Packing: Story of an A.D.D. Packrat

This morn, my brother and I were sorting through various things in the living room that we haven't seen since we've been old enough to comprehend words such as "homemade videos," "antique," and "baby shower." Now that our knowledge of the English vocabulary has expanded exponentially, we were able to view such things with appreciation.
First, I found our antique dishes that have been passed down through several generations, dating back as old as (or, so I think) the mid 1800's. To make a long story short, I spied the trademark on one piece of an old tea set, and, rather than simply disregarding it, went on an obsessive Google-searching frenzy. I spent almost a full hour simply trying to find out how old it was, and another hour trying to figure out how much it was worth. Unfortunately, I could not reach a viable conclusion. For, unlike in many modern movies, you cannot type two keywords and find the exact thing you're looking for as the first result of the query. I came out disappointed.
Secondly, my brother found a homemade video of my older sister's baby shower, and I kid you not, my dad looks and acts almost exactly like Matthew Broderick in "Ferris Bueler's Day Off." I couldn't keep my interest in seeing what my parents were like nigh twenty years ago at bay. I'm far too inquisitive for such nonsense as being incurious. Another forty-five minutes, and not a freshly-packed box later, the movie fuzzed out and the screen turned blue.
So now, as I sit with a mound of unpacked things yet before me, I type this post. Darn. Another twenty minutes.

Thunderstorm

A maleficent storm lurks ominously in the near distance. I hear it hum through the clouds. It strikes dismal chords of thunder in deep, baritone pitches. It composes a song of sorrow and melancholy whispers, it wants to drain me. It seeks to unsettle me. It desires to demoralize me. It rolls in slowly, carefully, like a giant rolling pin coming to flatten the entire land.

Its pulse is so close. I hear its heart beat faster and louder. It knows my comfort cannot last. It sees me. It knows I sit at my window. It hears me breathing. It hisses a serpentine note and spires maliciously above me.

The trees are silent, the birds are long gone from the watchful perception of the monstrosity now seeping across the stretch of plains that yet lay before me. I catch a glimpse of sunlight before it sinks into the clouds, enshrouded, engulfed, and devoured by shadow and darkness.

Terrible darkness.

It's outside my window, shrieking its fury at my haven. Its angry tears whip the siding of my sanctity fiercely and bitterly. It lashes out its wicked tongue to strike the earth with deadly fire, feeding on the dry grass, the brittle trees. Its eye focuses on me momentarily before demonstrating the full potential of nature's raw, destructive power and sovereignty over me.

A Titan in every aspect, it annihilates the insolent, man-made structures surrounding my refuge with a single heave of its massive arm. I sip my coffee and peer nonchalantly over the rim of my mug before I resume typing.

It is infuriated. It howls raucously at me and tears the hills asunder in its wake. It compulsively towers over me and crashes back down ceaselessly until it is too frustrated and weary to continue its rampant behavior.

It runs away, weeping, to terrorize anyone who stands in its path.

I sip my coffee, sigh deeply, and continue typing.

(I developed the idea for this whilst eyeing an approaching storm. I hope you enjoyed it.)

Seven Deadly Sins: Gluttony

Hello, my dear friends. I understand that you may be wondering why, after so long, am I now posting my seventh and final 'Deadly Sin' story. Let me explain: Our 'awesome' internet has been down for- what's today, Friday?- four three days. Three full, excruciating days. You wanna know what our service is? Well, here's a hint. Their quote is "When you're living in the country, it's easy to get connected to nature. But other things, not so much." Still don't know? Well, I'm pretty sure there's a toilet paper brand with the same name. And no, I don't mean Charmin. Anyways, enough ranting. Another well-deserved thank you to Antimony for hosting this whole deal! She rocks. Check her out at Thoughts, Musings, and Broken Promises. Leave some thoughts if you feel like. Thanks! :D

Mr. Smith gaped at the many various card tables and slot machines, his eyes filled wonder and fantasy. He envisioned himself sitting on a mound of $100 bills, up to his teeth in women and luxury. He bet big and lost big in his first hand of poker, but managed to retain his pride. He blew on his dice, but the gambling fairy must have been on vacation, because he rolled them and lost the meager $18 he had won playing the slot machines. Mr. Smith played and played all night, until both the keys to his car and the deed to his house had been lost. He left the casino that night to wander the streets aimlessly, even more broken than he had been when he arrived.

Seven Deadly Sins: Envy

    Hello, people. Today is the sixth day of the Seven Deadly Sins blog challenge, and I want to give much praise to Antimony at Thoughts, Musings, and Broken Promises. You should seriously go check out her stuff because, well, it rocks my socks off. And that means it's good. (I feel the need to translate some of this street slang) Leave comments if you feel like it! Your thoughts mean much to me! Thanks! Gracias! Danke schön!

    Envy (I know I don't normally title them but this time I'm going to!)

    It's dark. My mind is useless and slow. I don't know how long it's been since I was taken away from my family and locked up in here. I don't remember the last time I saw the sun, when I could stand up straight, when I didn't have a beard that brushed the dust off my toes.

I hear the heavy door swing open. The dim light blinds me. They grab him, my cellmate. He was the last one, 'sides me. He's getting the death penalty. Why couldn't they have taken me? I don't care anymore that I didn't commit the crime I was accused of. I just want to die. Anything to be out of this God-forsaken hole.

El Verano de Color: Color Cafe

Look at this beautiful picture!

Good day, fellow bloggers! As you all may know, this week's Color for Summer is Brown, and so I will be posting something... Brown. Ahem. Anyways, I want to throw a huge "thank you!" at Kristin from Twinkle, Twinkle for hosting this event, The Summer of Color. So, go and check out her sweet stuff! Aight. Thanks! :D

It's a bit blurry, I know. But hey, at least it's posted! :D (Falling Leaves)

Seven Deadly Sins: Wrath

He walks into the apartment and quietly closes the door behind him, twisting the ring around in his pocket, feeling more ecstatic and confident than words can express. He pulls the ring out and squeezes it tightly in his palm, swallows hard and walks through the door into the bedroom.

But she isn't alone. He remembers the man; they had been to the same party a week or two ago. No words are said. One golden ring falls from a sweaty palm and bounces across the cool floor. Two mouths gape in horror. Three gunshots are heard by other tenants. The sheets aren't white anymore.

(100 Words)

Hey, this is the Seven Deadly Sins Blog challenge, day 5! Only two more to go, which doesn't leave a lot of time to give a bunch of huge thanks to Ms. Antimony over at Thoughts, Musings, and Broken Promises for hosting this spectacular and fun event! If it finds your fancy, please, feel free to leave thoughts in the internet form of "comments." I hear they're all the rage these days. I know. I'm hip!

Seven Deadly Sins: Lust

No one would have to know, thought the mortician. No! It's late, all the fumes have gotten to me... He couldn't think straight. She lay there, motionless on the table, one of the most beautiful corpses he'd ever seen. He swallowed hard as a bead of sweat dribbled its way down his greasy forehead. His lips were pursed tightly and he approached the table. His heart throbbed painfully but his feet made him move closer. He finally gave in to temptation and darted towards her, but tripped on his untied shoelace and fell to the floor, his throat landing directly on the sharp end of the scalpel he'd forgotten was in his hand.

Again, huge thanks to Lady Antimony over at Thoughts, Musings, and Broken Promises for hosting this awesome event, The Seven Deadly Sins Blog Challenge. Sorry about the rather macabre story, but hey, they are the Seven DEADLY Sins for a reason.

Comment if you like, I'd appreciate all the "well-deserved" praise! (Or appropriate criticism, if need be.) Heh. Thank ya!

Seven Deadly Sins: Pride

This is the third in the series of the Seven Deadly Sins blog challenge that I'll be doing, and I want to give a huge "Thank you!" to Lady Antimony over at Thoughts, Musings, and Broken Promises here on Blogger for hosting this wonderful event. You should totally check out her page, and all her awesome works! Her poetry is absolutely delightful.

    I gaze intently at his still and quiet beauty; his pencil-thin brow, his crimson lips filled with passion, his eyes as mysterious as the afterlife, his jaw immaculate and strong... He is the portrait of perfection in every aspect. No, he doesn't have burns on his face, blisters that ooze ceaselessly if touched improperly. No, he doesn't have hands as rough as sandstone, nor a conscience burdened with the shattered bones and screams of his foes. But he also doesn't have the Medal of Honor or a medal for bravery, either. I steal one last glance from the painting, then smirk and turn to push my wheelchair out the door of the art museum.

(100 words)

Seven Deadly Sins: Slothfulness

    Royce opened one lazy eye and peered around the room to get an idea of his whereabouts. He had passed out on his back in the middle of the living room floor sometime in the past few hours, he determined. The plate of pizza was still on the coffee table, just where he had left it. He rolled over and tried, hopelessly, to push himself to his feet. The first attempt was a sure failure, and so he lay there for five more minutes, deliberating whether to try to stand back up, or to drift back into slumber. He had had a tough afternoon, after all; digging about between the couch cushions looking for old scraps of food, and pondering, for some time, about what his toes might look like these days. He pushed himself slowly to his feet. 'That's two push-ups today,' he thought. He swatted at the flies buzzing around the pizza, and took a bite. Cold. Stale. Just the way he liked it. A sudden rumbling in his bowels made him freeze. Given the length of the vibrations, he knew it was one of two things: A) his stomach was imploding, or B) he had to use the bathroom. He took a wild guess and went for the bathroom. He could have gone anywhere on the floor without remorse, but he felt especially polite today. His monstrous feet pounded down the hallway, and he pushed open the door with his face, without even knocking. After settling himself in his upright position, his eyes became heavy, his vision blurred, and he passed out in the litter box. Oh, to be a cat.

(I know it's way over the word count, but I couldn't stop... I... I'm so sorry!)

Seven Deadly Sins: ARRGH! (Greed)

    The captain gawked at the pile of loot that lay before him. He couldn't even feel the wound in his leg anymore, nor the splinters of wood from the shattered mast and the innumerable cutlass slashes he'd received from his now-waterlogged enemies. He dropped to his knees to stir the booty with his hooked hand, perhaps drool a little, and maybe even wet himself. His eyes glistened selfishly in the golden light, and he closed the door, laughing maniacally as water seeped in through the walls, and the ship sank into the dark blue abyss, taking the Cap'n with it.

(98 words)

Summer of Color: Yellow

Ahoy, mateys! My name is Zade Forrest, and though I'm pretty new to the blog world, I've decided to participate (a little late, to be sure...) in this event, The Summer of Color.
I found it via Heather Henry (littleredhenry.blogspot.com), but I, nonetheless, would like to thank the host of said sweet event, Kristin (twinkletwinklelikeastar.blogspot.com), for her awesome creativity in putting this all together. So, thank you! :D
As you all may know, this week's color is YELLOW!

"Clipped Wings"
(Sorry about the picture quality; I had to use my phone because it would be incredibly difficult to scan this considering all the paper clips...)

Dr. Villanelle

This was a villanelle that I wrote about a year and a half ago in my creative writing class.

Doctor Villanelle

The wounds so gruesome, the blood so red
Covers my hands, and my nice white floor
His heart rate stops, another one dead.

(A picture for your viewing enjoyment)

Blinded and bleeding, strapped to the bed
Moaning in pain, he screams “Please, no more!”
The wounds so gruesome, the blood so red.

‘Make the incision’, I say in my head
Heaving so hard, sweat pours from his pores
His heart rate stops, another one dead.

My palette and paint, morphine and meds
I’ll fix him up, right down to his core!
The wounds so gruesome, the blood so red.

It’s dangerous work, the ground I tread
Cut left, slice right, of me he implores!
His heart rate stops, another one dead.

Torn to pieces, a human salad,
I move his mauled body to the floor
The wounds so gruesome, the blood so red
His heart rate stops, another one dead.

(Note: Not all my poetry is as dark as this. I actually meant for this one to be, how you say... Humerus? Ha! A pun...)

Mind

You can't run
And you can't hide
From everything
You feel inside.

You drown yourself
in Isolation
And trap yourself
in Desolation.

But there's something there
In the corner, it grows.
It's watching you.
It always knows.

In the darkest
Darkness of your soul
It roots itself;
It digs a hole.

It suffocates you
With its cold hands
It manipulates you
And makes demands.

It muffles you if
You try to scream.
And bites you to prove
It's not a dream.

You're lost, you
Don't know what to do.
You cannot kill it,
Because it's you.