Category Archives: Writing

Feedback

Rob

note the smug, arrogant look, never mind about the glassy, half open eyes.

I started this blog about three weeks ago. Is there anyone on here who is able to give honest feedback on my posts? My writings sound good to me, but that is just ego. I need some real criticisms on my writings. So please, all Grammar Nazis, English Teachers, People that are on the same level as myself (although I don’t really know what that is), alcoholic, washed up writers (who happen to be my favorite). Even those wonderful, egocentric writers who loving nothing more than to bash amateur neophytes, like myself. Please feel free to comment on anything. I am looking forward to it.


The Payback

A light mist of rain began to fall. Victor Mazurich watched solemnly as they lowered the small coffin into the freshly dug grave. Victor has been coming here for the past few years to pay his respects to his wife Alexis. His son Arthur would be spending eternity next to his mother. In the last five years, Victor had lost his family; his wife to cancer and his son to a freak accident while playing with a school friend. Arthur fell or was pushed he hit his head on the ground; he lingered in a coma for three days before he finally died. The police ruled it an accident.

As the preacher finished the prayer, Victor place a small flower on his son’s casket and said a prayer. Victor waited until the casket was completely in the ground before he quietly turned and walked away. As Victor approached the car, his chauffeur/body guard opened the door for him. Victor slid into the back seat of the limousine.

Daniel Reese did not go to school today. His mother, Natalie, wanted to keep him home for a few days, until the shock of the events wore off. She wasn’t sure if she should send flowers to Victor Mazurich; there wasn’t exactly a protocol for this sort of thing. The last time Natalie saw Victor was at the official hearing to determine if it was an accident or foul play.

The day of the court hearing, Daniel told his side of the story; how they were horsing around when Arthur fell backwards and hit his head. The court accepted the story and ruled it an accident. Natalie tried to talk to Victor, to tell him how sorry she was. Victor just stared at her with his dark emotionless eyes. A chill ran down Natalie’s spine. She was afraid.

Life for the Reeses’ slowly moved forward. Three weeks had gone by; Daniel was back at school, trying to cope with what had happened. Daniel spent one hour a week seeing a counselor that the school had provided. Natalie too, was dealing with everything the best way she could. She had been raising Daniel on her own ever since her husband left. She did the best she could. Maybe it wasn’t good enough?

One day while Natalie was home, she was startled by a sharp knock at the door. She walked to the door, looking out through the pane of glass, her heart nearly stopped. Victor Mazurich was standing looking back at her with those same dark eyes. She cautiously opened the door; “Hello Mr. Mazurich.”  She said her voice trembling.

“Good afternoon Mrs. Reese.” Victor replied. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Uh, sure, please come in.” Natalie opened the door to allow Victor into her home. He was a tall man, well over six feet. He was dressed impeccably. Victor Mazurich was an imposing figure.

“Can I get you something to drink?” “Coffee, soda, anything?”

“No thank you Mrs. Reese.”

“Please, have a seat Mr. Mazurich; I did not get a chance to tell you how sorry I am about all of this.” “If there is anything I can do, please let me know.”

“I appreciate your sentiment Mrs. Reese.” Victor said as he sat down on the couch. “But I doubt you will be able to bring my son back to me.”

“No, Mr. Mazurich.” “I can’t do that no matter how much I want to.”

“By the way, how is Daniel doing?”

“He is dealing with everything the best he can, he is seeing a counselor at school.” “Although I don’t know how much good it is doing him.”

“Guilt is a terrible burden for anyone to bear, especially children.”

“Please understand Mr. Mazurich, it was an accident.”

“Yes Mrs. Reese, I am aware of the court’s ruling.”

Victor sat silently for a moment before asking; “How old are you Mrs. Reese?”

The question caught Natalie off guard, she quickly composed herself and said; “I am thirty three.”

“How serious are you about you making this right?”

“I am not sure; I guess whatever is in my power to do so.”

“Well I have a proposition for you, Mrs. Reese.”

“What would that be?”

“Give me a child.”

“Excuse me!?” Natalie said. “I am not giving you Daniel.”

“I do not want Daniel, I want you to have my child.”

Natalie legs went weak. Was he serious? Was this some kind of sick game? “What do you mean you want me to have your child?”

“It’s simple Mrs. Reese.” “You will have my child.”

“Mr. Mazurich, this is insane.” “I can’t do it.”

“No, Mrs. Reese, insanity is having to live everyday knowing your child was taken away from you.”

“Mr. Mazurich, I am very, very sorry for what happened to Arthur, but you can’t expect me to have your child.”

“Mrs. Reese, let me put this plainly and simply.” “You will have my child.”  “I know several good fertility doctors.”  “Sex will not be required.” “I will pay for everything, from insemination, through the pregnancy until the birth.” “Once the child is born, you will give it to me and that will be the last time you will ever hear from us.” “If you do not agree to this, you will never see Daniel again.” “You have twenty four hours to think about it.”


Homeless Man and A Pigeon

I saw a homeless man punch a pigeon today. What would make someone angry enough to strike out at a bird? Were they fighting over the same scrap of food? Was the pigeon encroaching on the homeless man’s territory? Shouldn’t they get along considering they have to co-exist? Do they not rely on the same food source? The discarded leftovers of the populace at large?
It was one of those rare moments when I was angry, sad and laughing at the same time. But one thing it made me feel most, was complete indifference to the homeless man and his station in life. I also came to the realization that I would feed a bird before I would feed a homeless person.
It is my only hope that the pigeon will gather all of his friends, fly en masse, and shit all over him.
By the way, isn’t getting shit on by a bird considered good luck?


Another Senseless Blog

I am writing this blog with no idea on what to write about. Whenever I try to write about even the smallest thing, I feel the urge to put in so many details that something like walking down the street turns into a goddamn novella. Is it my ego? Am I afraid that if I do not extend a simple story int an epic that I may come across as inept or amateurish? I guess walking down the street is just that…walking down the street.


Sunday Morning

If you wake up in the morning and realized that you did not finish that last glass of scotch, DO NOT throw it away, it goes very well with your morning coffee, and it is not a bad way to start your day either. Sundays are special. It is the only day I can ease into. I have my coffee (see above), play some music, contemplate all of the events from the previous week (good and bad), and if all goes well, get some writing done.


Nothing of Note

I am writing this blog, not for any particular reason other than I have to write something, even if it is only a mindless rambling of incomplete thoughts. At least I am writing. I could write about my day, the six hours I spent driving from Georgia to North Carolina. I started my morning with a hangover, I showered, got dressed and went downstairs to help myself to the scrumptious Continental Breakfast consisting of a stale bagel, two hard-boiled eggs, an apple and a banana. I grabbed a cup of coffee, a little hair of the dog, popped an adderall and headed down the highway.
Interstate 20 was void of much traffic, still there were plenty of idiot drivers out there with me, and to some, I was the idiot driver, but I digress. The next six hours are a blur, all I can remember was looking at my Garmin watching the miles tick down until my destination. I had to stop twice for gas and coffee. I find that it is harder for me to travel long distances in one shot. My legs get sore. my ass falls asleep and I need to pull over just to stop everything if only for a moment. Anyway, fuck it, this my blog for the day.


Bucket List

1. Spend one night in a pyramid in Egypt

2. Piss on the great wall of China

3. Drink a bottle of the rarest single malt scotch ever made.

4. Visit Germany

5. Fuck a nun

6. Take a guitar lesson from Steve Vai

7. Finally understand ‘Ulysses’ by James Joyce

8. Read Plato’s ‘Republic’ two more times

9. Find out who my real father is.

10. Fall in love one more time.

to be continued…


2:40 PM

We arrived at the hospital; I told my father that visiting hours must be almost over, considering how late it was. He told me that under the circumstances, they will not refuse us to see her. We walked up to the receptionist, she recognized my father immediately. He had been coming here several times a day for a week now. She handed each of us a pass. We thanked her and headed for the elevator. As we rode the elevator to the fourth floor, my father tried to prepare me for what I was about to see. The elevator chimed, the doors opened and we walked down the hallway to her room.
I could not believe that the woman lying in that bed was my mother. She was so thin and frail; her complexion was waxy and sallow. She did not resemble my mother at all. At first I thought that we walked into the wrong room. There were an array of tubes and hoses attached to every part of her body. The room was quiet and still except for the rhythmic hiss of the respirator that was feeding oxygen into her lungs. It took me a few seconds for it sink in. My father walked out to give me a moment of peace with her. I walked over to her and stroked her hair and gave her a kiss. I wanted very much for her to know that I was there, but she gave no response. I remained still for what seemed like an hour. As I stared at her, I could not help but feel sadness, anger and hopelessness. I remembered every fond moment from my earliest childhood until the last time I saw her.
After several minutes, my father walked in with a nurse. She explained to us that her condition had not changed; I asked to speak with the doctor; the nurse replied that she would page her. She then walked over to the machine checking on this and that. After she was satisfied that everything was in order she walked out of the room, leaving me and my father alone to discuss what we were going to do. Before I decided on anything, I wanted to make sure that there was no chance of her ever coming back from her coma-like state.
About five minutes had gone by when the doctor walked into the room. She introduced herself, we shook hands and I thanked her for taking good care of my mother while she was in here. She said thank you and gave me a weak smile. I wasted no time in asking the doctor if she felt that my mother’s condition would change. She assured me that the cancer had spread throughout the rest of her body, and that she would only get worse. I looked over at my father who gave a slight nod and hung his head, it was then we decided to take her off of the machines and let her go.
The doctor said ok. She then paged two nurses who came in; they asked us to leave because what they had to do (removing all the hoses and tubes) would not be a pleasant thing to witness. Me and my father went to the cafeteria and got some coffee, neither one of us uttered a sound. About fifteen minutes went by, before we went back upstairs to see her. All the tubes and hoses had been removed; she was lying on her side taking shallow rapid breaths. The nurse informed us that she was given some pain medicine that would, for the most part, keep her comfortable and relaxed. I walked over, gave her another kiss and apologized for the decision I (we) had made. I know it was the best thing for her and I hope she understood that as well.
My father and I stayed for another twenty minutes or so, by that time her breathing was not so labored, I kissed her on the head and walked out of the room. My father followed after me and then we left. The drive home was nearly silent; the only words we spoke were us trying to convince ourselves that what we had done was for her benefit. It was late when we arrived home. Neither one of us said a word my father went to bed and I lay on the couch trying to get some sleep, but no sleep came.
It was morning and I heard my father come down the stairs; he walked into the living room and saw that I was awake. He said he was going to make coffee and if I wanted anything to eat. I said no and that I was not hungry. My father poured each of us a cup of coffee and told me that we were going to the hospital.
We got there around 8 o’ clock; we went to her room and I noticed that she was still lying on the same position, her breathing was shallow but she was no longer struggling and gasping for breath; the nurse walked in and informed us that her condition had not changed. And that they were doing their best to keep her comfortable.
My father walked over and gave her a kiss. The sadness in his eyes was painful to see. I then walked over to her, gave her a kiss stroking her hair and telling her how much I loved her. I was hoping she could hear me; I wanted her to know that I was there for her and that I wanted more than anything for her not to suffer anymore.
After a half hour or so, my father asked if I was hungry yet. I said I wasn’t, but I knew I had to eat something. We went to a small diner; I had a light breakfast of eggs and toast with coffee, my father had the same. He asked me if I wanted to visit my aunt and uncle who lived not far from the diner. I said sure.
We arrived at my relative’s house, they were glad to see us. They asked how her condition was, after explaining the decision we had made, they were both in agreement that it was the right thing to do. The usual platitudes followed about no more pain and suffering and that she will go to a better place.
We returned to the hospital in the afternoon. I did my usual routine, I walked over to her, gave her a kiss, told her I loved her. I sat in the chair next to her bed. After several minutes, I noticed that her breathing had stopped; a chill ran over me, I was watching my mother die. I looked at my father and told him; “I think she is gone.” He walked over, looked down at her and let a sigh. It was a sigh of relief, the woman he had loved and shared his life with was no longer suffering or in pain. I called for the nurse to get the doctor. The doctor came into the room and began to check her for a pulse, there was none, it was then that the doctor told me that my mother had died. She asked me if I had by any chance noticed the time, strangely I did. It was at 2:40 PM.


About Me

My name is Robert. I started a blog in the hopes that I could get some feedback on my writing, as well as share some of the more interesting events that I have experienced in my life, so far.
The easiest way for me to put it would be: I spent the first half of my life doing; now I want to spend the next half writing about it.
I am far from being an accomplished writer, my severe lack of a formal education will become evident the more you read my posts, nonetheless, I have so many ideas and experiences that I feel I need to get them written down. I have no problem with constructive criticism as long as it is pertains to specific aspect of my writing. It is easy to shit-hammer someone’s writing for the fun of it or if you just want to be a dick, but that does not help someone become a better writer.
I find it easier to communicate through writing than speaking. I am not shy; it’s just words on paper come easier to me than speaking. Anyway, I wanted to keep this short and to the point. Any and all feedback is wanted and appreciated. Thank you.


Mushroom Hunt

Mushroom Hunt

What the Hell Were We Thinking?

     The sound of the shotgun blast made cry out like a little girl.  Without thinking, we ran as fast as we could to get back to the truck.  Tyler jumped into the driver side and I wasting no time leaping into the bed, where I banged my knee with such force I was sure that it was broken.  Tyler started the engine and floored spewing gravel and rocks behind us.  After a minute or so Tyler somehow managed to keep the truck under control until we finally hit the black-top of the main highway.  I kept low in the bed of the truck for fear of getting my head blown off. Tyler started to calm down when he realized that we were not being followed. Realizing that the danger had passed, I pick my head up and tried to crawl to the back window where I tapped on the glass to remind Tyler that I was back there.

“Stop the truck!”

Tyler eased off the gas and started to press the brake until eventually the truck came to a stop.  I climbed out of the bed and limped to the passenger side where I opened the door and climbed in as quickly as I could.

“Go!” “Fucking drive!” I said, my voice a couple of octaves higher than a man should have.

Tyler pressed the accelerator to the floor; the truck lurched forward, causing me to jolt back into the seat.  We drove for another few minutes before I finally spoke. “Fucking Christ!” “We almost died.” I said angrily.  “A couple of fucking rednecks tried to kill us.”

“Well”, Tyler said, “this is Georgia, they take trespassing very seriously down here.”

“Really?”  “I can see the headline now.”  Two Yankees were shot and killed at Farmer Rednecks property looking for cow shit”

“Mushrooms Bunkie, we were looking for mushrooms.” “Besides, that is way too long for a headline.” “And they weren’t going to kill us; they only wanted to scare us.”

“Well, it worked, I think I shit my pants.”

“Really?”

“No dumbass, but I came close.” “Fuck!” “I think I shattered my kneecap, I can’t even bend the fucking thing.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No.” “But I do need a fucking drink.”

“There should be a bottle of Captain Morgan behind the seat.”

I reached behind my seat feeling around for the bottle, finding it; I screwed of the cap and took a long drink.”  I put my head back and tried to calm my nerves. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“What?” Tyler said, now chuckling. “It was a good chance for us to make a little money, and party.” “How was I supposed to know about farmer redneck and the shotgun?”

At this moment, I broke out into laughter. “Well except for my knee, this whole is kind of funny.”

“Alright Bunkie, stop hogging the bottle, pass it over.” I handed the bottle to Tyler; who, with shaking hands, grabbed it and took a drink.

“This trip has been a fucking freak-show!” “First was that psycho hitchhiking chick you picked up in Virginia.”

“How was I to know she was crazy?”

Next, was the Special Olympics volley ball team in Savannah, not to mention, your drug addled college friends.” “Jesus Christ, I never thought I would miss New Jersey.”

“Take it easy Bunkie, think of it like this, in twenty-five years you’ll probably write a story about it” Tyler added; “I would leave out the part about you shitting your pants though.”

“I didn’t shit my pants.” I can see it now, as soon as we get back home, Tyler will take great joy in telling everyone that I shit my pants.

“Well Bunk, I thought we would look for another pasture.” “It’s still kind of early, we can’t give up yet.”

“You have got to be kidding me; I am done hunting for cow shit for one night.” “I want to find mushrooms too, but the shit isn’t worth dying over.”

“We’ll head back to the college and see if there’s anything going on there.”

“Let’s try and finding something else to do. Something that won’t get us killed.”

“Fine.” “I will figure something out.”

Tyler and I passed the bottle back and forth without speaking.  Each was trying to get a grip on what had transpired.

After twenty minutes of driving, I asked.

“Jesus Christ Tyler, are you lost?”

“No.” “Why?”

“It feels like we have been driving forever.”

“Hey, look, there’s a place up the road.”  Tyler said, “Looks like it’s a happening place.”

“Really?”  “Come on.” “Look at all the pick-up trucks, it looks like redneck heaven.” The only thing missing is a Clan rally.”

“Don’t worry about it Bunk.”  “They’re probably just a bunch of good ol boys.”

“Yeah, like the ones who shot at us?” “We should take a pass on this place.”

“Look, we’ll have one beer, and then we will leave.”

“With our luck, we will probably get lynched.”

“No.” “They don’t lynch white people down here.”

“Tyler; we are from New Jersey; they will lynch us.”

“Well then; don’t act like a Northerner.”

“Easier said than done; “How am I going to explain my grammar, hygiene and full set of teeth?”

“Your grammar isn’t that good Bunkie.”

“Well, you’re no William James.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

“I am stopping.”

“Fine; This should be interesting…