oh, the fool
i’m a full tank and two pay days away from packing my car to the brim and running away there’s this nagging in my chest
I left my small world and all of its comforts the summer I turned eighteen. My parents would tell it differently, but I had a burning lust for life, and I could no longer stay within a cardboard box setting fire to it over and over. I planned meticulously for months, and when the day came, I hopped on a plane, landing in New York City. It was everything except traditional and absolutely nothing like The Carrie Diaries, but it was mine, and I felt free. The jump came with what seemed an endless fountain of struggles, but I could finally breathe.
At first, my life seemed a fair trade for the promise of everlasting fame. To live in the hearts of all was a gift bestowed upon me from the Gods. Even if I had the mind to refuse, prophecy left me bound at the heel and wrapped in immortality. Perhaps the promise of eternal life would be enough for a mortal, but what was life without the adoration and praise of every Greek man, woman, and child? They will sing my name until the end of time. Until the world goes up in flames, leaving only ash and dust. And tell tales of the quickness of my legs and the prowess behind my spear, which would inevitably guide Myrmidon men to war. Despite my mother's desperate pleas, Zeus allowed her to be seized by my father, king of the Myrmidons. To quiver in the guise of destiny would be cowardly and a waste of my talents. I would undoubtedly wither into a nameless, barren soul. Though I was grateful for my 'half-god' status, my mortality often left me weighing the worth, but to speak in such a way would be an insult to the Gods. So to keep my mother's wrath at bay, I learned to keep my head high and chest puffed forward.
Trials Of Forgiveness
I had every right to decline. The roads were icy, and I was drowning in work. But, those reasons aside, I hadn’t seen or spoken to John in almost fifteen years.
The note first appeared on May 15, 1996. I remember this precisely because it was graduation day. I hadn't had any grand plans like some of the others. I would work at the docks without complaining like my dad did and come home to take care of my nana as he did with papa. Times like this made me wonder how life would be different if he were still around. Or if my mother had stuck around past my 3rd birthday. But that way of thinking is what turns you sour, and I learned early on that fairytales were just that; made-up stories meant to make the travesties of life easier to cope with. I much prefer my truth al a carte. The bitter taste of knowing hits you hard and all at once, but it ebbs just as fast.
- Winner of True Colors Challenge
Black & Bold
I drink my coffee black because my daddy does. And he’s worked beneath the red, hot, South Carolina sun since I was young, and then some.