Flash!

Back by popular demand!

Well, maybe not.

Regardless, hello to all! I recently decided to try my hand at Flash Fiction, I guess to try and get the creative juices flowing again. Been in the usual rut. With that being said, the following is my attempt; I don’t know if I wanna keep it short or turn this into a longer piece. Would love to hear some critiques/opinions. Enjoy!

“TOUCH”:

Lily watched his naked body writhe.

He was a tornado in bed, and not in a good way. He had been snoring more than an hour now, but the way he tossed and turned, you’d think he was trying to force the deep sleep he had already entered.

She had picked him up at 10, at Bourbon Street.
“D’you come here often?”

Why was that every guy’s opening line? “Do you come here often?” So what if she did? Would that make it easier to understand her, to break through the prototypical sheild he most definately figured her to have? And if she didn’t? Would he have given up trying to chat her up? Its a stupid question. She would have appreciated a better one, something like:
“Hey, I wanna fuck. D’you?”

But no. “D’you come here often?”
“No. Just came because I heard they have $1 martinis. I love martinis.”

He had asked the bartender for two martinis so quickly it was almost sad. But Victor was cute, cute in that “I-don’t-do-this-often-but-she-smiled-at-me-and-I’ve-been-drinking-so-why-not” way. Like he didn’t know his own potential. And, in his defense, Lily had smiled at him. She had also rubbed her cleavage against his arm, which was out in full bra-busting effect, but he looked like the type that needed a little help.

They had drank a few, talked a few. It was a blur. She had spent most of the night trying to hurry things up, but Victor, typical man that he was, wanted it slow. He was cute, yes, but as the night went on it began to fade. He wanted to woo her, to talk about his job and his skills. Men always want to conquer, not be conquered. She almost gave up on him, but it was already midnight so

Lily grabbed his inner thigh and said “Do you wanna get out of here? Its getting too packed. I don’t live to far.”

His eyes had widened, and she could feel a stirring in his pants. Already?
They had taken a cab to 43rd. She fucked him. It ended too quickly. He was too excited, too vigorous, not imaginative enough. But he had touched her. That was enough.

Villiany.

As a writer (and I’ve discussed this before on this blog), the balance between a protagonist and his antagonist is paramount to a good story. And by a good story, I mean a successful one, i.e., one that results in a powerful catharsis for its readers.

With that being said, I think the best written villians are Disney villians.

Yes, I said it. Stay with me here.

Take Gaston from “Beauty and The Beast”. On the cover, he is a hilarious overly-satirical man’s man; an ignorant behemoth overflowing with machismo. But what makes him the most horrifying (and successful) is the fact that at the most primal level, he’s insecure, and he is REAL. Like he could exist. He probably does!

Another example is Scar of “The Lion King.” He’s a black lion, but even his persona can exist. That jealous sibling driven to the brink by his own envy.

Ursula is practically an example of satiring the Devil. Someone who uses peoples’ own vanity against them.

The list goes on and on. Even though these are kids’ stories and movies, I defy you to find villians more complex, more relatable, and more real.

Simple Post Saturday XII

“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”- from Cosmos by Carl Sagan

Murder.

Back again!

The following is a scene from my novel. I’ve been working on it for awhile, trying to make this scene hit hole as much as possible. Hope you enjoy it (and I’ll try not to disappear from the blogosphere for too long this time):

“When they had first met, he had become encapsulated with how striking her face was. How her muted hazel eyes contrasted with her lustrous black hair. Her porcelain skin flawless, her thick eyebrows just the perfect shape, or, what he believed perfect eyebrows should look like. She had made him care about eyebrows. When they went out for dinner the first time, after getting over whether he had dressed up enough to not make her look bad, he realized that he would never lose her in a crowd because of that face. It was at once recognizable and unforgettable.

He couldn’t recognize her face now.

It was drenched in blood, but her short hair was somewhat familiar. He forced his eyes to examine the rest of her, but with each inch of Amelia he saw his eyes would shut again, closed by another slash, another piece of torn flesh. Randy’s breathing became erratic. He began to touch her with his fingertips and, like a child doing something it knows is bad, he would quickly remove his hands. His eyes led him to her throat, where he knew in his heart most of the damage would be. Instead of just six holes, she had a total of twelve, with four of those holes black and smaller than the others, just like the other murder victims. He rapidly edged away from his wife’s body, his eyes widening. He looked at the walls, toward the ceiling, as if he would find her true form somewhere, anywhere else around the room and not on the floor where that ravaged imposter was. His eyes were wide and he let out an anguished moan.

It slowly turned into a ferocious scream that shook the core of everyone in the building.

Exquisite.

“ولو أن إبليس يوما رآك، لقبل عينيك ثم اهتدى”

“And if the Devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent.”

-Farouq Jwaydeh فاروق جويدة 

I’m not as active on this blog as I’d like to be anymore, but man. Seeing the magic that writers new and old have been able to work with words is at the same time humbling and inspiring. A must-share.

Forward.

I have to be surrounded by progress.

Does that sound weird?

What I mean by that statement is simple. I can’t be stuck in the same situation for too long. I can’t be around people with the same mindsets and same goalless mentalities year in and year out. I can’t be around ennui.

There is something poisonous about being stuck in the same position in life for too long, I think. Well, unless you’re happy and rich beyond measure. Then you’re okay, I think.

For the last year and change, I have had the unfortunate chance of being in one such situation. Not for a lack of trying to escape, either.

Because that’s the whole issue, isn’t it? Once your stuck in a state of no progression, it is extremely hard to get out. No matter how hard you work and try, it seems like all the forces in the world conspire to keep you settled where you are, which is interesting because if the world stopped moving, we’d all die violent deaths.

But we continue on. We fight. We work. We push through. Because humans are nomadic in nature; we have to keep moving. We crave progress.

We need it.

Royalty.

Yes, I’m back.

Lol. Been on a hiatus for the past couple of weeks; too many things going on within and without that have really taken a toll on my writing ability and my writing time.

At last though, I have returned to drink the words that are water again. This blog has really helped to keep my creative spirit alive, and sometimes even exorcise the demons that have crowded me at times.

With that being said, an incessant argument that has been going on for, well, ALL TIME, but has recently become more prevalent has really left me dumbfounded and, in fact, at a loss at the audacity certain people have to make bogus claims and believe in them (<—– that is one ugly sentence).

I'm sure many of you have noticed it before, but if not, this is the argument in its purest form:

"Ancient Egyptians were/were not dark-skinned".

Crazy, right?

I mean, crazy that this is even an issue.

I'm reminded of a quote by the great Neil DeGrasse Tyson, where he said "The good thing about science is that its true whether you believe it or not."

Science, the very same science that is the truth of the world, tells us that the ancient civilizations that evolved from our very distant ancestors in Africa and Ancient Sumeria were dark-skinned. How? Well, they evolved with extra melanin in their skin, a pigment that allowed them to absorb the sunlight coming down on them while dissipating most, if not all, of the dangerous UV radiation. This mutation occured because humans are adaptable, and in that case we had to adapt to our environment and atmosphere. Ancient Africa = very hot and bright sun. I mean, its still hot over there.

I know I am putting this in very simple, Wikipedia-like terms, but the reason for this is because it baffles me that people are really arguing about this. I’ve heard things like “well, why are all the Egyptians in the movies light-skinned?” to “there were white people in Africa back then!” as defenses for those who are arguing for the…THE WRONG SIDE.

Let’s lay all our cards on the table here. This is not about what is true or what is not. This is not about this being a scientific theory or scientific fact.

This is about racism.

This about how certain individuals can’t handle, nay, can’t even fathom the idea that one of the most civilized, progressive, inventive, and intelligent peoples of all time were not white. So much so that they are willing to turn a blind eye to scientific, proven fact.

Its as simple as that. And its ridiculous.