Fiction

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We’re swimming in reality.

I’m (technically) a millenial, so I spend most of my time online. Twitter is literally my life’s blood. Snapchat and Instagram are entertaining when I have time to kill. I visit Facebook occassionally to check in with distant relatives. If this were the Matrix, I am 100% jacked in.

Because of this, I (we) am bombarded with news. News of the Republican repeals, distressing news about the local and national communities,”stirring” news meant only to arouse anger and conversation amongst timelines and, of course, disparaging tweets from He-Who-Somehow-Became-President. Since I have no self-control and absolutely refuse to put my phone down (even while typing this), I find myself swimming in anxiety, depression and exhaustion.

Writing provides an EXIT door.

Now that I’m in the later stages of my 20s, I’ve muscled my way into logging off a few times a month for breathers. Sometimes I literally can’t take any more news: no more death, no more videos of fights and riots, no more idiotic arguments over the (nonexistent) liberal/gay/black agendas.

I can build worlds from nothing and destroy them with ease. I can create tolerant, loving, honest people with the flick of the wrist. People who look like me can be represented honestly, without dated stereotypes or identifiers. I’ve probably already written about someone like you or someone like you.

Being a writer is one of the harder arts, IMO. I tried to go into journalism when I got to college, but when I realized there was ZERO creative freedom, I dropped it immediately. I’m just not that type of writer, and to force me into a gray box is to force me into an early grave (I’m being dramatic but you see what I mean!). To be talented enough to paint mental pictures for others is a gift I don’t plan to squander. Even if no one ever reads another word I write, I would still push along. No matter how difficult it gets or how many blocks I will suffer through, the end results is always something even I’m shocked to read. I believe that, if you truly love your hobbies/career, you’ll take the good with the bad. Sometimes, I’m completely uninterested in writing and I’ll have an amazing idea at 4am that wakes me from my sleep. It’s ingrained deep in me, so much so that I cannot ignore it or abandon it.

If you’ve never been attracted to reading (or writing) fiction, look at it this way: when the world weighs on you, words can be the wings that carry you away.

 

Part One- “Normal”

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Summary: Alex, a rudimentary hunter, gets herself into trouble and Sam gives her a piece of his… mind.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Alex 

**Warnings: Smut, smut and more smut. Oh and language. **

A/N: My first fanfic. I kinda got tired of the Y/N trend (it kinda breaks up the story, IMO). But I hope this revs some engines and grabs some followers! Comments/reposts/likes are welcome! Continue reading

Ghosts

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She reminded him of love he once had.
Brown, like too much cream in his coffee, hair that she refused to tame,   even down to the gap between her two front teeth.

There was a bend in his back;  too many years hunched over his Harley caught up with him. His white hair was thinning in the center. He was young & wild, trapped in his withering body. She sat alone & he asked to join her, eager to be close to his love once more.

He still work the black gemstone in his left ear. She had dared him to get it, clicked at him mockingly as he stared at the threading needle she held. He held his breath as she numbed his ear with an ice cube & impaled him. He had never removed it, even after he sold his Harley to pay for his wedding years later.

It was a different time then, when they were in love. They weren’t allowed to be together: racial tensions were at an all-time high as legislation geared up for integration. They concealed their affections, wary of stares & whispers. Her father forbade her, his family scolded him & they continued on still.

When she left him for a spiritual plane, he was in agony. Even now, all these years later, a perfect stranger brought him to the brink of tears. He’d existed, lived, loved & created since then, yet he still pined for her.

The girl left, off to the rest of her life, pushing the old man into a memory she wouldn’t recall for years. He’d spent a lifetime for one more moment with her & given the choice, he’d do it all over.

The End

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Andrew preferred to work solo until his partner was found. He hoped daily that his departure was voluntary, that he didn’t go rogue and got caught in a fatal situation. The day was unusually slow and he was about to call it  when he got the call. “Desiree” flashed across his screen and his heart quickened. He hadn’t spoken to her since the night he went over, even though he desperately wanted to apologize. He took a deep breath before accepting the call. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound cheery. “Andrew…”
“Yeah, Dee, I gotta apologize for the other night. I was way outta line…”
“Andrew…Someone’s here,” she whispered.
“What? Who?”
“I don’t know. He kicked in the door. I’m hiding upstairs.”
“Can you make it to the back door?”
“No. He’s coming up the stairs.” Andrew stood up from his desk. “Dee, listen, you need to open the window and…”

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Chapter Eleven

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Alice heard the car pull into the driveway. Andrew was home. She quickly picked up her laptop and pushed her glasses back on her face. He’d been gone less than an hour, yet, she was still worried. Things between them were beginning to fizzle again and she was terrified it would get worse. Anytime he left the house, she questioned if he was going to see Her again. He was never out later than normal or smelled of perfume. Alice had never found any evidence of an affair and she double checked nightly. Cheater’s Remorse was getting the best of her and she planned to put a stop to it. 

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Chapter X

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Six weeks later

Roman stood in the empty parking lot, Lurch on his left and 5 of his newest goons behind him. He was one handshake away from cutting Erik off at the knees.

Two black sedans pulled into the lot opposite the posse. Their occupants exited and formed a barrier around the man last to exit. Hiro Shimamoto was the primary supplier for all the drugs Erik moved into the States. Roman had to pull many strings and call up a bunch of favors to get his number, followed by several phone calls to get a face-to-face. Shimamoto didn’t venture far from his compound, unless a lucrative offer was in place or an example needed to be made. Roman still wasn’t sure which brought him here. Shimamoto was a small man with a large arsenal. Old age was beginning to set in his joints, evident in the black cane…

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Chapter Nine

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Alice skipped over her criminal past and the scar tissue on her uterus. She told Andrew everything else, just as she promised: the miscarriage, the depression, the pain, how she wound up in Jackie’s arms. Every feeling and thought she’d had over the past 11 months, she laid bear for her husband. An hour had gone by when she finally stopped talking. Andrew struggled to maintain his composure but he could not hold back the tears. He was genuinely heart broken, the first time since Monique LaSalle, whom dumped him 3rd French in high school.

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