Sketch...y

His precious candle lights up in the darkest of dark, brightest of day, like a glowing coal that ceases to be put out. He and his candle are inseparable. She sometimes wonders if his candle is more important than her. She is his girl, but the candle seems to take the place of her. Everyday, every chance he gets, no matter what the situation is, he goes off alone with the company of his candle to light it until there is nothing left but its fragrance lingering. He lights his candle to release the pain, to release the emotions, release the feeling, to escape for the moment as though he is some where else. Once finished with his candle, he goes back to her. He treats her like an angel until the candle beckons him to come back to it, to be lit, to be touched, to be held. Its call, its sound, its feel, rings in his mind, the feel of it is still on his fingers, the smell of it draws him in. Echoing in his mind, it is as though it was a siren, now its wailing, screeching through his mind, now its speaking to him in its soft sound, drawing him in. He leaves her for a moment for time alone with his candle, but what he isn't seeing is this love for his candle is tearing him and her apart, it pushes her away. She is moving on with him by her side. It makes it easier for her to move on because she sees everything that is falling apart with them and the love he has for the candle. It feels as though it is an affair he is having with his candle. In the past week he has held the candle more than he has her. His love for the candle is so strong, so immense. As though him and the candle were Romeo and Juliet, it would ultimately be the poison his lips would press against, touch, grace, the sword he unsheathes and holds to his chest and penetrates through his flesh. The love and passion for the candle would kill him. Maybe not soon, but it eventually would.

The Impulse

SCENE 1

(Driver looks over a few times and focuses back on the road and the rain.)
Passenger: What do you want?
Driver: What do you mean?
Passenger: You keep looking over at me… Do I have something stuck in my teeth?
Driver: No
Passenger: Is my make up smeared? Is my hair messed up?
Driver: No, nothing is wrong with how you look. You look fine to me!
Passenger: Then why do you constantly look at me? It makes me think that there is a stain on my shirt or something.
Driver: It isn’t that, it’s just I don’t really know what to say or where to go from here.
Passenger: What’s wrong?
Awkward silence
Passenger: Well?
Driver: I don’t know, it’s just been a tough year. My dad got sent to prison for his second time, he broke his parole, my brother had a drug bust and is going to juvi, my mom, well she is hardly around. I just, I just am not sure. And on top of that, my dog got ran over. That put the icing on the cake. The red icing…
Passenger: Blaine, I am so sorry! I had no idea what had been going on!
Driver: its fine I guess. I mean, you didn’t do anything wrong.
Passenger: I know but still! I feel bad.
Driver: I pretty much have lost my family. All I have left is you. I am scared to lose you now. I know that probably sounds queer or femme but it’s true and you know how much I hate sounding all emotional or whatever, Heather.
Passenger: You won’t lose me. I will always be here for you. I love you, Blaine.
Driver: I love you too.

Non-Existant

Driving in the rain. Almost home. One more exit until they can get off. Rain pouring. Swerving truck in the wrong lane. Headlights heading closer. Head on collision. Hearts slowly beating. Metal grinding, denting inward. Glass breaking, shattering all over the pavement. Shattering all over them. Wounds that cannot be healed. Sirens drawing nearer. Last thing seen; flashing lights. Hospital room beep, beep, beep. Drifting away into a state of deeper unconsciousness. Family surrounding. Tears of heartache pouring from eyes. "It may be fatal, but we will try our best." Time passes. Several attempts. Worst words to hear. "There is nothing more to do. Say your last good byes."
It is never a good thing to attend a funeral for children. It is never a pleasant thing to see when it is a brother and a sister. Family stand around, catching the last glimpse of their babies, wallowed in their own misery and selfishness. They think that it is their fault and they want them back. Do they ever stop to consider that maybe it was just their time to go? Maybe there is a greater plan for them? Maybe there is a stronger force than what is in this home people call Earth? Maybe there is a better place to be than here trapped with a bunch of people. Perhaps, if there is a life after this, the ones on the other side wanted them to be there.

Intro

"I'm never alone. I'm alone all the time. Are you at one or do you lie? We live in a wheel or where everyone steals. When we rise it is like strawberry fields. I treated you bad, you bruised my face. Couldnt love you, boy, you've got a beautiful taste."

Glycerine- Bush

Am I a reader or a writer? It all depends on the material I am reading. I tend to get lost inside the lyrics of a song but I do not expect that to be called reading. If I am reading a book, it seldom captures my attention but if I am reading a poem or a peice that actually means something to somebody it brings me to a whole different level. If it talks about how someone is feeling now or at a point in their life, it opens my eyes. I can put myself into their position.

When I write, I tend to base characters on people I know, friends that I spend my time with, struggles people I know have had. When I write, it isn't usually some mystical fairy tale about unicorns, dragons, and prince charming; when I write, it doesn't always have a happy ending because in real life, endings do not end happy for everybody. I can elaborate a bit in my work but I tend to keep the plot real, the people real, the situations possible, the story imaginable.

So, the question. Reader or writer? I would much rather get lost in my own imagination than some 72 year old mans' imagination who is blazing it every night to get more inspiration.