Short Stories

It is taking all of my energy to focus on writing a new blog post rather than heading down to the vending machines, buying another package of cookies, watching three hours of Netflix and going to bed.

In fact, in between writing this current sentence and that last one I actually did go buy a package of cookies but remembering that I already finished all four seasons of Mad Men earlier today, resigned myself to sit at my computer and write a new post. 

I've had trouble trying to figure out what I should write about next. I've never been one to run out of ideas really, but for some reason it's been sort of difficult this time around. 

My first I idea was to write about this bloke who uses the piano practice rooms in the basement of my building to work out. He sets his laptop on the piano and commences to do calisthenics or aerobics or whatever you call it for like three hours. It's pretty annoying because he always seems to be there whenever I want to have a go at the piano. There is a little window in the door to the room so I once stood there and just watched him for ten minutes hoping he would turn around, see me standing there looking pissed, feel self-conscious, and leave forever. Unfortunately he never turned around and I was forced to go used the untuned piano that I am pretty sure somebody has vomited on. Probably him. 

But no, I thought, I would rather write about the seventeen feral cats that live on campus. I can only assume that they are the progeny of some freshman's illegal pet that was mercilessly set free at the end of a semester some time ago. 

I saw one while walking back from one of my classes a few weeks ago and having made eye contact with the thing, determined that following and possibly capturing it was the proper course of action to take. The chase lasted for a solid twenty minutes. He thought he was crafty and tried making his escape through several planter boxes, but I kept my eyes on him the entire time and was able to force him out into the open. It was at that moment that a truck driving on campus nearly ran it over and not wanting to be implicated in the murder of a cat I started walking in the opposite direction rather quickly. 

I don't really know what I would do if I ever did manage to actually capture a feral cat. I imagine I would get scratched a lot and would have to get a tetanus shot but for some reason it still seems kind of worth it. 

That subject was no good either though so I started thinking about my time in elementary school. I remembered this one time in first grade I had bitten my own arm to leave teeth marks and then gone and told the teacher that the kid who sat next me, Andrew Park, had done it. He got into serious trouble, and I mean SERIOUS trouble and this was a kid who never said a word, I'm not even sure if he could speak english. The worst part though is that I don't even know why I did it. Honestly, I have no clue. I didn't have any beef with the kid, cause like I said, he never spoke and I didn't do it on a dare so I pretty  much ruined this kids year and possibly perception of Americans for no reason at all. AND I STILL FEEL HORRIBLE. So if the Andrew Park from Ms. Silvestro's first grade class is reading this I am terribly sorry. 

Eventually I just decided to share some short stories I've written, enjoy:

The Dog

I walked to the corner store in order to buy some milk. On the way there a dog started following me. He sniffed at my heels. He looked mangy, unkempt. He stood outside the store while I bought the milk. I also bought some dog treats. I gave him one when I came back outside. He followed me all the way home.

I had some dog food in the pantry that I gave to him. He was very grateful. All of a sudden there was a bright flash of light. The dog had turned into a princess.

“You’re a princess?” I asked

“Yes.” she replied.

“Do I get any wishes?” I asked

“No.” She said.

Then she peed on the carpet.

I don’t have a dog anymore. 

A Guy With No Opinions

I heard someone say that America is a great place. I can’t say I disagree. It’s been pretty cool so far. There are people who complain a lot, about America, and that’s fine too, everyone is entitled to their opinion. I’ve been here for nineteen years, my entire life and like I said, I don’t have too much to complain about.

Living is cool. Breathing, when you think about it, is super interesting. We take it for granted which is ok because if we didn’t take it for granted then we’d probably forget to do it. This story sucks. It’s not even a story.

I’m sorry. 

The Triangle

“Clarence! Clarence! The hot water isn’t working!”

“Jiggle the handle!” replied Clarence.

“Oh It’s working now!” said his wife.

Bless her heart, thought Clarence.

He loved her. That’s why he married her.

She loved him, that’s why she agreed to get married.

She died one day, and then he did two weeks later. They were old.

They were buried side by side. On the tombstone it read:

“Here Lies Clarence and Marie”

Harold knew Marie his whole life. He loved her.

He died alone. 

The Open House

A house was for sale on my street. The sign said that there would be an open house the following day. I wasn’t looking to buy a house, but as far as social events go, open houses were where I made my appearances. The cookies are usually good.

I showed up fashionably late, arrive too early and you’re bound to get stuck in a conversation with some weirdo. The Korean real estate agent greeted me and invited me to look around the house and if I had any questions to “feel free to ask”.  I asked if there were cookies and she said “yes, oatmeal raisin”. I stabbed her and left.

I hate Koreans.

______

I hope you enjoyed this post. The characters in all of these stories are fictional. Especially that last one. The only Korean I hate is Kim Jong Un, that guy sucks. 

Happy February. PSYCHE. 

And So the Sun Rose

I wish to share an experience I had about two years ago that has come to mean quite a bit to me. 

I was a junior in High School, which was a time in my life where I often felt dissatisfied. I am not really sure exactly what it was that frustrated me, but I think it was a mix of getting poor grades, being unsuccessful with women, and not really knowing what I had in store for my future. 

I took a lot of walks, and I still do. Walking helps me think clearly and calms me down to the point where I am no longer hysterical. 

I could walk for miles. I almost died one time because I got lost on the mountain I was hiking, but that's a different story. 

I also had several thinking spots that I could retreat to and contemplate whatever I had weighing on my mind. 

One morning I was feeling particularly disaffected. I was on my way to early morning seminary but I was once again running late. Rather than walk in half-way through the class I decided to go to one of my thinking spots where I could observe the sunrise, hoping that it would somehow lift my spirits. 

But as I sat there in the cold and waited for the sun to come up I could not shake my anxiety. I grew more upset if anything. 

Finally, sunlight began to illuminate the sky on the horizon. As it crested, the sun bathed all of Pasadena in golden light. 

I heard the patter of running feet come up and stop behind me. 

I turned around and saw a middle aged woman out for her morning run standing behind me, also watching the sunrise. She took off her hat to wipe the sweat from her brow and I noticed that she was completely bald. 

She smiled as she looked at me. 

"Beautiful isn't it?" She said. "This is my favorite view."

I didn't know what to say, so all I said was, "Yeah. Me too."

"Have a good day." She said as she smiled and continued on her run. 

I watched her run down the hill, around the corner, and out of sight. 

I looked back at the sunrise and it looked completely different. 

It seemed more significant somehow. Suddenly it was full of meaning, full of beauty. 

And for once I stopped thinking. I stopped worrying. 

Just as the sunlight exposed the valley before me in light, so were my anxieties and fears simultaneously revealed for what they really were. Nothing.

I don't know if that woman is still running, but if she isn't then she left something behind. 

Something good. 

And I'll never forget it. 

Happiness and beauty is always there if you choose to see it.