Justin Fong Cruz
Bio
Justin Fong Cruz is a freelance artist based in Winter Park, Florida, and is currently attending FCC.
Stories (19/0)
Chelsea & Fish
Based on actual events. I decided to dedicate and write this story based primarily on last night's wicked endeavor under the neon hustle of Downtown Orlando. A wicked night that unmistakably felt like a real-life Gonzo-like movie, conquered by unlimited possibilities!
By Justin Fong Cruz2 years ago in Fiction
Anne Charlotte Had It Coming
I. The first thing Anne Charlotte said to me was this: “Check me out. You’re mine.” Mind you, I was not in an intelligent mood to decipher her pink riddle; I was only listening to the flowery notes from her nectar lips, the cool blossom gift of whatever she was trying to say. Cute little thing, she was. As I kept my dumb eyes glued on her, I tried to think of something cool to say, but the thunder in my mind only repeated: You’re mine. You’re mine. She must have noticed my rejected and boring brain which held no cool conversations, so she left.
By Justin Fong Cruz2 years ago in Fiction
The Melted Dreams of Vais Ipr
Undetermined in space, Pent Star held the universe and plagued forth the nectar transient of Eon Graver. A new world was created from Eon Graver’s reversed Energy-Ex (or, Life-Ex). In being, the first dot men of its kind was Vais Ipr. He stood tall in the magical fields of copper trees. He yawned and surveyed the ethereal night sky, looking intelligently at the jumping sky frogs in the clouds. “Wonderment,” he spoke first breath. He bent down and touched a copper tree, slowly caressing the cool brittle fungus. Then, he pulled out a copper tree and ate it. “Mmm,” Vais Ipr said. “I can feel its nutrients.”
By Justin Fong Cruz2 years ago in Fiction
How To Get Out of Florida
Claire and Regan Hedley were sisters. They would always complain about how hot and humid and sticky and gross it was outside. Sometimes, they would have to shower two or three times a day, yet as soon as they would step outside, the moisture in the air would immediately coat their body in sweat and moisture. There was no point in showering. They shared one bedroom, and hardly spoke to one another—eons away in their own separate worlds. Their phones were unlimited galaxies into the traveling media of rumor and digitalis. Weeks would pass before they might share a quick, shocking, or inimitable glace at one another—a warm, sister-like familiarity—jolting them back into blood-related existence. In compliance, Claire and Regan complained about how unusually hot it was today.
By Justin Fong Cruz2 years ago in Fiction
Eon's Close Enough
I. It was all a blur. These colliding temptations welcomed such beautiful and tragic opportunities, and my timing was eternal. There was so much to discover. These are only convoluted the desolate recollections I would come to experience during my rotten departure into a world I thought I had always wanted. I never lived, not in the sense of self, not when these conditions mended for themselves. I was not aware of endings, or what I thought was considered real. I had no concept, and I was not prepared for the abuse and the loneliness. I was a great mystery, not knowing that everything would come crashing into me. Watch me calibrate and exist. I never stood a chance.
By Justin Fong Cruz3 years ago in Fiction
A SHORT FALL OFF THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
They sailed the green juggernaut ocean for sixteen weeks, searching for an eternal island. Their tiny ship trembled violently in the waves, and it was starting to fall apart, mainly because their ship was made from simple tree logs, rope, string, etc.
By Justin Fong Cruz3 years ago in Fiction
First Dates and Execution
Kat was wearing a special seraphim dress that sparkled and shimmered in the warm Florida sunlight. She had on her special stilettos that made her super tall. She would almost get light-headed every time she stood up, but she did not mind the light feeling. She was rare and excited, maybe even a little nervous, but that was okay. She sat outside the Starbucks on Aloma, just drinking her iced mocha, just watching the cars go by like fervid ants. She did not mind the heated energy of the atmosphere. She liked being warm, and since she was wearing her special seraphim dress, she felt a cool breeze pass through her legs. She smiled a secret, maybe even an embarrassing smile to herself. Small birds were flying in the clouds above her. She looked at the birds and smiled at them. They waved back with their wings, it seemed. She kept looking at her phone, looking at the time. She was still a bit early, but that was okay. She patiently sipped her iced mocha, watching the world spin by. Everything flowed like magic, in heated spirit! Everyone had things to do, maybe even special things like first dates. Kat was on her first date. She was nervous and excited, feeling a strange confidence because she was wearing her special dress. The dress actually belonged to her best friend, Mary Taylor, but after today, Kat decided that she would keep the dress in her closet. She smiled at the idea of pulling out the dress that she had worn on her first date, wearing the dress on second, third, and maybe even fourth dates. Maybe she would get married in that dress! She smiled at the idea. She always wanted to get married but knew that she had to go on a first date before she could even get married. All of the sudden, she had a panicking thought that she was being stood up! And in her special seraphim dress, no less! She would have to burn the dress if she was going to be stood up on her first date! Mary would understand. Mary had a million other date-dresses. Kat was secretly envious of Mary’s dresses, even though Kat never really wore dresses. She would definitely start wearing them, starting with the one she was now wearing! She smiled and told herself that it was still a very good day. The sun was out, and everyone was out, it seemed. Everyone was happy. She hummed a Taylor Swift song to extend her happiness. Once she finished her iced mocha, she stood up and smoothed out her already smooth dress. She went to the trash can and threw away her empty cup. She didn’t know if she wanted to sit back down, or go inside the Starbucks and wait on the couch. She figured that she would look more appealing, sitting in the AC, sitting on a comfy couch, maybe even crossing her legs this way and that, looking super seductive. Her date would practically fall head-over-heels for her! They would get married and have six children! Then she thought about the dim lighting inside and figured her seraphim dress would not sparkle or shimmer as effectively as when she was out in the sunlight. She asked her birds for an answer, but her birds were already gone, flying off into other bright, atmospheric winds; probably flying off into shady trees. She did not let this sad fact bother her. She just stood by the sidewalk, watching the cars tumble along. Then, A hot gust came unto her, and her dress almost went all the way up! A car honked as it passed her almost-blown-all-the-way-up dress. She smiled embarrassingly at the cacophony. Nevertheless, she figured that she looked good enough to deserve a honk, and smiled at this thought. She opened her phone and called Kevin Knell. The phone rang and rang, then clicked off despondently. She called again. The phone just rang and rang, then clicked off. She was instantly offended because he did not answer her two! phone calls. Maybe he was stuck in traffic, but this was a silly thought because she knew Kevin didn’t drive. He did not live far from the Starbucks, which was why they had decided to meet up at the Starbucks for their first date. She looked around the parking lot, noticing a group of teenagers about her age pull up in a minivan. They were cool kids, she imagined, because they all had boyfriends. She watched as they laughed and joked and kissed their boyfriends. They rollicked into the Starbucks. Kat decided that she would wait outside. Wait for Kevin to show up. Any minute now, because now he was late. But not super- late. She noticed that he was only a few minutes late and that she shouldn’t worry or jump to any conclusions. There was no way that Kevin would ever stand her up! Especially not on their first date! The thought calmed her, but that didn’t last long because then she started to think about a million different reasons as to why Kevin would ever stand her up. Maybe she was not pretty enough. Maybe she did not have an attractive personality. She barely spoke with glamour or volume. She barely talked in such a manner as to render all the boys to fall in love with her lascivious spells. But she was wearing her special seraphim dress! She was pretty, she decided firmly. Then, she realized that Kevin had never seen her in her special dress and that she may not have been as pretty as she had thought. The idea made her sad. She almost wanted to cry! But she held back her tears because crying would only ruin her make-up, and how would that look if Kevin saw her with her make-up all wonky. She stomped on the ground to prove a point, but her stiletto hurt her feet, so she wished she hadn’t stomped on the ground. Kevin never showed up. There was no first date. Kat hated Kevin infinitely, and she cried all the way to Mary Taylor’s house. Kat was still wearing the forlorn, dateless dress, but it had gotten all wrinkled and sweaty from the walk. She apologized and started to take off the dress once they were in Mary Taylor’s room. Mary Taylor said that she didn’t have to take off the dress, so Kat kept it on because even though she had been stood up by Kevin Knell, she still liked the dress. She still felt pretty wearing the seraphim dress. She promised to execute Kevin Knell the next time she ran into him. Mary Taylor smiled, liking the idea.
By Justin Fong Cruz3 years ago in Fiction
Hieronymus
I. Tragic dying mess, an endless flow in the veins of the mind, we spill forth unto the world, crushingly. We are a blur, the smallest invention, lost to indifference, and what becomes of the stars and the world fixed perfectly between our infinitesimal eyes? Our thoughts are worn, conflicted, and idiosyncratic—melting and blending into the abstractions of memory in the form of repeating devastation. Oh, how the mind churns on itself, inwardly, never capable of capturing the infinite reaches of life! We are tired, yet we are always moving, and there is nothing in the sky, and everything is already here. Everything is already made, waiting to be destroyed; repeat, system. Decay holds so much consecrated beauty! All tangible things of tragic lust and abusive blood, lost explosions we can never see, lost exploding hearts we fail to feel. We sense the loss, and we asphyxiate in ambrosial arches, bending the mind beyond distant dreams, carrying that ephemeral disease of subconscious oceans of colors! We cannot control our erratic hearts, our nasty little habits that flow with temptation. We experience the void and all that derives from it. Lascivious feelings, invisible touches, and false promises, chiseled deep in the symposium of fading, desirable dreams. Is this our only world? Are we surfacing from our abandoned and quivering bodies, in its own fortress of nothingness, never reaching past dying angels? Can we burn? Can we trace starlight scars? Can we finally become and make one less singular error in common places?
By Justin Fong Cruz3 years ago in Humans
A Canopy
The trap worked. When the beast took the bait, the trap closed down hard like an arrow. Its hind legs were crushed; its bones came jutting out like warm glue. It was a wacky thing to view, this beast succumbing to my homemade trap. I had used nothing but sticks and wines from the canopy. I stood in front of the beast, not worried that it might hurt me; it was in agony from its broken legs. I removed one of the sticks from the beast and licked the blood clean off. Yum.
By Justin Fong Cruz3 years ago in Fiction
Anne Charlotte Had It Coming
This was before Anne Charlotte killed herself. This was still a pretty good memory—if you ask me—so, I might as well remember it, and tell it properly. Everyone got a different side to the same story, but I know the story best because I was there. I don’t have to make anything up or stretch the truth. The truth will always find its way to the surface. I will tell it just like it happened. It began like this...
By Justin Fong Cruz3 years ago in Fiction
Kyle's Law
KYLE’S LAW Us desert people, we hear good smallest sounds any out in the desert, we tell food fine looking at wild flowers, we skip sand like pebbles. We know good how cross the desert and pass through the mountains. It gone easy. We have instinct, us desert people. Today, Jerry don’t catch no game, gone I give him my berries some. He a younger desert kid, dude fresh gone no town right next outskirt of the desert! Anyways, Jerry, I guess, adapting to the vicious winds, the heat unforgiving. Gone need to acclimate, being so high up in the desert. No good get lucky and leave the desert and go even further up the mountains. We are skill, us desert people, don’t get gone wrong, but wanting none pass the mountains sure fact death-vision. Many we live gone nomadic lifestyle, save desert ambiance perfect for us world. Some us don’t gone anywhere to go. Some us know nothing but desert, like me, living the desert good no twenty-and-six years. I don’t gone no better lifestyle because my life in the desert gone some good version of Eden, save we have nothing but cacti and poisonous weeds. The sun none bother me. I done use to that, unlike that Jerry fellow. Look at him, just standing there blistering heat with none protective cover his face. We desert people are good cover our face and wear super UV-reflecting goggles. Jerry need himself a pair. I’m not none with that help. I done made my friendly gestures post-game, giving gone my berries. I done can catch game none problem, off wind, but that not a point save try I make. That none the point save I am one-hundred percent survivor machine. Jerry, I wonder, will last none but the rest of the week.
By Justin Fong Cruz3 years ago in Fiction
Balancing Catherine
1. The storm is growing near. We feel the inert and stagnant air grow more and more silent. She complains about the temperature in the room so we go outside, but it is just as hot. We hear nothing except for the coquis and the occasional burst of shooting stars. She always spots them up above, pointing vividly to the skies. I always miss the phenomenon. I always miss the ghosts that Catherine sees at night in our new house. I don't believe in ghosts, much less in her, but the more adamant she becomes, the more I start to believe her. But I will only reach out my skepticism as far as her pretty, quixotic mouth would lead. The storm has started. She wants to go back inside because the winds are beginning to howl. I tell her not to be afraid. She thinks I'm talking about her ghosts. Under the approaching deluge, she simply says that nothing will ever be the same. I never believe in what she says.
By Justin Fong Cruz3 years ago in Fiction