andy-o24's Literature Dump Thread

[andy-o24]

Reformatted it a bit, should look a little neater. Throw some criticism my way.

A Windy Day

Their arms rose and fell rhythmically at his approach, always wanting but never daring to touch him, to feel his power first hand. The aura surrounding this man was plenty. Daily they experienced this sensation, the rising and falling of their arms, seemingly helpless against his influence. Soon enough they will slip, touch the man they dare not touch, and, what will become of the one who touches this man. Their reach will be shortened by the man with the power, the man they dare not touch. But until then, their arms will wave and the man will go untouched. This is all to say, it was a windy day.

Trust Me

"Sir! Your change."

Sam turned around and looked at the man behind the counter flailing his arms as if his voice wasn't enough to grab Sam's attention. After all, he was the only customer in at the time. "You'll owe me."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Sam replied nonchalantly.

"No I didn't."

"You heard me, you just didn't understand me. Seriously, keep it. You will owe me. Just trust me."

"Sir, you paid for a ninety-nine cent drink with a twenty dollar bill. Please, take your change.

Ding. Customer number two entered the store slowly and with shifty eyes, surveying his new surroundings. His black hooded jacket fit him well and his cargo pants concealed anything in his pockets. Sam implored the cashier to keep the change and insisted he would owe him all while watching the man in the hoodie.

This is it. This is what you came here for. There's no turning back now.

Sam meandered undetected to an isle near the register, but hidden from the jacket and waited. It was the jacket's move.

The man in the black jacket pulled out his pistol and clicked off the safety. He emerged from the isle and trotted up to the counter, gun leading the way. "Open the register, man. I don't want to have to hurt you. Cooperate, and we'll all get out in one piece."

Fumbling with convulsing knees and trembling hands, the cashier obediently gathered the money for the thief. All the while, Sam inched closer and closer
to the man in the black jacket.

BANG!

It all happened so fast, no one could discern what really took place. Sam kicked out the thief's left knee and grabbed the right arm holding the gun, forcing it to the ceiling. Shock contracted the muscles and fired the only shot, missing everyone by meters. Same detained the thief the cops took him from there.

"This should cover it." Said Sam to the cashier with a wink, taking exact change. "Told you you'd owe me. All you had to do was trust me."

Southern Laughter

They stood together, face-to-face, in the dirt field. One woman, one young lady. The boys looked on, chuckling at the sight. The boys stood in huddled masses looking back and forth from the ladies to the boys in the huddle.

"What's the matter?" Asked the older woman in a silky soft voice. She spoke with the utmost elegance and her voice was irresistible like a sirens song.

She was blushing. Or was she? It could have been from the heat, or sunburn from a hard days labor. Her head was hanging and her voice was soft. "I laugh with a southern accent," said the young lady sheepishly, watching the dust cloud that arose as she swept the ground with her foot.

The older woman kneeled down to the young girl's height. The woman lifted the girl's chin up and looked her right in the eyes. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are who you are, from the bottom up and top down. You must forget what those boys think of your laugh. If they will have nothing to do with you than to make fun of your laugh, you need not have anything to do with them."

The young lady wiped the tears from her eyes. A small smile started to blossom from the corners of her mouth. "Do you really mean that?" She asked the older woman.

"Of course I do. Your laugh is lovely and is one of the many things that make you unique. Never let those boys get you down because of your laugh."

The two walked back to the school house with ear to ear smiles, passing the boys who no longer found it so funny to make fun of her laugh.

The end.

A Storm Is Coming

Click clack, click clack the soles chant rhythmically.

Tick tock, tick tock the time continues to churn away.

Observers would only be able to hear the mumbles, incoherent sounds from a man deep in thought. They would wonder why he wanders and where his wishes will whisk him away to. Day turns into night in the loft of lonely thinkers, stealing away the tickets that permit him access to the train cars.

All aboard! And yet, none move. The destination undesirable to those who consider all things. Empty cars pour through the station with no takers, ignored by the prospective passengers. This man is no exception.

Why should a man be imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit? Exiled. Alone. Why too should his sentence be interminable? The wardens of want, the diplomats of desire forever with eyes on the innocent criminal shred his sanity to threads.

Darkness engulfs the station. The faint, unmistakable rumble begins to fill the ears. The man is deafened by a cacophony of common commotions. Rain beats down on the shingled roof, time continues to tick away, the footsteps maintain their hasty pace.

But what if I bought a ticket, he wonders. If only I'd bought a ticket. But to where? Where can a man go when his body rejects nourishment? Where can a man go to escape his mistakes? Where can a man go...Where?

A flash of lightning blinds the conductor and a new train barrels through the station, blowing a gust of chilling wind past all of the inhabitants. What can I do he wonders. Maybe that is the better question. What can I do about this?

A beam of light creeps through the clouds and collects at the feet of the man. That is it, he decides. I will do what I said I would do all along. I will buy the ticket, I will make the journey, and I will free myself.

The station is now flooded with light and a new train stops to pick up its passengers. This time, many move, including the man, now free of his self guilt.

The Abandoned House

The house seemed alive. Everyone knew it had been abandoned for years, the yard was a tangles jungle of long grass and weeds, tree roots protruded from the soil and the bushes were leafless clusters of wood. But every so often the curtains in the windows would flutter, likely because of the gaps in the building, optical illusions made passersby think a light was on inside but the electrical must have been useless. Some days you would swear the grass was shorter than the day before, but none of this was possible. The house was abandoned and that was that.

One day, a man, the ever curious man, decided to take a look inside. He worked his way through the thicket that invaded the narrow path leading to the faded green door. He stumbled as he approached it step by step, alone with just the vapor of his breath in the cool Fall morning staying close.

The porch was spoiled with cracked cement and the lights were missing their bulbs. Cobwebs lie in the upper corners, but nothing but dew was upon them. The floor mat held the friendly greeting "Welcome to our home." The man slowly reached for the dusty handle, checking over his shoulders to find no witnesses but wondering if what he was about to do was right. He had come this far already so he proceeded and found the knob gave way to his command.

What the man saw inside was by no means surprising. An old, wooden staircase was to his left, covered with signs of rot damage and missing the second and eighth steps. Wallpaper keeled over itself and hung off the walls like hanging moss on trees. The paint was cracked and chipping off with piles lining the baseboards. Down the hallway directly in front were crooked picture frames and a door ajar, missing its top hinges. To the right through the archway was a small room composed of two rocking chairs and an old piano, likely out of tune.

The floorboards creaked and moaned under the weight of the man's' first steps. He proceeded cautiously down the small hallway, testing every step and gently pushing the door out of his way; the remaining hinge squealing under the strain. The hallway opened up to a kitchen area and a family room. Immediately in front was a rotting wooden table covered in dust with no chairs remaining around it. To the right was the small kitchen, holes where appliances would be, counter tops missing, but the sink still dripped the residual drops rhythmically. The family room to the left was desolate. Stained carpet was all that remained besides a cracked mirror above the mantle.

The man explored each room briefly. He checked the broken locks on the door leading to a jungle-like backyard. The next door, directly across the room led to the garage, empty , aside from some shovels. He moved along and checked the pantry. There were once structured cardboard boxes strewn about with bugs enjoying a feast of surely expired dry goods. There was one more door the man had yet to investigate. It was slightly ajar and a cold breeze and damp stench came from the opening.
Beyond the door, a wooden staircase led to an unfinished basement. The cement walls were uninviting, but fully intact. Light streamed in from two escape windows revealing unexpected sights. Furniture and boxes full of this and that filled the basement, stacked high and packed wall-to-wall. This was the first sign of normalcy in the whole house. A back storage area was packed to the point of almost no entry. There was a refrigerator near the staircase and the man went to take a look inside. As he approached it, he heard from upstairs the piano begin to play.

The man was frightened. Could someone still live here? He debated confronting the player or to wait for them to leave when the boxes started to shift. Flight took the better of him and he bolted to the stairs and flew up them, stumbling over himself as he reached ground level where the floorboards were less than sturdy.

The playing intensified.

The man could hear laughter. Cackling laughter arose from the basement. Laughter through the ventilation. Laughter all around him. He ran down the hallway but the door fell off its hinges and on top of the him. He shrugged it off and tried the front door, suddenly locked. He turned for the stairs, running up them, skipping the should-be second step but forgetting the eighth. He tried to pull himself up with the banister but it collapsed off the wall under his weight. He scrambled out of the hole and up the rest of the stairs, sprinting to the room at the end of the hallway.

The laughter grew to a deafening roar in his ears. He pushed aside the door, closed it behind him and threw the latch. He curled up into the fetal position directly across the door and covered his ears. The door shook and swayed as the door knob rattled from someone demanding entry. The laughter continued accompanied now by the crashing of door against frame. The man rocked as he cried, deafened by the great cacophony of the house.


Three days passed before the missing man was discovered. Three days before the door was tried again and gave entry. However, this time men in uniforms stepped cautiously through the doorway. Two police officers tasked with searching the house. The ground floor was clear, garage abandoned, basement cluttered but clean. The officers found no signs of life until they went upstairs.

A faint rambling could be heard off to the right when the men made their way up the stairs. They approached the door cautiously and slowly cracked the door open. What the officers found in an otherwise empty room was a man, rocking back and forth in the fettle position, eyes staring wide and off somewhere beyond the doorway, muttering to himself "Make it stop."

The officers asked his name. "Make it stop."

They asked him to stand up. "Make it stop."

The ambulance arrived promptly at noon that day and the shell shocked man was nursed back to physical health. He still mutters to himself, pleading for someone to make it stop, but no one knows what he wants stopped. To this day it is unclear who or what still resides in the abandoned house, but seems more alive than ever.

Heart of Winter

We met in the heart of Winter
while snow blankets the ground.
With acquaintance we became friends,
a truly odd pair,
but the world bestowed upon me
someone I'll never forget.

And how could I forget
that fateful day in Winter
when I met you and you met me?
Running is how we hit the ground.
Hand in hand, this pair
became the best of friends.

As we walk through life as friends
there may be things we forget.
Like how we came to be this pair
that cold day in Winter.
But as we tread across this ground
be sure to stick by me.

I promise you when you're with me
that we're the best of friends.
We can lay upon the grassy ground
spend time we won't forget.
And if you're cold in Winter,
entwine our bodies as a pair.

Together we will stay in this pair,
just you in the arms of me.
Chilly weather in Winter
won't separate we friends.
We'll make memories to never forget
and make angels on the ground.

We will walk together across the ground
as one inseparable pair.
The feel of your hand I'll never forget
as you walk hand in hand with me.
Together we'll be the best of friends
until our final Winter.

If you lay below the ground without me,
the pair separated but always friends,
I will never forget our first Winter.

-o24