The first paragraphs of your short stories touched the lives of the other young brothers around you. I asked you not to comment on the paragraphs until we all had a chance to share. That did not work. The writings of the Brothers Authors controlled the institute. The writings made us react in visceral ways as your pens dripped with humanity, both real and imagined. I was deeply moved and fortunate to be among you.
We will continue to write our stories today. I am excited to see how your pens will lead you.
The seeds of my short story, Barracks, is below:
Barracks
by
Alfred W. Tatum
For the past three nights, I have been urinating in a Gatorade
bottle to spite my mother who complains about the creaking door. Fed up with my behavior, my parents
think it is a great idea to send me away for a month to learn how to shine
shoes and make a bed. I am sick of their overbearing Christian ethics and their filling the house with Sunday morning rhetoric from those overpaid, former
crack-addict-turned-preachers. I have never felt God's presence in this place.
I invite him into my room every night so that I can share my ripped bible pages with
him. I think he is afraid to meet me.
"Is God going to meet us there?'
"I wish you would stop hanging out with those
self-righteous anti-Christians fools," my father screamed.
"Be calm, you don't want to upset God now."
"Not two more hours of this," mom uttered.
I have just two more hours to introduce the place to the
self-proclaimed modern-day father of self-righteous anti-Christian fools. I am going to have
a lot of fun converting the other cadets. This will be a summer to remember. I
bet my parents won't send me back to this place.
After dozing off, I woke up at the entrance gate that
had a huge cross out front. The cross was graffitied with, “Whoever does not
seek the cross of Christ doesn’t seek the glory of Christ.” I regretted that I
packed everything except my can of spray paint. A better sign would read,
“Whoever does not seek his own salvation ends up being tricked by a bunch of
religious freaks.” A military camp that trains young soldiers for a life of killing
should have a rifle out front with the slogan – Killed or be Killed. Now,
that’s the American way. Does God sanction killing? If so, he is nothing but a
gangbanger with a huge following wearing robes and bearing crosses. They are nothing more than street soldiers carrying
bibles and false hopes.
“Welcome to St. Johns Military Camp, home of the strong and
brave where discipline is the order of the day – disciplined minds, disciplined
bodies, and disciplined lives,” the man in the tight pants and over-starched
shirt called out.
My father gets excited for me; he has a silly grin on his face.
He’ll learn a thing or two if he expects me to fall in line to these rehearsed
theatrics – Welcome to St. Johns home of the Strong and Brave – la de da.
You will post your completed short stories today.
9 comments:
One Last Time
I glared at him as he got on the bus - young, black, pants saggin, headphones blastin. Hair in an unkempt Afro with a slight taper, wearing the new Jordan 10s. I looked at my shoes, a couple of scuffs, but still looking pretty good. He came and sat next to me seeing that there were other empty spots on the bus. He looked to be about 14 or 15, his face looked young and fresh with no facial hair. We sat there in pure silence as I counted fifty-three red cars that we passed before he said, “Ain’t you Man Man’s brother”. His voice sounded semi-deep like he was going through puberty. “Yea why?” I responded. “Tell him he better have my loud by this afternoon.”
The monitor at the front of the bus read Central Street. I watched as he walked off the bus without telling me his name. I thought to my self astonished, what does my brother have to do with drugs? I got back home at about 5pm. Walking in the door I sensed something different. The air felt stale and heavy, things in the house looked disturbed. As I walked in my brother’s room, whispers of death’s cold breath chilled my spine down to dry ice.
When I got in the room I saw a version of my self, bleeding out on that crimson stained carpet. The thoughts in my mind started racing each other for first place. That could have been me, my mind kept repeating like it had a bad stutter.
“Malik speak to me!” I screamed.
But his words came out in a long slur sort of like when you’re having a stroke. I stared deep into my brother one last time so I could get a good look at his face that was fading away with life. I placed my two fingers on his neck and that’s when I knew it was over. As I sprinted over to the house phone in the kitchen to dial 911, my pain and desperation left a fresh trail of tears.
Untitled
Henry climbed all 40 flights of stairs to the rooftop of the Hundred Oak apartment complex. He knew it was trespassing, but from there you could see the Chicago skyline and the surrounding suburbs hidden among the sea of lush Oak trees. He grasped his frayed, purple spiral notebook in his hand as he plopped on cushion red lawn chair. Henry enjoyed the sound of silence he got up there, he’d come up to write and read whenever he felt overwhelmed with paranoia or stress. He glared out at the trees, as if they were the cause of the problems, imagining all them without their leaves, with hollowed trunks that echoed when you knocked on them. If trees could talk, he was sure they’d be jeering at him, saying that taking all honors classes was suicide, that sunlight would be foreign to him.
Finals were tomorrow Henry had already been studying before and after school viciously throughout the week, and part of him still feared that it wouldn’t be enough to pass. He’d worry about falling below his 3.9 GPA goal and end up hating himself through the summer. Freshman year was supposed to be the defining year of your high school career. Ever since he heard that, Henry tattooed it across his cranium and had it haunt him for the entire year. Trying to beat past the statistics and standards and be something more than a name on a scantron. Although, he was certain that he was going crazy, as a result. That’s where the rooftop came in. He always considered the best medication to be relaxation, especially for someone with a plethora of social anxiety disorders. He started going up there at the end of first semester, around the time he switched to all honors courses. It began as a way to get away from everything, but then he realized that being up there made him feel small, that his part in the world was reduced, but in a good way. There he had nothing to be compared to except himself, he was his own statistic. There were suppressing levels of achievement or stereotypes to live up to, he could be an individual. Today, he didn’t feel like thinking or writing, he felt comfortable. As he walked down the flight of stairs, he wasn’t thinking about how he’d perform tomorrow—he wasn’t thinking about anything.
Henry walked into his English final with a smug look on his face. Often, he purposefully looked angry so no one would come and bother him as he studied. Today his strategy didn’t work. From the corner of his eye, Henry saw his friend, Alex, dart across the desks and plop of the edge of his desk.
“Ah, if it isn’t the lone wolf of 3rd period English, ready for the final?”
“ …sure”
To avoid any further verbal interaction, Henry pushed Alex off his desk with his backpack. Sitting down, he looked around at the rest of the students in the room, with their pencils neatly arranged on their desks, fresh, and perfectly sharpened. Henry didn’t understand why all of them were so calm about the Final. Henry felt his stomach drooping as he threw his head into his backpack trying to calm himself down. He did everything according to the book to prepare this morning. He went to bed at 10, which is early for him. He got up and fixed himself an actual breakfast, instead of a cereal bar and a bag of pretzels to ravage in 1st period before his teacher caught him. (to be continued...)
Almost
I was on my toes excited, heart pumping and, and sweat created as path down from my forehead to jaw line. Aside from the excitement, annoyance and impatience began to set in from standing in line in front and behind people, some I knew, some I barely talked to, who wore the same black cap and oversized gown, waiting to get their name called, showing that they are graduates of Hershing High. Some one hundred fifty of us were about to receive our diplomas. The remaining ten to twenty who weren’t graduating either sat amongst the parents and siblings, or decided to not show up. Marcus, my best friend, was sleeping. The last time I spoke to Marcus was seven months ago. If there was an award for the person with the best attendance for all four years, Marcus would win. On his last report card he had all A’s and one B. Marcus and I hung out all the time. It’s hard to believe that we weren’t surrounded by concrete walls and a steel caged door from all the things we did; it’s still hard to believe that Marcus isn’t here, and I am.
ToBeContinued...
The Wild Day in Bensonhurst
My name is Hiawatha. I am a Native American, Mohawk, and my people have lived in upstate New York for hundreds of years. When, Most Mohawk people went to Canada, my family stayed right here in New York. My family is a strong one. We all depend on my mother; she is beautiful and strong warrior-like woman. She married my father, Alka. He likes to think of himself as a real Mohawk chief, but I know that his mother is Cherokee. We live in a big house in the snowy hills of New York by the Hudson River. My father was stern. He was always on my case about getting a real girlfriend. “ A man is not a man, without a woman,” he would always lecture me with his hard eyes and his broad nose. He would always tell me how the warriors of our sacred land would not leave for war without being with a woman first. “The Great man, Hiawatha, had a woman, and he became the greatest man to ever live,” my father was always saying things like that because he hated that I never lived up to my name. However, when my friend, Tommy, told me that he would hook me up with a girl in his neighborhood, I was elated. This was my chance; this was my chance to finally prove to my father that I did live up to the name of Hiawatha, the Great Peacemaker. I, of course, went to my father for the money needed for the voyage for my woman. He said: “My son, you will become a real man today. Go make me proud, and bring me back something from Joe’s,” I agreed, and I left the house shaking. Now reality was starting to kick in. I was only 16 years old; how was I supposed to have sex with a girl. I was not ready. This skinny, Indian kid could not handle an Italian dame all by himself. Sweat dripped from my hair as I boarded the train,
The ride towards the Bensonhurst lasted for about 45 minutes. I noticed a number of different people on the train. I saw a guy with an Iman Shumpert jersey on, the starting shooting guard for the New York Knicks. I then started to think about basketball, the one thing in my life that I truly understood. “Iman would be out until January,” I thought in my mind. What was I doing? How could I be thinking about the Knicks in a time like this? It’s not like Tyson Chandler or Carmelo was going to come and save the day. Tommy was waiting for me next the exit of the train station just like he said.
“Whassup, Chief?” Tommy greeted me as I walked towards him in my new Jordan Melo M8 shoes.
Part 1
School
Justin shuffled his feet, eyes glued to the floor as he stood in front of the dean. Behind the dean was that cop, Officer Holmes, his eyes narrowed at Justin. Justin wished that Ezekiel had just threatened the boy for the money instead of whipping out his steel knife. Now he was in the cop’s car, and Justin had a chance of sitting in there with him, even when he was just in the bathroom without a clue on what went on.
“Justin Lumbarck,” the dean voiced, and Justin unlatched his eyes to look at his face. The hands were folded underneath his chin, and what little hair he had left was drenched with sweat. Justin wanted to get this over with so he could get back to Ms. Jenkin’s classroom, one of the only rooms in school that still had an A/C unit. “We both know you’re involved in-”
“How many times I gotta say it, man?” Justin barked, and Officer Holmes raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know nothin! I wasn’t even there!”
“I told you boys like him always lie,” Officer Holmes muttered. “I knew he was trouble the moment he walked in here. Should just take him in – he’s bound to be behind bars sooner or later, anyway.”
“What you say, man?” Justin made a step towards him, but no sooner had he balled his fists did Holmes whip his hand towards his holster.
“Make me,” he growled, and Justin halted. “I wish you would, you little runt. I could get one more future punk in jail.” He smirked. “Though I’d much rather put both that criminal and you six feet under.”
The dean leaned back in his chair. “That’d do us all a favor.”
Jusitn grimaced. He’d heard from Ezekiel about how Officer Holmes was against people like them, but he didn’t think that the dean was participating in this too. He stepped back, but still kept his hands balled up and muscles clenching. All he wanted was to get one good punch in, but he doubted if that would’ve helped anything. He settled to giving the officer a death glare, to which Holmes returned a cold one.
“Still, we can’t say he was involved,” the dean muttered, and Justin broke the eye contest to look back at him. “Thomas said it was only Ezekiel there, and nobody else.”
“Unfortunately,” Holmes added. Justin didn’t need to look at him to know that he was severely disappointed that he couldn’t take Justin in.
“Regardless of that matter, Justin,” the dean barked, “you’re still one step away from being suspended. Don’t let that escape your mind,” he said, the finger now jabbing towards Justin as if condemning him. At that moment, the bell rang, and Justin turned swiftly to get out of there, glad to get away from the dean and the cop. He walked to his locker and put in his combination code, but the locker didn’t open. He tried once more, then punched the locker in anger.
He just couldn’t take it anymore.
Each day, the temptation to quit looked easier and easier. He always came to his teachers to ask them for help, but only Ms. Jenkins was willing to compensate by giving him opportunity for extra credit - the others just shrugged and told him to work harder or fail. Justin already had a job, and that was creating friction with school. ‘No,’ Justin thought, shaking his head, ‘school is starting to interfere with my life. I don’t need it, not anymore.”
Justin looked towards the school doors. His real success was out there, where he could get what he needed now, not the education to get it later.
Fatal Mistakes
I was almost at my house. My wallet, fat from my ‘‘payment’’, was thumping against my left thigh, bags swishing on my right. My back cold with sweat and metal, weighing me down. I kept going as fast as I could, turning on corners. I kept looking over my shoulder, eyes circumnavigating, hoping he wasn’t at the post. His goonies are always with him. I turned the corner and was now another street from his post. “Don’t be there, don’t be there,” I prayed. Then I slowed down and cautiously, slowly, rounded the corner. On the other side of the street, back turned I saw him. All I had to do is cross the street unseen and be safe. One step, two steps, three steps, and four steps then he turned slowly and with vengeance in his eyes, he coldly smiled at me. I froze.
“Yo, Terrance you got my money boy” he said
“Naw RayShawn, back off.”
“What ya gonna do if I don’t. You ain’t going to tell is you?”
“Naw man, I’m not gonna punk from you”
“Such an phony man. You can’t do nothing”
His goonies started forward but RayShawn said “Hold on. I don’t want to hurt him yet. I gotta do something with my girl. Let’s give him another day.”
They backed down and walked away, leaving me alone. I gathered my bearings and ran. I hate the fact that I gotta feed Ma and me but I owe money to that fool. But then again, he’s gonna beat me up for not bringing the money. I didn’t know what to do. Save my skin and use my drug money to make the pay. Or just keep lying to RayShwan. “Sorry Mama. There ain’t gonna be no food for tomorrow” I thought
Hear My Call
My mother always said I was a survivor. There I was standing on the Subway in the heart of downtown Chicago. I was on the Jackson stop at the Red Line train. No matter where I was I could never muster enough courage to feel like I had a sense of belonging. I always felt this growing urge to die that constantly seeps in and runs it sharp fingernails across my throat. I always planned the way I thought I should die. The methadone couldn’t finish me. My family thought I was a step away from creating a mass murder that would result in my spirit to be banished straight to the pits of hell. In reality, I just wanted to end my existence. As the train grew closer I walked up towards the train tracks. I could see my blood splattered all over the tracks and my limbs ravaged off by the force of the train. I could die in front of all these people and be content. If I jumped in front of the oncoming train I wondered finally notice me? A short woman was watching me said, “I was there too.” “Don’t give up on life until life gives up on you.”
All I could do is hug this woman. As I hugged her I realized that this is the closet I have ever been towards another human being in my life. We hugged until the train moved swiftly passed the terminal. As the train passed, our mouths didn’t emit sound but our bodies did. I could hear both of our hearts locking on to the same beat at the same rate. As my tears trickled down my face on to the hard pavement, she was there to wipe my eyes.
"I've been in your shoes. My mother died in a car crash the same weak as my uncle. It' not worth dying over", she said.
To be cont'd
Part 2
“I’m cool,” I responded as I started to relax.
“Hey, we gonna walk to theater from here. It’s right around the corner, and the girls will be there,” Tommy assured; he seemed to sense that I was nervous.
“Cool, let’s jet,” I responded trying to relax once again.
The walk to the theater was an intense walk. I tried to steer the conversation away from the girls, and back towards the Knicks or the Nets. For some strange reason, Tommy was a very big fan of the Nets. The walked ended after a couple of minutes of strolling slowly to the theater. I spotted Sandy, a cute Italian girl from Bensonhurst.
“Hi, Maria. This is the Chief,” Tommy said as he pointed towards me.
“Hi,” Maria said as I smiled at her.
“Sup,” I responded coolly.
We decided to go see the new movie, Ted, about a talking teddy bear. The movie really helped me to relax. I was laughing uncontrollably, and Maria was too. She briefly flashed smiles at me as I sat next to her eyes glued to the screen. When we got out of the movie theater the street was getting dark. The air was hot, and the shorts Maria had on really showed off her curves. I was struggling to control myself because she looked pretty good in the July heat.
“Where do you guys want to go?” I asked Sally and Tommy.
“Back my house. I got the spot already step up,” Tommy said as we walked towards the house.
Part 3
“I’m cool,” I responded as I started to relax.
“Hey, we gonna walk to theater from here. It’s right around the corner, and the girls will be there,” Tommy assured; he seemed to sense that I was nervous.
“Cool, let’s jet,” I responded trying to relax once again.
The walk to the theater was an intense walk. I tried to steer the conversation away from the girls, and back towards the Knicks or the Nets. For some strange reason, Tommy was a very big fan of the Nets. The walked ended after a couple of minutes of strolling slowly to the theater. I spotted Sandy, a cute Italian girl from Bensonhurst.
“Hi, Maria. This is the Chief,” Tommy said as he pointed towards me.
“Hi,” Maria said as I smiled at her.
“Sup,” I responded coolly.
We decided to go see the new movie, Ted, about a talking teddy bear. The movie really helped me to relax. I was laughing uncontrollably, and Maria was too. She briefly flashed smiles at me as I sat next to her eyes glued to the screen. When we got out of the movie theater the street was getting dark. The air was hot, and the shorts Maria had on really showed off her curves. I was struggling to control myself because she looked pretty good in the July heat.
“Where do you guys want to go?” I asked Sally and Tommy.
“Back my house. I got the spot already step up,” Tommy said as we walked towards the house.
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