Then life gets in the way…

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Collins here, 

Over the last month this blog has been left to the wayside and I apologize for that. Unfortunately I have been unable to post due to serious medical issues. In the coming months I will be undergoing treatment and I can’t promise regular posts. Just know I will try my best to keep this blog running and my partner Turner will do her best as well. Thank you for understanding that life is real and it doesn’t always agree with what we want to do sometimes, but we do our best to make it work.

Peace and love,

-Collins

My poem titled “Things we Like”

Blog, Inspiration

We tend to push back the things we like
Like small children
And place them behind the things that we don’t like
We’re content with living joyless lives
And shucking money into the void
We’re told we can’t do the things we like
And support ourselves
So we spend all of our time doing the things we don’t like
Until every last drop of our joy is gone
And we don’t have the energy to pull
That small child out from behind the ugly things
And create something we do like
 
-Collins

“Jack” – short story pt. 2

author, bullying, character, characters, fiction, life, new, Short story, Uncategorized, Writing

Dad moved us into a cramped studio apartment on the fifth floor of the Cedar Dove apartment complex when he accepted his newest job opportunity. We’d made the drive, only two states over, packing our measly belongings into three suitcases before hitting the road. But that’s how we lived, out of suitcases, never putting down roots. Dad’s a rep for a pharmaceutical company. He trains hospital staff about new drugs and once he’s done, he’s stationed at a new hospital. He loves it, he calls our life an adventure. People must be jealous of all the places we’ve been, all the things we’ve seen, he’d tell me.
He comes home to find me sprawled on the couch that came with the apartment, flipping through channels on the small t.v. I watch his hands, he holds a small array of post cards. He’s always done this, collecting a post card from each place we visit and tucking it neatly in a small scrapbook. It’s always seemed like some sort of bread crumb trail to me. If we ever go missing, people will know the last place we were. I turn my attention glumly back to the t.v.
I hear the sound papers make when they brush together and know he’s flipping through the cards, picking the right one worthy enough for the scrapbook.
“How’d school go today?” Dad asks.
I shrug, though the movement is hidden by my loose fitting hoodie. “Fine.”
“Your tone says otherwise.” He sets the cards on the table near the door and crosses the room, taking a seat next to me. “Are you having trouble again?”
I chuckle at his phrasing, trouble. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
Dad clasps his hands together in his lap. “I could make a call…”
I sit up quickly. “Don’t do that, please. I’m fine.” His expression is unappeased, so I continue. “We’ll be gone in a few weeks anyway.”
The concern flickering in his eyes fades before he nods his head. “Alright, then.”
“I’m gunna hit the hay, early day tomorrow,” I say, retreating hastily from the room.
He watches me go, closing my bedroom door and even then I still feel him staring. I pull a bottle off my dresser and shake a couple of pills into my palm before swallowing them down dry. The only good thing about my dad’s job is I get great drugs.
I’m out like a light in two minutes flat.
-Collins