Not a real autobiography. This is complete fiction. Written March of 2010. I like making up very strange and taboo characters. Give whatever feedback you want. I most likely won't be checking back on this... Rated PG-13 for language and sexual situations? It seems incredibly surreal of me to be sitting here at 2:10 in the morning with just a pad of paper and a pencil with the end chewed off. But it seems that I was struck by the writing bug which has been absent from me for far too long. In a rather abrupt decision I left whatever warmth I could find from the slightly wet edge of my bed and rolled out to the living room to analyze what I thought was a rather poignant discussion that I had had a few days earlier. A disgruntled mutter was all I heard from my roommates room as I passed, thinking to myself how absent-minded he was and utterly unaware of the situations that bombarded me every day -- though in an attempt to be melodramatic I often would recount endless escapades that I experienced as I often did to debrief and relax myself when I could find the time. But at the moment, I was completely encompassed by the thought of this one individual who had been swept rather unassumingly into my life and left the same way. First I suppose though I should give you a brief description of exactly who I am and why this story is important to me. My name is Melody, a rather auspicious and terribly loose name that was given to me by my mother during the days she smoked away from the back of a beat-up VW bus that had flowers in gaudy tie-dye across the sides. Besides how perhaps I looked the innocent and unassuming type, I found my name to be a sharp contrast to how I lived. Rather than being a complete individual which I wanted to, I always clung desperately to those I passed by while shunning them at the same time. I suppose this is why I greedily sucked in the names ‘tease’ and ‘bitch’ with a lavish grin since that was something I could relate to. By no means would I deny those names either since they were rather silly and I liked them because it always made people look shocked as my friends would jokingly toss them about in crowded and public areas where they weren’t appropriate in the least. However I also would not deny those names because they spoke the truth. Drifting through life as though I only could half live it, I never formed truly close relationships with anyone. It wasn’t as if I could really enjoy a relationship or a lover since everyone including myself just seemed more interested in holding on and ******* than actually loving, and if that was not the case I would be sure to make it so since that was what I told myself I wanted. Also, I will be the first to assure you that I found myself incredibly attractive and one selfish side of me had predetermined that I would belong to no one until I found myself to be the pursuer and so I constantly amused myself with those who would give chase to me until I lost interest and threw them aside. Perhaps a jaded side of me found these admirers to be like hungry wolves, devouring my appearance with their eyes and murdering me with their intensity until I turned them completely off by my attitude… thus the ‘tease’ and ‘bitch’ in me were just the same person, coupled together in a gross deformity that was Melody. All noises ceased from the other room, and I knew that my roommate had passed into oblivion again. After all, it was 2:25 in the morning and there was no need for him to be awake until he left silently for work the next day. We had reached a mutual agreement that there was no need to even be aware of each others presence until the day that the bills came or we needed maintenance done in the apartment. And what a nice apartment it was. All white walls, carpeted floors, brand new unidentifiable smells that faded after you stayed in them for a few hours… My glance drifted discreetly to my phone. I felt guilty that it was not ringing off the hook and filling that void I felt whenever it wasn’t. My whole existence, the bare nothingness seemed to be filled whenever I was near it. However, even I noticed in my growing panic that I was becoming less and less connected to that web of phone numbers and contacts. Even phone conversations with close friends were stilted and desperate, like I was hanging on every word to act as the one where I would go “Ah, that’s it, that’s what I’ve been waiting for”, and I would be pulled out of a mighty depression back into the world where people walked and talked and laughed and interacted properly with each other. The world which I no longer felt a part of. Perhaps I never had felt a part of it, and that was the problem. For a brief moment I had glimpsed it from the other side, the ‘right’ side, and now it was gone again as if it had never been there and now I was only experiencing the pangs of remorse for ever seeing it in the first place. Nights were taken up by depravity of all sorts just so I could go on pretending that school would not begin again and my work would never need me and I could just eternally hold onto my youth as much as I wanted it to drain away. But even as I felt an unsettling feeling rise up in the pit of my stomach I found my thoughts drifting back to the conversation I had held earlier in the week. One of the anonymous people I referred to as my ‘friend’, though only perhaps a bit closer than an acquaintance in reality had asked what my plans for the weekend were. At that moment I had been tired and more than a little drunk when I had answered that I wasn’t quite sure. I definitely hadn’t planned on my being awake the following Sunday morning at 2:40 writing a story as innocently as I used to do when I was 13, though perhaps the subjects back then had been a bit more fantasy and less autobiographical. After an uncommitted answer from this friend, which I now realize may have been the beginning of the end of that relationship, I hung up. That was when the text message came. As completely bemusing and innocent as ‘where r u?’ could possibly be, I found myself slightly moody as I responded. I do not like jealous people and I find that a lot of my friends, who are really glorified acquaintances, are rather clingy and jealous people anyway. Perhaps there is a bit of masochism in my agreeing to put up with these people, but it’s not like I could find anyone better anyway. It wasn’t like I put any effort into either strengthening or avoiding any sort of relationship and if I could maintain a purely ‘60s attitude and free love and all that, I would to the best of my ability, without any obvious exertion on my part of course. But as I returned to my phone and found with annoyance that I had either missed the beeping alert that a new text message had arrived 10 minutes ago, or that it had decided to remain stubbornly silent and force me to get up to wonder angrily why I had purchased such a worthless phone in the first place, I discovered that the relatively normal and perhaps even blasé conversation had taken an ugly turn towards jealousy. A rather tiring and unnecessary emotion that even I had fallen victim to before. Planning on writing a rather rude response, for if anyone who knew me would tell you that I did not mince words, I was cut off with a rather uncharacteristic quick rebuttal to whatever I had been planning to say before I said it. “Oh, stop,” I said aloud, angry that I had been cut off in my tirade before I had been able to unleash it. Hitting the delete button repeatedly I began again. The current conversation was about how this girl Kendra I had been flirting unashamedly with had seen me with another girl I was involved with named Annie, and how dare I since it was no secret Kendra had had a rather violent falling out with Annie and was I in for it. But I wasn’t. I quickly woke my fingers from their stalled and shocked position over the keys and responded that I belonged to no one, a personal mantra it seemed, and then I waited for a flood. But as the minutes ticked by it seemed that either Kendra had abandoned her phone, which seemed unlikely for she never was without it, or she was ignoring me. Finally I got a curt reply that what I had said was true and that was that. I don’t know why that made my chest hurt so much. My other roommate returned at that moment and I was quite proud of myself for remembering that I was angry at him so I ignored him. He was fresh from a nightclub and looked quite pleased at being alive which meant that he had had random sex and I both envied and was repulsed by him. The problem with grudges is that they don’t last long enough for me to be truly satisfied by them so I was easily led into a conversation without hanging onto my silence for long. He had just made out with half the nightclub and found a cute little boy he could suck off in the bathroom and as coarse as his language was I understood what it was like to be so high on life for just that moment before you came crashing down to reality the next day when everything continued marching on with or without you, regardless of your hangover or scrapes and bruises from a rather ambiguous bar fight that you can’t remember half of anyway. After detailing what he had done that evening he looked pointedly at me and I sat absolutely quiet for a minute before shrugging and saying that I hadn’t really done anything of interest besides sleep half the day and then wake up briefly to roll around in bed and lament that I was being lazy or wasting time before drifting off again. I had even mustered the energy to get out of bed and emerge on the balcony before I collapsed and fell asleep on my stomach without bothering to put any sunscreen on but he had already seen that much he told me, and then when the conversation stalled out and I could no longer think of an excuse to keep him up he stumbled off to bed. I spent the next three hours contemplating and psychoanalyzing my behavior with women. I hardly would call myself a womanizer and neither would anyone else, since I was just little Melody, an attractive yet awful person, who really never caused too many waves because that was just bothersome. However, I really did enjoy thrusting myself into deep complicated matters like a love triangle, or subconsciously encouraging stalkers so I could whine about them, or thinking constantly how interesting it would be to ruin other peoples lives. I guess I was a masochist in a way, since I was always inventing new and horrible ways to get into deep trouble before I could try and worm my way out of the last mess I got into...
Polly (Challenge: 365 words or less) Polly wasn’t really the average girl-next-door. It would have probably been a more settling story to swallow. Her bitter childhood had broken every barrier in her wicked little heart that nothing was left but a shivering façade, at the brink of implosion. That’s why it wasn’t really her fault that she wanted to be like everyone else. With words like “don’t follow me” and “stop looking at me like that” circling her demented little brain she began to craft her own paradise steadily, day-by-day, until she really didn’t exist in reality anymore. Always last in line, always last to leave, Polly was a perfect shell of a soulless drone, otherwise a perfect little girl, the kind of girl you would want to know. But it wasn’t as if anyone wanted to know Polly. She was a bit odd. Her ethics seemed a bit rotten. Like a child who uses large words to try and falsely advertise his maturity, Polly was a marionette of the system. Though she knew what to say and how to act, she was a little slow. Maybe her reputation soiled what good she had left. How young did Polly have to be to be adored? Her big grey eyes were as dull as a sponge. Her brain was certainly not a sponge. More like a shriveled peanut that couldn’t absorb anything, much less anything useful. Her mouth could smile, but her lips were cracked. Her hands always gripped her elbows, tight as possible over her chest as if at any point if they were removed, her arms could pop right off. Polly wasn’t hated at first. Different, but in a more tolerable society, well a more forced tolerance policy political world, she was dismissed from further abuse. But humans are nifty creatures with a specific breaking point and a specific trigger. Polly had hunter-like patience. Her grin a little too wide, her eyes a bit too focused, her fingers clenching and unclenching in a vice grip around her upper arms. A voracious beast could not have been imitated more accurately than by Polly. What a pretty, perfect set of nails. What a pretty, pale neck. What finely combed hair. Rage isn’t a containable emotion. Polly always had a slightly raw visage. It stood to reason that her brain would be just as tainted. Dragged down into a gutter, Polly. Suppose one should really thank you for this.
I apologize, the one above was a 400 words or less challenge. This was the 365 word challenge, posed on summer. Another Summer It was as if she intentionally tried to piss me off. Just walking around without her shirt during these hot summer days, laughing as she stripped on the way to the bathroom. I guess it was my fault because I followed her, picking up the clothes she shed. I don’t think I could have found a more disgusting and volatile roommate, but honestly she exuded this kind of energy that I could not find anywhere else. This… light seemed to come from her smile, her eyes, her laughter… And I followed it anywhere. It was as if she intentionally tried to torture me. I was doing everything I could to support myself and she took everything I had and more. As I sat by the wet bar watching her drink the Bacardi 151 straight from the bottle sans chaser, and gasping for breath in an almost comical way whenever I gave her attention. When she finally stumbled forward and into my arms I had to carry her off to her room. It was as if she wanted the attention from me. I contemplated her dark skin as she lay there, breathing softly. A small moan escaped her lips and I felt my eyes draw up the folds of her oversized t-shirt and to them. Those soft pink petals, moving only enough to allow precious air to fill her chest until at last it left again. In the moonlight illuminating the room I watched her every movement until she began to stir in the morning. It was as if she wanted me to loathe her existence. I listened to her juvenile conversation as she rambled on and on. Her ability to manipulate her Blackberry was only surpassed by her ability to manipulate me. Today I wasn’t even visible to her as she bustled about the apartment, bemoaning the constant state of disorder, though she had unknowingly created it in her stupors. The door opened and she hung up the phone immediately, running into waiting arms. Of course she missed him. I guess I am an incredible hypocrite of the system. I don’t really know why I stayed around another summer.
That's it for me today Anyway... Enjoy my musings. And all of these are fiction with the sprinkling of abstract experience. But I won't tell And happy writing