Beginnings

Hello friends! I realize I haven’t posted any writing on this blog in a long time, and it just so happens that I stumbled upon a piece of flash fiction on my computer the other day that I found rather interesting. So without further ado, I’m going to drop it down here for your entertainment.

Let me know what you think!

There’s a certain kind of beauty found in secrets that exists nowhere else. And maybe that’s what drew me to him; I could already tell he was full of them. Or maybe it was his boldness, and the way he was so completely unaware of it. Like he thought the rest of the world also had no problem just walking right up to the Queen of England and striking up a conversation. Ok, so maybe I’m not the Queen of England, but that’s beyond the point.

You know how some people just have sparkles in their eyes? Well, his were like that. Like miniature suns allowed to exist as a constant assurance for those who needed it that there was always a light shining somewhere, even in the darkest of nights. You would see his eyes and smile, there was nothing complicated or unsettling about it.

But there was something complicated and unsettling about him, probably the same things that drew me to him. He was so unaware of the rest of world, the way they saw him, the things they thought of him. He didn’t adhere to their conventions. He was different. He was a mess.

None of that mattered when my cheek was tucked in the crook of his neck, my eyelashes brushing his collarbone, another attempt to get as close to him as humanly possible, another attempt to distract myself from the nervous flutters in my stomach that matched those of my eyelashes. And I would be so entranced, listening to his heartbeat, tracing the curves of his arms and hands that I could always hear it when he smiled. There always came a sigh before it. One that to me, signified contentment, wonder, and all the power stored in those little moments that took your breath away. Then I’d smile against his chest, my fingers still dancing across the skin of his arms as I whispered, “I love you.” I could always feel him shiver then as if it ran through both of our spines.

“You’re better off without me.”

He always had this way of ruining the moment, making me feel like the girl who’d climbed onto his motorcycle that first day, desperately searching for something, somehow thinking a troubled boy on a secondhand motorcycle was the answer. Well he wasn’t, and we both knew it.

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FREE STUFF

Hiya! If you’ve been keeping up with my blog for a while you know that I released a few short stories through the inter-web a few months ago. Well…this is one of those stories where you have to backtrack to explain.

So Saturday was my birthday and I begrudgingly became a non-teen (yikes). Now here’s the exciting part: In celebration, I decided to make the previously mentioned short stories free for a whole week!!! I know, I know, you’re bursting at the seams with excitement. But really, it’s free so what do you have to lose?

Anywho, you can find the stories on Smashwords and Barnes and Nobles (+ iBooks, Kobo, and OverDrive). I value all of your opinions so I would really really appreciate it if you let me know what you think of these stories by leaving a comment on here at any of those retailer’s sites. If you want to know what the stories are about check out these previous blogs. Thanks for listening 🙂

Love,

Rose

Easy as 1, 2, 3

Hello friends! This is a new/old short story that I decided to post on here for your enjoyment. I hope you like it!

Love,

Rose

Easy as 1, 2, 3; that’s my mom’s motto. Don’t ask me why, I guess she was just a really big fan of the Jackson 5 back in her day. Over the years, our conversations have went a little something like this:

Mom: “Honey, go give Betsy” -that’s my dog-“ a shower”

Me: “I don’t know how to”

Mom: “It’s as easy as 1, 2, 3”

Guess what I had to do that day? Wash the dog, which didn’t prove to be “as easy as 1,2,3” because she ran all over the yard making a mess and I pretty much accidentally hosed myself down (this was when I was five by the way, not like yesterday or anything). When I was twelve,

Mom: Turn of the T.V. and go do your homework

Me: It’s too hard, and I can’t do math

Mom: “It’s as easy as 1, 2, 3”

But when I asked her why she didn’t do it since it was so easy I got grounded and was forced to do my homework. When I was fifteen (during “the talk”)

Mom: Honey, you’re going to face certain temptations and, you need to resist them. Remember, “It’s as easy as 1, 2, 3”, and if that doesn’t work remember, “you’re a part a me, I’m always right there with you. Anytime you do something stupid I know, I’m always right there”.

So as you can see, I didn’t exactly have the traditional childhood, since I don’t exactly have the traditional mother. My dad is normal, but he’s always told me that I’m just like my mother. Which means I’m funny, very sarcastic, adventurous, and have an uncanny obsession with romantic comedies. My mom always made us try new things as a family, such as; rock climbing, painting, riding motorcycles, Moroccan food, playing various instruments and the list goes on for a dreadfully long time. If you knew my dad, you would know he never came remotely close to liking or succeeding in any of these things, but everything time she would just go “It’s as easy as 1, 2, 3” and he would smile then role his eyes when she turned away. I never exactly succeeded either, but somehow I learned to have fun trying, my only other choice was to be miserable throughout my entire childhood. I guess she just hates hearing the word can’t, almost as much as I hate hearing “it’s as easy as 1, 2, 3”. And she does like Jackson 5, or at least, she had a phase with them at some point.

And speaking of music, one of the most dreadful points of my childhood was when my mother started listening to Screamo. She would put it on in the car, at home, and even in the grocery store until everyone in the town spread a rumor that she was on drugs (not that she cared). Once I asked her how she could even understand the lyrics, it sound as if they were just screaming and she said “It’s as easy as 1, 2, 3.” So, if anything, life with my mother has certainly been interesting.

Five days ago I told her college was too hard, that I wanted to come back and work at Patty’s (the local bakery). I was joking of course. Well, sort of). Anyway, guess what she told me? Well, I’m sure you know. But I’m not sure she meant college was easy or working at the bakery was, because if I had a choice right now, I’d choose the bakery. Don’t get me wrong, college is full of awesome party animals, some very free spirited people, and more freedom that you could imagine, more than I’ve had my entire life, but then there’s the work.

But that’s not the point, the point is my mom died yesterday. I had the whole drive home to grasp what this means, but I can’t. She is, or was 38 years old. I can only recall one dreadful word: accident. I’m now pacing some hall in some hospital. I had to get away from my dad who, unlike me seems to have realized exactly what this means, seeing as his wailing is so loud a nurse was actually sent to consult him. But my mom died and… I’m not even crying, I’m a terrible person. As I contemplate this, I began to cry. Great, that doesn’t make me feel any better. But how do I live with the fact that my crazy, sarcastic, hilarious mother was gone? I don’t know. The truth is whenever I complained and felt like I couldn’t do something she was always there to say, “it’s as easy as 1, 2, 3.” It was annoying, but it always motivated me because I didn’t want to keep hearing her say it. But know I’d give anything to have her back here, saying those words to me for the millionth time. This, living without her wasn’t gonna be as easy as 1, 2, 3, it wasn’t gonna easy at all. I need my mom and …she’s gone.

You know how sometimes you get used to always having someone or something around, then you start taking it or them for granted and when they’re gone, you don’t know what to do without her? Well, I do. I found myself pacing outside. The cold, biting wind that blew on my face stung, and I was grateful that I still retained some sense of feeling. I paced until I was numb again. But I knew why I couldn’t cry. I felt… something. Something I couldn’t see or hear or touch. Something I probably wasn’t supposed to feel, and I questioned my sanity for a second. But the feeling came with an overwhelming sense of serenity that I couldn’t question. I was just grateful. My eyes closed in despair  as I lost all sense of feeling. I heard a faint whisper in my ear. And I remembered something my mom said once. “You’re a part of me, I’m always right there. Right there.”

The End 

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