short stories, writing

rain and I were friends [short story]

It was pouring down with rain. 

That was the least surprising part of my funeral. 

It rained the day I was born. 

It rained on my wedding day (and that was ironic because the marriage lasted all of three days). 

It even rained the day I got my first job. 

Hell, it rained the day I won and lost a winning lottery ticket. 

Rain and I were old friends. 

So I fully expected it to rain on my funeral. 

Water pouring and cascading on to my pinewood casket. 

Dripping and dripping they finally lowered me into the ground. 

That part was expected. 

I wasn’t expecting a huge crowd, but I counted more people than I’d seen in the past few years. There were old people, young people, kids, fucking kids. I didn’t know any kids so I wondered which forsaken inviduual had brought their offspring along. After some deep thinking I reasoned that maybe they’d been hoping to get some free food out of it at least. 

This wasn’t the funeral I had planned. I wanted it to be over quickly. Someone would pour a dash of whiskey on the wooden box and push the button that sent me into a pit of fire. 

After a few minutes, I’d be gone. 

Ashes to ashes. 

Dust to dust. 

Into thin air. 

Maybe afterwards, my only friend would drink himself into a stupor in memory of me. The next day he’d wake up in a pile of his own vomit and vow to get on with his life.

Obviously, none of that happened because my dear old mother had other ideas. Here I was watching a huge procession in the street. People I had never seen before carried my casket.

Worst of all, my mother delivered a eulogy full of lies when they got to the cemetery.

My son was a great man, is how she began.

(I ran away from home when I was eighteen.)

I will never get over this loss, she continued.

(I suspected that she would once she saw that I’d left all of my money to my half sister – same father, different mother – just to spite her.)

I will miss him until the end of my days.

(Like she missed me over the past twenty years?)

Yet, people ate it up. They sat there and cried because grief is contagious. It was like an electric ripple that ran through people in tandem, infecting them with its darkness. These people didn’t know me, but I was their chance to grieve. I was serving some kind of messed up purpose.

It’s a pity then that in life, I’d made a lot of enemies. The kind that I’d hoped my planned cremation would put off. If there was no service, there would be no targets. No targets meant no bloodbath.

Avoiding a bloodbath was obviously a priority.

However, as I saw my mother talking, and heard the revving of engines in the distance, I knew that shit was about to hit the fan.

I was faced with two options.

Play dead, or try to save a bunch of people that had no business being at my funeral in the first place.

In case you’re wondering, I’m not a zombie. 

I’m not dead either.

I’m also not alive.

Try working that one out.

The gunmen set sights on the gatherers fairly quickly, bullets raining down in synch with the raindrops. Screams echoed across the field, and once again, I wondered just what my mother had been thinking. An outdoor funeral? It was unfathomable.

Amidst the chaos, I set about directing those on the field. Agent Roberts had to take the east side. Agent Matthews took the left. Daniels, south. And me? Well, I was stuck here from my vantage point.

Watching.

There’s a good reason why I died. Why I killed myself off before anyone else could. In this business, it pays to be smart. I’ve seen so many good men flounder and fall because they didn’t know when to call time.

I knew.

Waking up to a bullet in my windshield wasn’t necessarily the first indication, but it was a start.

Blood on my walls? Well, that definitely got the ball rolling?

Getting shot in the back and finding out that I’d be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life? 

That sealed the deal. 

I knew than that the old me was dead. That guy was gone. I wanted to make it official.

In a way, this was my last act in my previous life. The final chapter. Bullets were flying, people were screaming, field agents were doing their jobs. The stuffy desy job that awaited me would never propel me to such heights so I decided to make the most of it. The angles were tight, everything was a risk, but I ran point like I’d never done before and the situation was contained within fifteen minutes.

My mother stood in a corner, huddled under a foil blanket, with something akin to excitement in her wide eyes. She would be telling this story for years, that I was certain of.

In a way, thanks to my her, I got the perfect send off. Adrenaline. Excitement. The sense that even in my diminished capacity, I could still help. I wasn’t useless. I could do this.

After thirty-seven years of providing me with nothing but disappointment, it was the least she could do.

© hiptobesnark 2017

photo challenge

Treesitions (photo challenge)

This is a response to this week’s  photo challenge

This week, share a photograph that signifies transitions and change to you.


A few months ago, these trees were devoid of leaves and colour and now they’re bright, vibrant and making the park look mighty fun. In a few months, these trees will go through another transition and the cycle will continue. 

Much like life. 

So essentially, we are all trees. One day we lose our leaves. On another day, we get them back. Sometimes we fall down and then we get back up. And okay, trees don’t get back up, but you get the point. 

Bitchin', Life

Give Me A Sign (#SOCS)

Forever – and ever
the scars will remain

I always like to think that I’m this closed book, but lately I’ve figured out that I’m not. I’m sort of the goofy, quirky, hapless girl who’s always laughing. However, I’m not always laughing on the inside. I’m barely laughing on the inside. In fact most of the time I’m in a constant state of despair on the inside.

Usually, when I’m in a downward spiral, I get the usual signs. Increased blogging. Check. Lack of constant writing. Check. Low motivation. Check. Low mood. Check. Fatigue. Check. Procrastination. Double check. Fixation (some of y’all can attest to this one). In some ways, the signs make it easy for to figure out why I feel the way I do, but in another sense, it’s bullshit.

By the time I’ve overcome that, I say to myself, let’s take time to just be. Less sad, of tired, whatever. By the time I’ve done that, the cycle starts all over again. 

Anyway, I think all of this kind of bleeds out in my personality. The snark, the cynicism, the sarcasm, dry wit, the fact that I turn everything into a joke. I am probably the epitome of old man yells at cloud, but it’s how I deal.

Anyway, if there was a sign I’d use to represent myself, it’s the caution sign.

For several reasons.

  1. Not everyone can handle my sense of humour. Often, I’m being facetious when I speak but maybe it’s too deadpan. People take offence and it doesn’t end well.
  2. I’m an idiot (no really I am) and thus makes me annoying at times.
  3. It’s unlikely that you’ll ever fully know the real me.

To expand on three, I’m at the point where I’m not going to tell certain people candid details about my life. If that makes me fake or whatever, so be it. Often people who seek this knowledge don’t have your best interests at heart. They store it and use it whenever they want to get one over you. Suddenly, that insecurity you shared is being used to make you feel even more insecure and it works. That kind of thing stays with you, or it’s stayed with me.

Like the lyrics at the start of the post state, forever and ever, the scars will remain, but, you know what? Fuck anyone who isn’t happy with the way I am.

Unfortunately for them, I’m non-refundable and I don’t do exchanges. 😎

~

This is my entry for this weeks #SOCS, details of which can be found here!

Lyrics are from Give Me A Sign by Breaking Benjamin. It’s worth a listen if you haven’t heard it already! 

short stories, writing

clouded in a heavy sourness [short story]

Written for Prompt #44 (below) – from this post


The maid is not a maid, the house is not a home
~

My life isn’t what I’d call conventional. It’s okay, it’s good, whatever people define as not bad. I live in a huge house. By huge, I mean, huge. There’s ten bedrooms, probably more bathrooms and enough scented candles to stock an apocalyptic safe house. I have want I want and I can’t complain.

That’s how I’d describe my life to a stranger at least.

Perfect.

Idyllic.

Nothing is wrong.

Smiles aplenty.

In reality, it’s fucked up.  Continue reading “clouded in a heavy sourness [short story]”

Life

One-Liner Wednesday | All Things Are Possible

All things are possible when you wearing purple converse


My friend and I love purple. We are also underwhelmed by life so we are trying to find solace in the unlikeliest of places. Such as my purple converse! 

This is a a response to One-Liner Wednesday. You can find out more and participate here

Life, Random Thoughts

a lonely life where no one understands you | Random Thoughts #19

Hello, people. It’s ‘Get A Freaking Diary, S!’ time. I’m sure that someone out there is enjoying my rambling. 

This weekend my friend and I came up with our own motivational/random quote. I’ll post it on Wednesday, but it’s awesome and nonsensical at the same time. Which kind of sums me up. Haha. 

Anyway, I’ll start by talking about Instagram again because I have no life.

  • Bob is in Texas this week. 
  • The picture he posted was slightly ridiculous. I mean, it was cool and all but I don’t get those people that take pictures of themselves in water. Aren’t they worried about dropping their phones? Bravery, y’all.
  • My Instagram is dead. The people posting pictures either don’t talk to me anymore, or I’m not really a fan of them anymore. I could search for stuff, I guess. Meh. 
  • Bob is basically the most active person on my Instagram. I mean, I’m still not sure what his contribution to society is besides broadcasting his face as much as possible, but then again, my contribution isn’t much either so, I cannot judge. 
  • I’ll wait until when I’m at peak boredom levels and not in a slight state of anxiety. 
  • I still don’t like his picture.
  • Every time I go to post, I get put off because it just feels so pointless. I posted a few pictures this week but I shall disappear for the time being

The Korn lyric/post title:

  • It’s true. 
  • I was thinking about my friend of ten years who I am no longer friends with. My feelings on that range from, that fucking bitch to…that fucking bitch. So they’re balanced feelings then. 
  • People understand perhaps, but I don’t think they give a hoot. 
  • I don’t blame them. Everyone wants to be understood, but there’s 7 billion of us and that’s too many people to give a shit about
  • I am weird anyway, so, not understanding me is okay. 
  • I don’t even understand myself. 

Random Thought of the Day

Was that dish covered? Oh my goodness, I hope it was! I don’t uunderstand. 

Considering that I’m not eating whatever the hell it was, I’m not sure why I’m so concerned but HELLO, BUGS AND STUFF. 

Writing update:

  • It’s going. 
  • Slowly
  • I cannot really do much with my hand. 
  • Yesterday I was on meds and trying to write, frustrated and this happened:

Hate it. Hate it. 

For one, my brain is foggy. 

I can’t control my hands very well so I keep making mistakes. So so many mistakes. I cannot keep a single thought together.

The ideas are coming but not in order. 

Still, I write, because I’m a masochist. I have to put myself through a different kind of pain while ridding​ myself of another. 

Time for a sleep methinks…Just spent five minutes staring at a wall. Also my shirt was inside out. 

Head is extra foggy. 

Anyway, more later. 

Uh, okay self… I love that I wasted time writing that instead of just sleeping. 

Real talk: please don’t compare me to other people

  • I don’t need you to project on me
  • I don’t need you to live vicariously through me
  • I don’t need you to guide me through life
  • I don’t need you to tell me that I’ve achieved nothing in life
  • I don’t need to hear you boast about how successful you’ve been when everyone can see that it not true
  • I don’t need your advice when everything I want in life is everything you turned out not to be
  • I don’t need you to rant and rave when I show no interest
  • I don’t need your negativity and poisonous mindset
  • I don’t need your abuse at all
  • I need you to get a clue and leave me alone

    Writing update 2

    • Finished a story!
    • I need to work on posting some more short stories on here. 
    • I need to work on my short story that’s sort of about me but isn’t. 
    • Finished another story. I’m on a roll. 
    • I will post the second story here because it’s original and based on a WordPress prompt. The other one is fanfic (yes, I dabble in such things). 

      Anyway, have a good week, people!