(I know this is probably not the kind of art you were looking for, but I'm going to post it here anyway because I'm proud of it. Grammatical errors and all)
7.
She liked her coffee black, and always wore rather unfashionable sunglasses as a precaution against her migraines. She smoked enough to change her voice to a sandpaper-esc scratching tone and only cared for her four cats
Needless to say, she was the epitome of trailer park trash. She embraced it even; it was a certain standard she set for herself, at least that's what let her sleep at night.
In case you were wondering; she did in fact own a plastic flamingo. Grover; her neighborâs dog two doors down had gnawed its head into a crippled clump a year or so back. It still stood proud in front of her trailer home; head dangling off its plastic neck somberly.
It was around 10 in the morning when she plopped down on her rickety wooden chair to read the daily paper; she didn't know why she even bothered with the things anymore. All bad news-
Her breath caught; another death. A young man was found floating in a neighborhood pool. Her heart sunk a little at the news; such a young life; so much potentialâŚ
Crinkle crinkle,
She gripped the paper tight in her hand; balling it up and dropping it to the floor. Sheâd been young once. She had once had life; love, and a future. She remembered romantic evenings under the stars watching James Dean on the big screen with a high-school crush holding her waist.
She remembered times less complicated; before technology had plagued the world, when she had been free.
SLAM
The door to her neighborâs trailer swung shut; some kind of argument had been going on over there for a week or so now. Everyone knew they were fighting. Her heart ached. Bitten by a phantom of wars waged with words against people sheâd loved.
They were gone now; all of them. The paper boy knew more about her than her family did. She hadnât thought about that very much. She didnât like to think about it.
Sob-
She could hear a woman crying next door, why did they have to leave the window open during these thingsâŚ
âHey, are you coming?â
She looked up; startled by the smooth, kind voice; she wasnât in her trailer anymore; instead in a house with worn white walls and a bright red carpet. She was homeâŚ
âCâmon, weâre gonna miss the show!â
It was her father and her younger sister; both dressed in their best, beckoning her to follow them out.
Jumping out of her seat, she rushed to join them.
Sqweeeek
The door made an awfully loud sound when her father opened it; nothing like she remembered. She followed them out eagerly; then she tripped.
Thud, thump
Down the stairs she went. Her sister laughed, and so did she.
âOh Iâm just so clumsy,â she giggled, getting to her feet.
Never mind the blood, mom will clean that up nice and new.
âStop goofing around girls, we donât want to miss the movie!â Their father called from down the driveway. The sisters raced down the cement to the car an-
Headlights.
She was in the middle of the street; nightgown soaked in blood, and all she could see were headlights.
HONK
Oh to be young again. Relive the past like a sitcom rerun or a book dusted off and re-read. To pull the best memories out and see them all again like they had happened yesterday.
âOh go-â
THUMP
Perhaps God had her memories, waiting in the clouds wrapped in a bow
Perhaps sheâd find out
(My currently shelved horror novel, "Rockfield" has a premise that I'm particularly proud of. A new perspective each chapter, a different death each chapter. An entire town plagued by some mysterious force pushing townsfolk to death. I want the finished product to really be a mature discussion of topics like suicide, age, death, and loss, giving readers a unique perspective through the eyes of the dying. I chose chapter 7 for this excerpt specifically because of how removed it is from the others. It can very much be read and enjoyed on its own. I hope you enjoyed it :) )
