and hurled as hard as he could. He didn’t want to miss because everyone wanted to get off the boat as quickly as possible. It was a perfect throw and the ship was docked in record time.

After finishing their docking routine, they were allowed to leave the ship. The men rushed down the plank to see their families, and friends. Arthur lagged behind, waiting. Since he did not know if Elizabeth would be there, he had no rush to see his family. The only one that he had missed was his mother. She was a good Christian woman. She was very beautiful, and always very elegant in the way she dressed and acted. She taught him manners and the proper way to treat women. She would comfort him and protect him from his father when he was in his drunken fits. Arthur’s mother was a good women, and was always there for him when his father was not.

As Arthur began walking down the plank, he started looking for his family in the crowds of people that had come to welcome the ship home. He strained to see with all the people waving and hugging, but could finally see his tall father waving at him clumsily. They were standing in the very back closest to the road.

Was he drunk? It wouldn’t surprise Arthur. “He comes drunk to everything,” Arthur mumbled under his breath. He started walking in the direction of his father. The butterflies began to churn in his stomach. He kept thinking of all the things that he wanted to tell his mother. All the adventures he had had. He most of all wanted to thank her for being such a good mother. She had taught him so much, and he didn’t realize it until he was gone and living on his own. And even though he didn’t like his father, he was still excited to see his familiar face.

“Arthur!” a booming voice called to him. Arthur strained his neck to see his father and sister standing their waiting for him. They were standing off the dock and by the road leading into town. With his heart racing, he began to run towards them.

“I didn’t think you would come!” Arthur said.

“Well I wouldn’t miss picking up my only son from a long naval deployment!” Arthur’s dad also served in the navy. It was the only thing that Arthur and his dad had in common.

Arthur gave the both of them a big hug. “Where’s mom?”  Arthur asked.

Arthur’s father looked at his sister. They looked at each other with mournful eyes. There was a long pause. Arthur felt the tension build, and a sickening feeling came over him. The way that his father had looked at his sister was eerie.

“Well, where is she?” Arthur’s voice sounded a little more panicked.

“Arthur!” A women’s voice that was familiar called to him.

Arthur turned to look at Elizabeth running towards him. She was in all black. Even though she looked like she had been mourning all day she still looked beautiful. She had truly turned into a woman. The feeling in his stomace began to get worse. Why was she in all black? had someone died? Arthur turned to look at his family, and noticed that they were all in black also. The absence of his mother and the black attire…

“Arthur,” Elizabeth embraced him. She held him and stroked the back of his head. He gripped her tight. This wasn’t a welcome home embrace, but one of consoling.

“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth whispered in his ear. “We were going to wait for you, but she wanted to be buried at a certain time.”

Arthur waited for a long time. His worst fears had been confirmed with a couple of words. His mother had died in his absence.

“It’s okay,” Arthur said. The butterflies instantly died in his stomach and turned into a cavernous hole. The one person in his family that understood him had died, and he didn’t have the chance to tell her any of the things he had planned. Arthur began to sob, gently.

“She wrote a letter for you.” Elizabeth pushed back to look into his eyes. “I have it with me. I’ll take you to her grave if you’d like?” She grabbed Arthur’s hand with both of hers. They began a slow walk to the graveyard, with Arthur’s family close behind.

Johns Prison

His everyone! I have recently tried to do things in my life that make me happy, and writing is one of them. So this blog that I set up is to channel that desire I have to write. I'm going to use my blog to post all the writing that I do. I really like writing short stories and I also like to write about current events going on in the world.

Well this story that I posted is titled 'Johns Prison.' It's a good one and I hope you like it!

Johns Prison

I am the most average man in the world, John thought to himself as he looked in the mirror. He had an interview today, but debated on if it would be worth his time even going to the stupid thing. What do I have to offer that someone else doesn’t already have? He could never stare at himself longer than a couple of seconds. The sight disgusted him. His mirror distorted his face as it moved like a liquid.

John had not shaved for weeks and his beard grew in patches all over his cheeks and chin. He glanced in the mirror trying not to look himself in the eyes. You look homeless, John. You are never going to get this job. Why even go to the interview?

“I need to try,” John had lived by himself for a long time now. Talking to himself had become a very normal thing. “Why do you always do this? You always put me down.” John finished shaving and got dressed in an old suit that he received from his father when he had passed away. It was the only thing that John had in his closet. He tried to stay positive about the interview, but he knew how it was going to go. The same way that everything in his life had gone; terribly. Every interview for the past three months had been a disaster, and every time the interview ended in a disaster his punishment from himself grew worse.

John grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door and into the hall way of the apartment building he lived in. The apartment building was old and run down. This is what I deserve. He stayed in this run down building because it was just like him; sad. The hallways paint was peeling off, and the lighting was dim. The sounds coming from behind the apartment doors made Johns hair stand up. Screams and yelling could be heard all the way down the hall. He began the long walk down the hall, but The more he walked, the more the hall elongated. It never ended.

 A women screaming in a room stopped him at the front of the door where the sound came from. This is how the interviews start. “No! Please don’t do it John! Please!” The woman was pleading for something. Her voice sounded very familiar. All John could do was stare at the door. Just then the door of the room swung open, and a man in a black pinstripe suit stepped out. His hair was neatly combed and his suit was newly pressed. He gave John a forced smile and folded his arms, staring at him.

“Hello John. How’s life in apartment number twenty four?” Michael had a fierce face with very sharp features, but he had a very kind heart. He was very gentle “Are you ready for your interview? Please have a seat.”

John looked around him as suddenly the hallway faded and an office formed around them with a large oak desk. Michael was motioning to the chair in front of the desk. The entire room was empty except for the desk and chairs and was surrounded by windows. Outside was the ocean, in all directions all that he could see was the ocean. John was amazed. Michael had had their interviews in exotic places before, but this was the first time that he had seen the ocean. Michael walked behind the desk and sat down. “We are at the ocean today, huh? It’s very empty don’t you think, John?” John didn’t answer. Michael always asked him rhetorical questions. “Please sit.”

John shook off the amazement and sat down in front of the desk. The two men stared at each other. Michael sat back in his chair looking at John with squinted eyes. Every time John was in these interviews with Michael, John felt as if Michael was starring right into his mind, reading all of his thoughts. It was almost like John could feel Michael in his mind.

“Do you know why you’re here, John?” Michael finally broke the silence.

“For an interview.” The answer was obvious. “We always come here for an interview. Your office, that is. We have never come to the ocean though.” John glanced back out the window.

“No, why are you here, in this place?” Michael spread his arms to the office, “Why are you here? We have been doing these interviews for months now and you have never gotten a job. Have you ever tried to think about why that is? What do you do when we are not in these meetings?”

John sat in silence. He tried to think back on all of the interviews that they had had together. He could remember every one of them. Then he tried to think about what he would do on his spare time. The more he thought, the more he realized he couldn’t remember. Certainly there was something he enjoyed doing on his free time. As he thought back, all he could remember was the time he spent getting ready for the interview, having the interview, and then beating himself up after the interview was over. He was always thinking about his failures.

A feeling began to well up inside of him. A feeling that he had not had in a very long time. For eight months John had not left the apartment complex he was living in. For eight months, he had not seen his family. For eight months, he had not slept. The more he thought about, he had not even eaten for eight months. As he began to realize this, the feeling spread from his stomach through his entire body. His heart began to race.

“John, for the past eight months we have been meeting with each other every week. Every week we meet to see how you have progressed and for eight months- nothing. Do you know what we are trying to accomplish here?” Michael leaned forward on his desk and starred deep into John’s eyes. “Think John. I can’t help you with this one.”

John put his head down, desperately reaching in his mind for what was not there. There is a reason for these meetings, but he couldn’t remember what the reason was. All he could think about was the hallway they were just in. The woman screaming…

“The woman that was screaming,” John looked up at Michael. Michael was nodding his head in excitement. “She was my wife.”

“Yes,” Michael got up out of his desk and walked around it to face John. “Keep going.”

“She is screaming because someone is hurt.”

“Who is the one that is hurt, John?”

He closed his eyes and tried to draw the memory back. Then it hit him. The familiar voice screamed John’s name from the apartment. “Me?” John couldn’t believe the word came out. It couldn’t be him that she was screaming for. ”How can I be the one that is hurt? I’m right here with you. I’m fine.” John began breathing deeply. “What is going on?”

“John, I am not the owner of the apartment complex. You made me the owner. I need to explain something to you and it is going to seem unreal, because it is. I am your Conscience. You’re living in your unconsciousness with me.” Michael had a look of extreme seriousness on his face.

“My conscience? You’re insane!” John got up from his chair and began backing up against the window. “Let me out of here! This isn’t real!”

“You’re right! This isn’t real! I have been holding interviews with you so that I could eventually bring you into reality, but you had to find out this isn’t real on your own.”

“What are you talking about? What reality?” John was looking around the room for a door so that he could escape from this place and go back to his apartment, but there was no door. “This is real!”

“John, I know that you suffer from depression.” Michaels tone grew somber, “You tried to kill yourself, but you were not successful. You only put yourself in a coma. Your wife found you in the middle of the living room, unconscious with an empty pill bottle in your hand. The woman screaming that you hear from the apartment, is the last thing that you remember from your consciousness. All your memories are locked in the rooms of the apartment complex. You keep them all locked except for that one for some reason. This place has been created by your mind.” Michael walked slowly towards John, trying to calm him with his demeanor. “You live in your depression.”

It all started to make sense to John. Everything for the past eight months finally started to make sense. He leaned against the window and slid down to the floor.

“I know that it might be a shock to you. You have to believe me. I have tried to tell you for the past eight months, but you are so depressed that the world that you have created for yourself keeps you locked in. You have to let go of your depression. It is the reason you are still here. You want to be dead so badly that your mind won’t let you live.” Michael’s expression began to change to a pleading look.

“What should I do?” The feeling of panic began to dissipate from John and extreme sadness took its place. John began to weep deep sobs that came from years of depression. As he cried he felt a desire come up in him. I don’t want to live like this anymore, but I don’t know how to change. “What should I do? Please tell me!”

“What do you love most about life?” Michael asked very quietly now squatting by John.

John closed his eyes. Like a tsunami, memories overflowed his thoughts: his marriage to his wife, their children being born, their child’s first steps, birthdays, Christmas, and soccer games on Saturday mornings. The feeling of sadness left him the more he thought about his family. “My family.” John stopped crying and looked up to meet Michael’s eyes. “The greatest thing about life is my family.” As soon as John said those words the ocean and office disappeared and they were back in the hallway. It wasn’t the same hallway though. It was cleaner and well lit. The ceiling was decorated with crown molding and gold paint in an intricate design. All that could be heard from behind the doors of these apartments were laughter and pleasant conversations. The door that was directly in front of John was different from all the others. The molding was gold and a white light was peering through the cracks of the door.

“Where are we now?” John asked

“I have never seen this hall way before. This must be where you keep all your memories of your family.” Michael and John stood up and looked down the hall and then back at each other. John began to examine the door in front of him and realized that the sign on the door said, ‘exit.’ From behind the door he could hear beeps from machines, and footsteps on a hard floor.

“This must be where I get out.” John thought out loud.

“Your mind wanted you to tell it what you treasured most. Once you told your mind, it took you straight to your family.” Michael smiled, “I think eight months apart is long enough.” Michael and John embraced in a hug. John had not felt hope and love for a long time. He was ready for that change in his life.

“Thank you for bringing me to my senses,” John whispered in Michael’s ear. “I don’t know if I would have ever come out of this without you.”

Michael whispered back, “We did it together, John. Remember we’re the same person. My entire job, as your conscience, is to clear your mind and speak sense to you.”

As the two separated, John took one last look at his conscience, smiled, and then turned to face the door. He grabbed the door knob and turned it. As he turned and pushed the door open, a bright white light blinded him from the other side. He felt himself turn upright and lie down on his back. He tried to open his eyes, but the brightness from the overhead light was blinding. He began glancing around the room noticing the instruments flashing and beeping all around him. He could see the hospital room he was in had a couch with his wife lying on it. He tried to speak to her but nothing came out but a grunt. The grunt was enough to stir his wife from her sleep. She looked straight into his eyes. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, but the sight of life in her husband brought her tears of joy.

“John?” She whispered, “John. Your back.”