Sunday, September 20, 2015 0 words I am thankful for

Bad Writer 5

"This is Leslie, what can I do for you?" I pop my gum in the ear of the unfortunate American who got me as their customer service representative. "Eh, speak up, I can't hear you," I do my best interpretation of their accent. "Looking at your account, you've met your call threshold.... Did I stutter? ....... Oh, you want to speak to my boss, please hold."

Oops, I disconnect the call. Oh well, the caller probably ran out of credit on that number.

"Leslie." I turn around to see the shift manager standing over me.

"Yeah," I take extra effort to mimic the cows that graze on the side of the road. I don't believe chewing gum on the job is a good idea in the eyes of the higher ups.

"I want to see you at the end of the shift," his eyes watching the gum being chomped on just beyond my blue lipstick. It must be catching because in his eyes I see disappointment. It is as clear as the water down at Ffryes Bay on a hot summer day. God, people are so transparent.

"Aight, boss man," I say, turning back to my console, effectively dismissing my superior.

He doesn't move for a while. Probably trying to think up some soul-jerking barb to show his power. When I hear him walk away I know he lost this little battle but I know he will be waiting for me at the end of the shift. He still has three hours to think up something.

"You alright?" Annette all but whispers at me.

"I'm good," I say before accepting another call. "In fact, I'm only getting better." Or should I say worst.

'til next Sunday. 
Click here to read the first installment.

Sunday, September 13, 2015 0 words I am thankful for

Bad Writer 4

"Leslie, Leslie," my mother walks in between the television and me as I lie on the couch. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Looking up at her, I can lie. I can say I wasn't scheduled for work, that I wasn't feeling well, but why lie. "Yes, but I didn't want to go in."

"Why not?" she hitches up the strap of her hand bag on her shoulder then places her hands on her generous hips. "I know I didn't raise you to not live up to your responsibilities."

"Hmm, well there is a list, but it all boils down to one thing," I smile up at my mother. "I hate the place."

With a snort, she counters, "You think people don't hate their jobs? You think people like waking up every morning to ride in a bus under people's armpits, to be ordered around by stupid bosses and having to smile up in people face. No, little girl. Nobody like dem job, but they up and go because it put a roof over dem head and food in dem 'tomach."

I always knew when my mother was upset when she referred to me as "little girl" and her tongue would be peppered with dialect. This was not a common thing, she is one of those laid back mothers, she never yells and carries on, but that is what makes her worst than the mothers who did. My mother's ammunition is constant nagging and/or being disappointed. The last thing I ever wanted to do was disappoint my mother.

Still it was interesting that this one act of defiance towards the norms would upset my mother. Did it really matter that much that I didn't walk the straight and narrow?

Poor mommy, if only she knew that there was more disappointment to come.

'til next Sunday. 
Click here to read the first installment.

Sunday, September 6, 2015 1 words I am thankful for

Bad Writer 3

"Leslie? That you?" Even at two in the morning, my mother wound be up, asking the same thing she always asks when I come home. Who else would it be? It's not as though a robber, a rapist or the neighbourhood criminal has a key to the little wooden house we rented in the heart of All Saints. I like to say we, even though most of my money went to my student loan, but whenever I can, I try to pitch in. Truth be told, I'm working for the education I didn't need to get the job.

"Yes, mommy, it's me," I close the door behind me, locking it before going to my room.

Stripping off my clothes, I throw on my favourite night shirt, shove the stuff off my bed and crawl in. I want to reach for my phone and try to crack the neighbour's wifi code and surf the net until sleep knocks me over the head and drags me into the darkness. Instead I stare at the ceiling, letting my mind race in all directions.

If someone was to ask where it all began, I would say it was this night. It's not that something momentous  happened that was the catalyst for a breakdown or unexpected change in character. It just dawns on me that my life, my entire existence, was not special.

Oh sure, I could say that every life is important, and all I had to do was think positive. I could look deep within and find my true purpose, and develop my life in that direction. The only problem with that is I think it's all bullshit.

Right now, right here, I am a non-person and next year, I'll be the same non-person just a year older. Outside of work, I belong to someone, I'm Ava's daughter, Mrs. Baker's granddaughter, Tiffany's cousin. All of this, my reward for being the good girl.

The girl who passed her test, never back chat, went to college and became an empty shell of a woman and I am tired of being this woman. What if the good girl became the bad woman? Would anyone notive? Would anyone care? And how far can I go before I'm stopped?

'Til next Sunday.
Click here to read the first installment.

Friday, September 4, 2015 0 words I am thankful for


We are all dying.
The thought lit up
Different parts of
My brain.

From the reptile
To the intellect,
All on fire to
React and analyze
The notion,
The inevitable,
The reality?

The reptile, in its
Primal thinking,
Focused on survival
Even if it meant
My creating another
Being to move forward
My genetic code
To a future time frame.

The intellect, in its
Analytical thinking,
Questioned if we
Truly died but,
In fact, converted
To another state of
Being, cutting away
The superficial ties
Of our current being.

As my reptile
And intellectual minds
Whirred on like
Vintage computers
But with a 22nd
Century processing speed,
A new thought arose.

We are all living.

And as quickly as
My mind latched onto
The prior concept,
It disposed of it and
Began the whole process
Again on the new thought.

And yet that is all
They were, thoughts.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015 0 words I am thankful for

The Blind Man

The rains are coming,
The blind man kneeling
On the edge of the
Cliff looking over the
Arid, almost desert-like,
Land spoke.

His lips parched,
As he had not allowed
A drop of life giving
Liquid to pass said lips,
Nor did food pass
His lips as he meditated
For two days.

I knelt down beside him,
Feeling a cool breeze
Blow through my hair.
I smelled it, the distant
Precipitation was approaching.

Bring them to the high land,
He said into the wind.

What if they refuse?
I asked, looking down
At our home, a village,
An encampment, our home
At the base of the cliff.

He turned his unseeing eyes
Towards me, and sadly said,
Then they will die.

It was reason enough
For me and it was
Reason enough for
Our people.

With little time to spare
Our home was packed up
And we had made it
To higher ground as
The first rain drop
Hit the arid earth.

Before long we understood
The significance of moving
To higher ground for
Where we were based
Was a dry river bed
Which now became a
Raging river.

As our people sheltered
In hastily erected tents,
I returned to the
Cliff's edge but
The blind man was gone.

I knelt down where
He once knelt and
Closed my eyes.
It would rain four days
And on the final day
The sun would shine
So brightly that it
Would summon the
Kids to come out to

I smiled and got
To my feet, wondering
When exactly would I
Lose my vision, when
I would not see the
Physical world and
Only see the spiritual one
And what lay beyond both.

'Til that time when
I become that old man,
I will enjoy what
I can see. The smiling
Faces of my people
And a world that
was beyond beautiful.