Memoir
Dreaming of Electric Sheep. Runner-Up in Chapters Challenge.
I do not have dreams. In the literal sense. Obviously, I have my delusions of grandeur, my dreams of one day having something I've written be held in high esteem by somebody with no real vested interest in my life other than I'm the cool weirdo artist they've been obsessed with for some reason. I want my farm with my goats and to never have to look at another computer again. I want to sit on the porch and play guitar and have a big ol' Mead Hall thing that acts as sort of a private club/social venue. I want to provide a space for people like me, who are bad at stuff, so we can be bad at stuff together but in a way where the, like, 2 things we're good at end up being really useful. I have THOSE kinds of dreams.
By Aaron Richmond3 years ago in Chapters
A City Divided by the Danube
Transportation in Budapest was better than anything I’d have ever hoped. Growing up in Utah, part of the “great” American West expansion, I’d experienced life from cars, cars, and more cars. Urban, rural, and suburban sprawl was the name of the game. Bikes were at best a hobby or short-range transportation from, I don’t know, one friend's house to the next, if you were willing to climb the steep hills of rural Elk Ridge. In college, I managed to live in an apartment close to campus, so rode my bike regularly, but shopping had to be done by vehicle. Not in Hungary. Between the tram, bus, and subway system, everything was accessible and affordable–so long as grouchy ticket patrols didn’t question your exchange student status. As great as the transit is, Budapest truly opened up to me when I bought a bicycle.
By Christopher Michael3 years ago in Chapters
The Long and Winding Road
A chapter from my memoir. It was December 1975, a few days before Christmas, when the boss told us all to go to the 'Fill ya Boots' pub at lunchtime. He said that he had a very nice surprise for us all as a thank you for all of our hard work. We presumed that he was going to give us all a well-deserved and much-needed cash bonus.
By Liam Ireland3 years ago in Chapters
Oveda Nash Alder
You bettered my life without me even realizing it. You were like a mother to me, my safe harbor. I always struggled with my mom's drinking growing up, she was not a pleasant drunk. But your home was always there as a safe refuge. I would stay over there as often as possible, even though as a child it could be quite the boring routine, I did not mind because it brought me comfort.
By Tressa Rose3 years ago in Chapters
Cow tales: Story of Bonzy
Cows make the best pets, an unconventional notion, but one that rings profoundly true. Their noble disposition, gentle giants with a touch of majesty yet grounded humility, they are simply the best companions, if you can overlook their enormous size.
By Temjenungla Imchen3 years ago in Chapters
The Sand Pit
I can’t possibly write about my life without mentioning the sand pit. Across the white sandy road I grew up on, there was a vast field of weeds we called the "Great Waste". Tall clusters of yellow and green weeds swayed in the summer sun for as far as the eye could see. On the other side was another road; one with sparkling beach-white sand, leading down to a sand pit.
By Veronica Coldiron3 years ago in Chapters
It Wasn't Me
One thing you need to know about me is this, I never lie. With me, you get the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me, well I don’t believe in God, but you get the idea. Whether you like it or not. No weaselly denials from this guy. No sugar coating or lying to save your pretty little feelings. Want someone to make you feel better? Comfort you with the lies you tell yourself so you can sleep soundly at night? Find some other sad schlep. I got integrity. I have balls. I have the right to tell this story. And this story, my story, is a story of murder.
By Rachael MacDonald3 years ago in Chapters
Hop, Skip, and Jump Away
Time passed like a flip book. I'm always on the move. The world seems wide open and full of possibilities. Exhaustion is my way of life. I'm living somewhere between a Dream and a Nightmare if you average it out. I bustle from home with my boyfriend, to school, to volunteering, work experience hours, work interviews, and jobs. I'm beginning to buy into life again. I do all the cheesy things people do. My energy can feel bigger than any room, with a smile just as big. Going out is a regular weekend activity, we have perfected. I'm like a doll that can dress up for any occasion. My clothes give me confidence in rooms I feel unprepared to be in. I hate being stared at, but the contradiction is ignored for now. I'm oblivious because for the first time I feel put together. There are so many problems, but when you're busy they are easily brushed aside for another day. After all, I have living to do. It is the modern roaring 20's. We were unapologetically uncouth by classic proprietary standards, as we would drink, dance, and socialize into the morning hours of the weekend. Then sleep in past 10am as our bodies recuperated. The times felt larger, grander in a way, than they probably should have. I'm young with an unrealistic view of the future. This is the part with the wagging naughty finger to your face. The kind my grandmother would do when telling me I shouldn't have done something. But, too much of a good thing can always ruin it, especially when so many things get brushed aside that they become weights of cement attached to you in water. As swimmingly as the prior moments could be, could quickly turn. It's only a matter of time. The brain is tough, but even it has limits. Limits I was testing. I'm already aware I'm not infallible, but this time I'd even shock myself. Stress is a powerful thing. Mix in a little depression and life changing events and my flight mechanism of escape went into overdrive. Or at least I suspect, looking back. I sat staring at the wall. Tracing the imperfections on the otherwise immaculately smooth surface. It's sad the comfort I feel in the place after failing. It's a place I call home, I've found. I can make people go away, it's easier. I do better along side, not with. I always wonder if people are actually interested in things they ask or if they are just being courteous. It doesn't matter either way, but it's helpful in knowing how much to put into something. Think of it as a cross country race. If you didn't know it was 3+ miles you wouldn't conserve. You might do more of a sprint and then once realizing be unable to finish. I think this is life for most people. Then the one's that worked too hard in the beginning are poked and prodded to the finish line, while trying to regroup. Not that I have much to discuss anyways. I follow, read or watch a lot of off beat things when left on my own. Glancing around the room while trying to get my thoughts, feelings and day organized I notice the tattered brittle binding of my childhood photo album. I reach for it. I place it in my lap as I sit on the floor of my closet. I open the cover. It still has all the stickers I placed on it over the years. A passport of sorts of my childhood. I like the stickers. I was never concerned with keeping things perfect for others. I clung to memories like currency, even back then. As if I was at risk of losing them from birth. Health things will do that to you I guess. I didn't know it was possible to feel every emotion at once. The disappointment in others and myself. A disappointment so strong it could take the embodiment of a mob killer, stalking me. That disappointment was pulling me down, drowning me. Cement weights stuck to me.
By simplicity3 years ago in Chapters
The Ultimate Prank
Many years ago, when I was a girl of 18, I pulled one of the best pranks ever on my older brother, Ed. It turned out to be the ultimate sibling prank, only because of events that happened earlier in the night that, at the time, I was completely unaware of.
By Mother Combs3 years ago in Chapters
