Fitcion Genius Writer
Grown in South Carolina
Dream Job ----> Mountain Bike in Bali
Never Meet Her/ Ms. Barnes
The phone rings in the office of Bill Foster, a globally successful and recognized therapist, some even call him a natural healer. "Bill Foster speaking." "How come you never understand where I'm coming from!" The publicly unseen nonchalant ego-driven Bill motions through his pile of work, ignoring his wife's concern. “I can get you anything you desire just let me finish today's workload,” Bill promises. “It's not that simple!", her voice was quickly interrupted by a merging call, which forced their conversation to come to a halt. “Yes, assistant?" “Hey, your 1 o'clock appointment is here.” “Okay, send them in.”Continuing to fiddle through the schedule, Bill doesn't see this appointment,“that's strange,” he thought. His thoughts suddenly are cut off by the sound of the office door slowly opening. “Hello...?”The woman's angelic voice called from behind the door, urging Bill to lean to the right in an attempt for a better view. “Yes, come in.” The door revealed an elderly woman who was fragile, and clothing deemed too heavy for her based on the assumptions of Mr. Foster. The woman graces in awe as she stares around the room, appreciating the successful accomplishments of Bill. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you, even though it's for therapy”, the woman chuckled. “Why thank you”, he responded. Bill insisted that the woman take a seat, as he guides his hands to her seat. “Ms?”... “Barnes”, she inserted. Strangely the initial angelic voice, switched to a cold demanding tone, causing a sudden shift in Bill's demeanor. “Why yes Ms.Barnes, first is there something you feel that needs attention for this healing process?” The woman fixes her grey hairs toward the ground, as her shoulder's illustrated laughter softly bouncing up and down.” Mr. Foster, there's certainly an appointment today, but it's not for me”, as a concerning grin played across her face. Bill, still unaware that this Ms. Barnes was casting a curse on him, mistakenly locked eyes with her sharp, yellow bird-like eyes sealing the hex. “Mr. Foster, hmm let's see he's smart, highly successful yet he's secretly neglectful”, she sarcastically voices. The woman slowly rises to her feet, once realizing Bill was fully under her control. Bill has no control over the situation falls backward in his chair, inviting Ms. Barnes closer as she places both hands on the pinewood desk. Continuing to look into his all-black eyes, she asks “as your mind slowly grasp my commands, are you sure?”Unintentionally Mr. Foster nodded in agreement. Now kneeling on Bill's desk, she commands the spell. “I will understand the nature of a woman, gain the ability to channel their perspectives for once, and value their sacrifices now be!”
Pay attention ,everyone you meet has a part to play in your life, be the judge whether their intentions are good or evil." In this case, I'll just tell you guys this story, and you be the judge. As the morning rose in the summer of 2012, I awaken to the day of my grandpa's funeral. "What is it that you want to be when you grow up grandson"? The question my grandfather would always ask me, as I habitually replied with shoulder shrugs. See life at grandpas was mandatory because my mother would always be chasing the next thrill, having little time for me. Although I never complained, simply because grandpa Jessie gave me the love I craved from a father in addition to being a great teacher. Grandpa Jessie also took on an abundance of land in which a secret pond was where we would fish from, well okay hideout from grandma until her nagging ended.
The Woman in Yellow
She never spoke a word and I could hear her. As we made soul contact, gathering our assumptions from unaware pleasures. Our assumptions created this figment which was deemed necessary for our individul criteria. "Could it be the truth"? Who would crack first, we play the game and don't realize time is running its course. Let us meet in the mutual distance, revealing our assumptions to one another. If not I may never see you again, but could only write about you. Waste time causes a what if? Consequently causing a loss of more time wondering.