Sharisse Zeroonian
Bio
Writer/Filmmaker/TV Producer/Long-Suffering Teacher/Potential Grad Student
"but all my words come back to me, in shades of mediocrity"
Stories (11/0)
Man Talk: Part 4
(Continued from Part 3) “Oh, like at camp.” She replied, and after a few moments of racking his brain, he remembered what she was talking about. Years ago, he, Nazeli, and Paul had been counselors at the summer camp that was affiliated with David and Paul’s church - a job both their parents had encouraged them to take in hopes that their people would somehow find him less of an acquired taste. At the end of the summer, all the counselors who hadn’t returned home had themselves a party around the camp pool, a little reward for the past eight weeks of wrangling pre-pubescent monsters.
By Sharisse Zeroonian3 years ago in Humans
Man Talk: Part 2
(Continued from Part 1) .....“Hey, Spielberg.” A voice, darkened by early manhood, broke his creative trance. He turned around and saw “the Manukyan goons” as David and Paul called them, because they went to Manukyan - a private Pre-K -12 institution on the other side of town where the hardcore Circle folks whose parents had money went. Paul had gone there before he transferred to public school, where he met David, in third grade after it became clear to his mother and father that Manukyan’s shoebox environment left him gasping for breath. The students there wore plaid uniforms, studied in classrooms with posters of Mt. Ararat on every wall, and learned "dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" along with their times tables. Girls were expected to be white lace and the boys were trained to be testosterone meteor showers, as the three that stood before him definitely were. The hulking, excessively hairy leader of the group, Sarkis, loomed over David, and his henchmen Kyle and Tigran stood on either side of the frightened boy.
By Sharisse Zeroonian3 years ago in Humans
Man Talk: Part 1
David had always had an oil-and-water rapport with sleep, and it didn’t help that, despite being on the fifth floor of his respective tower of the Fontainebleau Hotel, he could hear cocaine heartbeats of techno all the way from the pool area outside his window. It was only eleven in the morning, but there seemed to be no wrong time for stereos to blast in this thin slice of Miami Beach. David found himself wondering how the place would be if the constant stream of music were to suddenly stop; surely, the air would become stoic and thirsty - sort of like how it was in his old neighborhood in one of the more forgotten parts of Santa Ana, where he spent his first eighteen years before moving to Los Angeles as people with delusions of making it in the film industry are wont to do. But he didn’t think about it any further; thinking about death and decay - or worse, feeling it - can take someone for the type of ride that he tried to avoid going on, even by himself. When David could feel himself drifting back into slumber, his phone screen lit up. It was Paul, his artistic partner-in-crime, already wanting to know tonight’s plans.
By Sharisse Zeroonian3 years ago in Humans
