Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 39

Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 39

This entry is part 32 of 32 in the series Just Write Something Damnit!

Author’s Note: If you have not read the first post in this series then all the rest will make no sense at all. Please click here to take a quick look at Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 1

Remington Standard Typewriter on desk with blank page     I do not look back at the previous post while writing the current one, nor do I spend any time planning for the next one before I begin it. Those are the rules of this series of 365 posts, and I am sticking to them. It is really hard to write in the moment. It is also somewhat freeing. Not looking back would probably not be a problem for most people. I have such a terrible memory though that it is entirely possible I will completely repeat myself at some point (maybe more than once!) during this challenge. I hope you will forgive me this indulgence. It is important to me and also fits in with the driving force behind the current incarnation of this site. I am trying to share myself and find some way to connect spiritually with the world around me. Sometimes I find it hard to leave my room and this lets me get out there in some small way.  

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Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 38

This entry is part 31 of 32 in the series Just Write Something Damnit!

Author’s Note: If you have not read the first post in this series then all the rest will make no sense at all. Please click here to take a quick look at Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 1

Remington Standard Typewriter on desk with blank page I want you to be uncomfortable with yourself…to writhe in your own skin.   Life has been trying to make you feel that way since the beginning and you have resisted. You have stonewalled at every step. You have fought for your normalcy and average standing. Every time strange or unusual or out of the ordinary pops up you fuck it back into the darkness with time-honored tradition and the way of the world.   Stop.   Think.   Act.   …like the blessed soul you are   …like the unique piece of the ultimate puzzle that you are   …like the king or queen, not the pawn   Stop, think and act like you give more than no fucks about this amazing existence we are a part of. Do something strange or unusual or out of the ordinary. Do something to bring light to the world.
Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 39

Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 37

This entry is part 30 of 32 in the series Just Write Something Damnit!
Author’s Note: If you have not read the first post in this series then all the rest will make no sense at all. Please click here to take a quick look at Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 1

Remington Standard Typewriter on desk with blank page

Thinking About Death

The combination of morbid creativity and extreme anxiety that powers the mainframe I call a mind affords me plenty of (unwanted) opportunities to consider how I want to die when it is my time to do so. Not that we have a choice, but I think I would probably be right in assuming that every one of us has—at one time or another—considered one type of demise preferable to another.  

Suicide?

I have considered the merits of types of suicide (that’s another story, for another day) as well as accidents and diseases. My imagination is high powered and my dreams even more so. The combination has allowed me to explore the feelings and emotions of the end in ways that most could not even fathom.  

The Best Way To Die

I am probably a part of the majority when I say that I have always considered dyeing in my sleep to be the best way to go. The assumptions I base that on are that it is painless and unexpected. Critical thinking is a bitch though, and I have recently come up with a couple of reasons why even the (seemingly) sublime thought of slipping away in the dead of night could be just as terrible as all the alternatives: 1) It is always assumed that dyeing in our sleep is painless. I think that assumption comes from the fact that no-one is there to witness it. We wake up (or walk into the room the next day) to find our loved one dead and automatically assume that they just slipped silently away into the great beyond. Is that the truth or the tale we tell ourselves to cope with our own personal loss. 2) The older I have gotten the more I have come to firmly believe that we implicitly know when our time has come. If that is true then there is no ‘unexpected’ death. Even if it is just a fleeting moment—we know when the time has come.  

A Bug’s Death

What’s the point, Dave? Glad you asked. I was driving home from Pennsylvania today contemplating death. It is a terrible thing to do when you are driving 65 miles an hour in a large piece of metal and glass on a road filled with potholes and surrounded by assholes that are just trying to get to their 4th of July party before all the beer is gone. That being said, I am an asshole too and that is exactly what I was doing. The anxiety was really starting to affect me when all of a sudden SPLAT! A huge bug exploded on my windshield right at eye level. It was in that moment that I decided that—if I had my druthers, and the power to decide how I was going to go—I would be a bug, on a highway, on a windshield.
Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 39

Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 35

This entry is part 28 of 32 in the series Just Write Something Damnit!

Author’s Note: If you have not read the first post in this series then all the rest will make no sense at all. Please click here to take a quick look at Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 1

Remington Standard Typewriter on desk with blank page  

Instant Karma

And now, instant Karma… We had a family party for my niece yesterday. My daughter decided (because she’s 15 and this is what she does) that she wanted to leave early and go to the boardwalk with her friends. So we go to the party for an hour and then the plan is to take them to the boardwalk then return to the party.  

Traffic In Point Pleasant, NJ

As we are driving I realize that the traffic is going to be a nightmare and I start to get annoyed. We don’t get caught with the ridge going up but the traffic through town is stop and go. I tell the girls that I’m going to drop them off at the end of the long parking lot because I don’t want to drive alway up to the beach and deal with more traffic. My daughter argues the point a little (because she’s lazy) but then accepts it when she realizes I’m annoyed. We get to the parking lot entrance, they get out, and I make a left to head towards the rear exit. I can already taste the first beer and burger!  

Laughing Emoji’s

I make it about ten feet and stop. There’s a line of cars vying for a spot that’s why opened up. Two ladies are standing in the spot not letting anyone in. They are holding it for their friend further back in the line. The lady in the car right by the spot finally has enough and gets out of the car to confront them. An argument ensues, A fifteen-minute trip turns into an hour, I get my instant karma, and my daughter sends me three laughing emojis when I text her the story.
Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 39

Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 33

This entry is part 26 of 32 in the series Just Write Something Damnit!

Author’s Note: If you have not read the first post in this series then all the rest will make no sense at all. Please click here to take a quick look at Just Write Something Damnit! — Day 1

Remington Standard Typewriter on desk with blank page
I had a heart-rending nightmare one evening that left me broken in the dark for hours after it occurred. This terrible piece of #flashfiction is what it spawned.
 

Brianne stood silently by the table and watched the flame flicker on the wax embodiment of the number fifteen atop the cake. She’d been there well on ten minutes now — vacantly transfixed by the ebb and flow of the tiny light in the middle of the room. She watched, standing straight, arms limp at her sides, head lolled to the right, and completely emotionless.

The cake is beautiful she thought, white icing and all — a very nice gesture from the mother who could not make it home for her birthday. The thought brought a single tear to her eye that left a black mascara tinged trail as it gently streamed down her face. It clung, momentarily, at the bottom of her cheek before dropping to her breast below — In the end, one tear was all it took.

Brianne took the knife from the table and pulled it gently across her throat. The intent was fragile and focused on attention. The effect was resolute and final. She underestimated the sharp bite of the blade and it pulled itself deeper into her flesh than she had ever intended. White icing now red, Brianne slipped into the black.

That is the end of Brianne’s story and nothing that came before this moment or happens after, matters. Her entire existence begins and ends, with one single moment of despair and miscalculation.

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