Thanks to the first hit (ROUGH DRAFT)

The inhale, quivers your lips
worries and problems all losing their grips.
By the time you return from this 'escape' to the beyond
I will be vapor, -poof-, gone.

I disappear in the chemical mist,
All because you couldn't resist
the devilish orange glow of the joint being lit.
I am no more, thanks to that first hit.

The exhale, blackens the lungs.
The laughter receeds among all of the 'friendly' tongues.
Cold silence, like stone.
In this filled room, you are all alone.

Alone, with this constant flow of tears,
your entire persona engulfed by anguish and fears.
No one to defend
this flood without end.
Not a safety net
for this plummeting feeling, regret.

And most of all, even the 'high' will desert you.
The whimsical colors will lose their imbalanced hue.

When reality finally sinks in,
and your problems begin getting under your skin

All of the drama in its different sizes and shapes
The abuse, suicides, break-ups, hatred and rapes,
I am dead, thanks to that first hit
I was the solution, to make all of those problems fit.

Resignation Letter

Dear psyche of myself,

I regret to inform all of my lovely co-workers that I am leaving this division of the company. Anger, depression and teenage drama, you have all been such diligent workers in not only my psyche but also my life so I thank you. Nevertheless, change is necessary, I have been in the MSDBTA (Manufacturing and Storage Division of 100% Biodegradeable Teenage Angst) division for almost 5 years, and ever since I moved from the middle school management of puberty division, I have been happy here.
But the necessary change has come, and now I am moving up in life into the famed early adulthood division of early-career drafting of the collegic level, in which I will have no boundaries. Therefore, teenage emotions please exit the premises quickly,

P.S. teenage drama and relationship issues…Responsibility is taking your place, leave your office as disgusting as it is, do not worry, Responsibility will find a mature way to take care of it.

Sincerely,
CEO of my life: Mitchell Figueras

Chasing echoes and house keys

Chasing Echoes
Who chases echoes?
Your neighbor,
that step-brother you never talked to,
the woman behind the register,
and even the bearded man at the subway
that can afford a meatball sub every day
but not a hair cut.

Everyone you have ever known
has chased an echo,
longing to find what once made glorious sounds
in the dark catacombs of their lives.
Hoping that they will find that sanctuary,
a time when life had no bounds.
When there weren’t any walls to echo off of.

So, tell your neighbors, cashiers, relative strangers and even the bearded man,
to live your life loud,
making an impact like the beat of a drum
against the ears of those around you
and maybe these sounds will echo loud enough to make you forget,
forget what longing and regret sounds like,
to make you stop chasing echoes.


Ode to House Keys
You know me
you sing when I walk,
your jingles are music to my ears.
You know the way home,
the way inside
and no matter how I decorate you with knick-knacks
I can never repay you for how whenever I lose you
You take me back, always opening the door for me.

All of this makes this tougher to say
I am holding you back,
the possibilities for you are endless
you could have opened any door in the world
but I chose you, and now instead of opening
government briefcases, shopping malls or amusement parks
you open my door.

Despite all of this,
you faithfully open my door, always on the second try.
you still shine from the moonlight reflecting off of the porch
oh personality is ok, and pretty eyes are fine
But when the girl I am with finds the
eight-ball chain you are wearing today cute,
this is the defining factor that makes a girl truly a 'keeper'.
Oh house keys, you have no substitute,
just don’t look under the mat.

Okeydokey.

Cold dinners and depressed writers blocks.

Here is some stuff I just started typing out of pure boredom. My mind is in disarray, and I have a bit of a headache. Honestly I doubt anyone will read this so whatever.


well, here goes nothing.

Cold Turkey

The turkey was almost as cold as their stares, well, Mom’s anyways. Dad was reading the paper at the table. Sports section, business, it never matter what letters or numbers were in the corner of the page, he read the Raleigh Chronicle at the table every night. The more conservative type of paper, but the Chronicle was his style, matching him perfectly and appropriately, just like the paper’s dull stories and tragically unappealing comics. He was not strong as other dads, leaving mom to be the punishing type; but even she was silent after what I did. The table basked in this silence; I knew they found out. I was caught for sure this time. Only little Molly spoke, if you can call her aimless babbling speaking at all.
“I love spinkles. (Sprinkles),” Molly said.
I wish I could sit in her high chair, an eagle’s nest above the silent hatred of the table. The blue-trayed Kid Cuisine sitting on top of the cheap plastic plateau was usually the center of attention at dinner. If only her babbling could somehow setback the anticipation, how will my mother deal with this.
My father closed the page of the paper, to pathetic to speak; he softly laid the paper down at the table. He occasionally switched glances from the bold red letters of cheap car dealership ads on the back of the paper, to his half-eaten cold turkey and peas. This sequence was broken by my mother who said,
“Son, we got a call from the school today”
“Aww! Eric’s in troubou (trouble).” Molly interrupted.
Father stood up, and took little Molly with a strangely loving grasp. I could still hear his footsteps slowly making their way up the staircase as I pondered how sensitive he was in situations like this. He was not even man enough to look at me.
“Drugs? Son….really?” My mom said.
“Mom, look, I am sorry. Okay!” I said.
“No, no your not sorry. You’ll never know what sorry feels like!” She said.
Her hands hit the table, sending silverware onto the floor. She bent over and picked up the spoon. Staring into her own reflection, she gasped, and her eyes welled up with tears.
“ I remember, son, so well what sorry looks like. Sorry looked so similar to this. I still remember melting heroin in a spoon like this.

Son, I know you were just caught with marijuana this time, but it leads to other things, intense…uncontrollable things. Son, I-I would know, I have done stronger things before, melting and injecting like clockwork. The images of the fire and not being able to stop, not being able to put it out, those images NEVER LEFT. The SCARS on my veins… never left.” She said.
She sat in her chair defenseless, her hands crossed, covering where her upper and lower arm met. Rising from my seat I shot towards my mother, holding her tight in my arms. She wept into my shoulder, stammering apologies, now grasping hard onto my back. Her tears hurt, and, in-between sobs, she managed to lift her head and meet my eyes.
“Son, I did things, just to loosen my stress, for my needs. After it happened… everyone left. My friends, my family. All gone, the only thing left were my scars.”
“Mom, after what happened?” I said.

“I needed a hit so bad, and…I was willing to do anything. Your father was the only friend who took me in after I got pregnant with you. We moved here together, leaving family, our home and that dealer…never looking back.” She said.

I tried to stand, but my body gave up. My knees shook, and soon after hit the floor, now my mom was holding me. Holding onto her embrace, my hands on her back were ready top throw cold turkey and Kid Cuisine onto the bleak kitchen wallpaper.
Father came down the stairs, held my mom and I. Now I knew why every Christmas we never had family over, why I never knew how my parents met. I realized that my Dad was the strongest man I had ever met.

Ok, a little sad. Well, I like this one, but I did not take enough time on it, I could try to make the dialogue better. Hmmm, what do you guys think? I dunno why, I am just in a sad mood. Ugh, I just spent a lot of my tiem writing it and still, nothing. No solve to my headache, writer's block and problems. Great.

Seeing seconds (Synesthesia)

syn·es·the·sia
1. A condition in which one type of stimulation evokes the sensation of another, as when the hearing of a sound produces the visualization of a color.

I was kind of inspired to write about this, it sounds really cool. So I decided to try to describe a second (Or any 'Second' 's in general) using sight. I don't usually use alliteration...but I'll try with some S's. sssssssssssssssssss. ok. I'll try not to over-do it.

Ok, 'ere goes nothin.

Seeing Seconds
Seeing the seconds split, like atoms.
Changing into split-second thoughts and split-second desicions.

Seeing what is on your plate,
Never satisfied with life
Asking for seconds

Seeing every sweet victory
Still so distant
Constantly coming in Second.

Seeing life sparkle before your eyes
Glistening, sand filled summer sunsets
Seconds of innocence
Slipping away

Seeing a star shimmer
Only for a split-second
Skillfully, making you question

Will that star ever shine again?
Or will you forever be
remembering those seconds.

this is the cooliest
because this stanza
breaks the second pattern
yayyyyyyyy

Krysteah did the last stanza, I couldn't think of a better one. This one is awesome!!!!

Creative writing prompts I didn't throw out (recycle) out of sheer frustration

My Creative Writing notebook basically consists of,
1. Doodles
2. Text messages I write down before I delete them because my phone needs more space, but I just can't delete the special texts.
3. More Doodles
4. Torn Pages from things I have written and thrown away
5. Actual writing (WOW!)

Ok, SO... here are some prompts I managed not to throw away. (my own comments)
1st one - i don't like rhyming poems, but it was required
2nd one - really sad and depressing
3rd one - This never happened, but if it did, that would be funny.

Prompt Number One:
Think of someone you have a strong hatred for, or despise. Does not have to be a specific or named person. Write a rhyming love letter or poem to them.

Love poem to the bad driver
I love your eyes -
even though they probably cannot see.
When you turn right from the left lane,
you complete me.

Your turning signals left on by accident
burn as bright as my passion for you.
Taking things slow, you go 25 in a 45
showing that you care for me too.

When you cut me off
its like a red rose.
A rear end to my new bumper?
A wiplash kiss on my nose.

Even after that wreck you caused,
and after you chose to drive off and flee
when I get out of this emergency room
will you marry me?


Prompt Number Two:
Most board games or family activities end with a child being frustrated, crying, babbling and overall, child-like. Create a story in which the parent feels one or more of these emotions and ends the game, rather than the child.

His Turn
The letters in place, spelling out her life.
The words the child spelled out on the mahogany boardered letters.
The thick black-outlined letters spelled
B O A T
double letter score
The child's turn already done, he stared at his mother.
His mother did not notice, she was staring at her husband.
He always used to take his time, so she waited patiently.
The child became restless, but was muted by fate.
He still could not express himself even with the countless operations and "Make a wish" style funding.
Even at 9 years old, the child was reduced to flailing his awkwardly bended arms in attempts at signing "Go, its your turn"
He flailed again, rapidly, staring at his mother.
The mother's face burned bright red, and wept so profusely that she almost saw her husband sitting in the chair between her and her son;
but he never sat there
no matter how many times it was his turn.



Prompt Number Three:
Imagine a person finding the very notebook you are writing in without knowing you. Explain how they came across the notebook and describe their feelings towards it.

Magic Box
My mommy was talking to a much older lady at walmart and I really did try to stay next to her for a little bit, but... I saw something shiney. My feet trudged along the sidewalk until I arrived at my destination! Little did I know that this used gum wrapper was only the beginning of my adventure, by the way, after putting the wrapper in my mouth, it tasted worse than veggies and green stuff.
When I realized I was lost, I wept all over my oshkosh overalls, but only for a little bit! I was 6 years old, a very big boy, and crying is for babies. After I cried I began to walk the sidewalk, counting all of the little cracks, and blocks I crossed over. By the time I crossed two streets and 45 sidewalk squares (I can count real high, cant i), I noticed a magic box.
The frail, yet mysterious box was being held up by a twig, which was probably found in the park near by. This box just sat there, in the middle of the deserted sidewalk. I peered inside of the box, and saw a green notebook, labeled "Mitch's Poetry Notebook" with a black sharpie line through it. Under that, "Read this and all of your dreams will come true" was written, in the same black sharpie.
I had always dreamed of saving enough quarters to get lego-star wars, or even marry Dora the Explorer! (I would settle for having a pet Monkey named Boots though). So I got on my frequently scraped knees and crawled inside. My shrubby (Short and Stubby) legs knocked over the twig holding up the box, trapping me inside.
So here I am, trapped in a box with a notebook and a convieniently placed flashlight inside. I decided to try to read the majestic notebook of wonder and amazing-ness. Not only am I unable to read, but this guy's handwriting was terrible. And the entire notebook smelled like my big sister's nasty energy drinks. Icky. Well, from what I could tell was that this author had a really short attention span, having a nice doodle about a girl robot with lazer vision or swirly drawings every other page. The pages with writing however showed odd tendencies. It seems like the closer the the edge of the page he gets, the smaller his writing gets, and the longer the words get.
I couldn't concentrate with the police sirens and my mom's screams for help through the streets. Mom?
I escaped from the box with a great feat of strength and ran to my mommy. I fell and dropped the notebook down a sewer, but when I got up I ran some more to her. She embraced my in her cuddly arms and I hugged her back. This adventure really was magical! My mommy was buying lego star-wars at the walmart for me in the first place. It is no Dora the Explorer, but girls have cooties anyways.


Anyways, I like the third one the best.
I will try to post more, but I just wanted to know,
whoever reads this

which one did you like the best?
where do I need improvement?
Should I stop throwing away all my other prompts?

Heroic, Destructive Love (Short story)

The capital city streets were overflowing with demolished buildings and fleeing innocent bystanders. The smell of ash filled the once lively air, a diaphanous-grey blanket over every corner store and barber shop. This destruction was caused by the remnants of forbidden love and newborn life.
Their intertwined love began with a third period seating chart, putting 12th grade Varsity running back Hayden Miller as a seating buddy with 12th grade technical theater student Hailey Mitchell. Both students had stellar social lives, and despite being opposites in their social circles still managed to flirt with each other every time the 3rd period bell rang.
“Hey gorgeous” He would say.
“Hey back,” She would reply.
Naturally, the entire class gave out a sigh whenever they had eye contact, whenever they both got a perfect test score back and especially when they wrote ‘I heart You’ on each others arms. Honestly, the giggling was only stopped by the third period bell, in which they mechanically gave each other a goodbye and a short lasted embrace. All of which of course was to be followed by a much longer embrace when they realized the amount of paper overflowing from their agendas. The first time they ever met each other outside of school was the night that would change the face of capital city forever.

Hayden ran through the flames of overturned cars with every fiber of power in his body. He could feel mighty roars of thunder in every shaky sewer grate and fire hydrant on Lot Street. The hairs on the back of his neck shot up and down his spine under his costume. He stopped moving his feet and then pavement crumbled under his strain, attempting to stop the momentum of his dash. His body almost completely caught up with the turn of his neck when Hayden’s eyes were met with a bright white light. He couldn’t tell what had hit him, or why, but right before he passed out, he thought of Hailey. Her soft skin and gentle voice plagued his mind as his back landed on shrapnel and gravel. The sky was pitch-black devoid of color, clouds and any shards of mirth or cheer. He hoped Hailey was ok, then his heavy head fell to the ground, and his eyes sealed and body became dormant.


He sat slumped in his chair, unaware of the test lying on his desk, waiting to say ‘hey gorgeous’. It had been two weeks since Hailey and Hayden had been on the perfect date, and frankly every girl acts differently after such a fervent affair; but Hailey asked to switch seats all together. Her eyes were fixed only on the board, with apathy painted on her face. For those two weeks, Hayden couldn’t get her curled, blonde hair out of his mind. Hayden’s hands wouldn’t stop tapping on his desk at first. By the fourth day of his love withdrawal he couldn’t control his inherited ‘gifts’ and threw boulders into the quarry. Do you recall the abandoned warehouse on the county line that randomly fell under its own weight? Let’s just call that day thirteen.
“Why would she stop talking to me?” Hayden said.
He flung his arms and sent another shockwave into the ground.
“Two weeks today, not a word!” Hayden said
His face grew red as he yelled, breaking all of his high school trophies. (Even causing a crack in rover’s metallic dog bowl by the neighbor’s porch). Armored tanks and radioactive robotic weapon prototypes never made him flinch. Staring into his hands, his legs just caved into the pressure, this new enemy. This nemesis was in every bathroom, puddle, convenient store changing room, and rear-view mirror. His cell phone vibrated and sung out a dulcet tune on the kitchen table, a tune which had not graced his ears for two weeks. As he saw the text message, the cry for help, he went inside of the old linen closet which he had not seen for so long. Without restraint the door was broken off of its hinges, leaving paint chips scattered on the floor.
He hadn’t even peeked into the box since the move two years ago. ‘Knick-Knacks’ was scrawled in black sharpie on all of its facing sides by Hayden’s new foster parents. The light of the linen closet flickered on and off sporadically as the navy blue costume found its way in Hayden’s grasp. The dust clumps in the seams of his cape were quickly shaken off by the time Hayden caused the hole in the roof. The whirlwind from Hayden’s departure sent drywall onto the torn family photos left inside of the cardboard box.


Hayden’s head lay flat onto the capital city pavement facing the pitch black sky. Disoriented, he struggled, resting all of his weight on his knees as he rose to another bright light. The hair on his neck prickled and froze solid along with the fibers of his cape. The thunderclap made his body quake and convulse, before he realized he was hit directly in the chest. Hayden’s body was flung into a skyscraper like a rag doll, leaving a giant, gaping hole inside of the building’s concrete foundation. Hayden’s eyes opened slightly as he brushed the gravel from his shoulders. His eyes were still trying to decipher what was happening when suddenly,
“Hailey…Hailey? Hailey! ” He said.
He saw her weeping in the epicenter of a crater-like formation in the gravel and pavement chunks around her. She was wearing exactly what she wore two weeks ago, but tattered and charred. Hailey’s frail posture was barely held up by her sore and bruised legs. Hailey fell to the ground on her knees. In her sobs she attempted to speak,
“H-h-help me.” she said.
Hayden bolted to embrace his love, to protect her from the unknown enemies putting her life in danger. His footsteps grew further and further apart until his entire body was airborne. Hayden’s arms outstretched towards Hailey, his cape trembling in the wind. His mind in discord, heart racing, he had no idea what would happen next, no idea what was going on. They grasped each other, their bodies trembling together. She quivered with every intake of breath, and with every sob more tears saturated her eyes. Hayden tried bringing her to safety from whatever new brigand has terrorized the city, putting Hailey’s life in danger. When Hailey’s feet lifted from the ground, Hayden felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and saw the black-cloudless sky flicker and flourish with lightning bots. With every sob out of Hailey’s tear-laced lips, the sky fluctuated with more bolts of lightning.
“What is wrong with me?” Hailey asked.
Between sobs she managed to embrace Hayden. They both missed the embrace the two shared. Hayden was not sure if some how, in some paranormal way, he had caused all of this.
“I am sorry for taking things so fast Hailey.” Hayden said
“Hayden, I couldn’t control myself…I- I just.” Hailey said.
“Hayden, what is wrong with me? So much has happened, I just ran away. I couldn’t take it. I am sorry, just so sorry, I-“
“Hailey, whatever this is…I am here for you; some how I gave you my curse, these ‘gifts’. I should be the one apologizing. All that matters is how much I care for you.” Hayden said.
He held her once more, feeling the distress in her wavering heart beat.
“I felt it, when we last saw each other. Our passion, how we… since then I have had this curse, and I cannot get rid of it.” Hailey said.
“I am just happy to see you; we can make it through this crazy phenomenon. I thought you were seriously hurt, like you were held captive or even-” Hayden said, right before Hailey replied…
“I am going through something serious, and just as important… Hayden, I’m late.” Hailey said.

Hayden stared into her eyes, held her face close to his and kissed her cheek. His hands ran through the gravel in her hair, as he said.
“Hey gorgeous, I love you.”