memoir -- brianIt was a warm and lovely summer day. The sun was shining through the shades of my bedroom, casting bright strips all across my floor. I could practically smell the shining air outside, taste its particles that were sweet and moist with the fragrance of dew-dropped vegetation. The night before I had danced to my iPod in the bathroom, but today I had plans; and I was so excited that I ran down the stairs after getting ready, which didn’t take long, as I felt comfortable enough to leave my hair curly. I slid to a halt upon reaching the door, plugged my earbuds into my ears, and turned the music from my iPod up loud as I opened the door andmemoir -- brian
ClementinesGently grasping my fork and cupping the chilled sphereClementines
in my other hand, I slip
a singular prong through the
skin, for my nails are too short to even scratch it
After peeling, I break the juice-filled sectors from their group embrace And I pop them into my
mouth, two at a time They burst between my teeth, filling my mouth with delicious liquid
The juice flows down my throat like a Canada waterfall,
and my chest feels like
cool, white sands and I can taste the sunshine I close my eyes and smile,
for today
injusticeHe felt his lips quiver, and his knees trembled as he struggled to lower them to the ground before collapsing after a demanding blow from the sleek rifle. His comrade lay bloody and beaten in the yellow sand to his right. Gaze befixed on the black tunnel looming at him in front of his face, he heard his comrade's rattled breathing climax, and then cease. He felt sicker than any man dying of illness ever had, and his friends shuddered and weeped behind him as he raised his arms to the heavens as if to accept his fate. He stared relentlessly down the the circular black tunnel--which stared back very gravely, though it's master jeered and mockedinjustice
mother of sevenGray was the color of everything. It was the color of the streets upon which we slept, the buildings my children played on. It was the color of the sky over this damned, polluted hell. It was the hue of each of my seven children's complexions, and it took over more of my hair day by day as I desperately worked to get the color back in their cheeks. It was the dust that had settled in our old house after we were all forced to leave. Everything a combination of separate blacks and whites--money or no money, employed or homeless, life or death. That's the way they see. It was the color of my tattered clothing and it matched the three-piece suitmother of seven
crap?
--
Talent is nothing if we dont work it out
--
I met a man who had been touched by god,
except it wasnt god, it was the man in black.
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