Creative Writing: Hi The Flies

Skylar Domonique Clark. I was supposed to named Veola Shyanne after my great great grandmother, she died when I was 8 years old. But my mother her name is Ameka changed my name she thought it was an old name. When I was about 4 or 5 years old I started to have problems with my asthma it stopped me from playing with other kids and me being a kid without me being sick. I had to take steroids for my lungs because they had gotten worse. But a couple of months later my lungs were healed properly but I still had asthma. And a couple of years later I had learned how to ride a bike but let me tell you it was the best time of my life. Even tho my mom was scared to teach me,

“Some people say I was lucky to survive, other will say I deserved it for the choice I made. I’m here to say I was lucky, it’s never ok to say your life isn’t worth living even at your worst you can always look forward tomorrow will come and if you put your mind to it you’ll see that anything is possible.” – Stephen McGregor Professional Paralympian

Back in the main level of the factory, Wolf and Fox find Hawk lying on the ground, pale and unresponsive, his bulletproof vest next to him and the edges of a red stain showing around a wad of gauze. A soldier that Fox assumes is N-Unit's medic kneels next to him, along with Snake and Coyote. The three medics are talking frantically among themselves. The rest of N-Unit hovers nervously nearby; the rest of H-Unit is nowhere to be seen. Dust particles dance through the beams of sunlight from the holes where windows used to be, giving the whole scene a strangely dreamy air.

Everyone has judged someone before they get to know them, sometimes you can even do it on accident. My personal experience in judging someone before getting to know them was when I meet my step-brother Carson for the first time. When I first met Carson I was about 6 years old and he was around 10 years old. I was at his house in Florida that I had never been to before, so I was scared already, so when I went upstairs to grab something from my bag I saw him for the first time, he was coming around the corner really fast and was wasn’t paying attention and ran right into me. The first thoughts that came to mind was that he was big and scary and he just hurt me. But after I got to know him I realized he wasn’t really scary at all, it was just

I didn’t think much about the white that surrounded me. I didn’t say much when they loaded me into the back of the squad car to drive me to the place. I didn’t flinch when my own father told me I was pathetic. I didn’t shrink away when the guards told me to take all my clothes off and shove them in a tiny plastic bag and to leave it behind because I was now expected to live in my biodegradable scrubs. It wasn’t until I was being escorted into the actual hellhole itself that I started to freak out. There was nothing to ground me, my parents long gone, having left me to my fate as they went back home to cushy luxuries like warm clothes and a television. My hands trembled, dancing their nervous walts at my side, and I felt fear roil in my gut. My stomach felt like it was going to erupt, hot acid like lava in my throat. There was a serene quality to this place, though;

Wielding his crudely-formed dirk, Alo vaulted over the rotting log at his feet, ran over a stretch of soggy leaves, and ducked behind the colossal tree that towered every other object on the island. At that moment, Alo heard a noise; a rustle; a crunch of a stack of leaves. In the distance, he spotted one of the many intruders out to decimate them, enjoying a meal beside another towering tree. Alo tiptoed towards him, as quiet as a cheetah advancing towards its next meal. As Alo approached the infiltrator, he raised his weapon, ready to neutralize his target. When the man finally realized his situation, he was defenseless; he pushed himself back against the large tree and begged for mercy, cowering in fear, just like an unlucky animal cornered

Duke had had a few women back in the East; a couple of them serious girlfriends, but mostly just flings, or a floozy who could provide him with somewhere to live. The thief was a man who hated commitment, whether it was to a woman, or a lease on his own apartment, and if he could take advantage of someone else's hospitality, he would. It wasn't as if any of the women actually cared much about his infidelities; with the exception of Amy, his second before last, who was still probably hunting for him with a kitchen knife in hand. Cheating and lying was a way of life back home, and the girls were nothing but a little fun who'd used him for his contacts, and took advantage of his generosity, as much as he did they for their bodies and appearance. And that's pretty much all they possessed; good looks. Each had been

Amir and I went to a park one day that harbored a pomegranate tree. Amir said that he was going to read me a story. I was a while since Amir and I had spent time together. Since the incident I’ve been trying to spend time with Amir and ever since I felt like he was avoiding me. Every time I asked Amir agha if he wanted to come with me to the markets he would always say that he was tired or busy, I guessed that today Amir agha was feeling a bit better which made me excited. Excited that we could have fun, like old times.

Sitting in a chair in my study, I stared out into the vast landscape of Grand Isle from a gaunt window. Staring as intently as this, people would think one as insane. I can assure you that I am not insane. I simply would just stare at the ocean and listen to its wave’s crash upon the shore. It was loud and angry, as if taking one's wife was not enough to satisfy it. I suppose it was something that Edna had in common with the ocean; they were both ludicrous. It only took me so long to see the comparison. To see what they were really like.

I stumbled home from the haunt, Drunk from the night of excessive drinking. Staggering inside the house, The dreadful brute was at my feet. That dire cat -- Haunting me-- following me-- Awake. Asleep. I see that beast, every ware. As I went up the stairs as if I were in a daze, and the beast was behind me. Anxiously a site picturing the cat. Everywhere that feline. The more I pictured the more I drank every where I saw that beast. Back and forth from the bar. I feel more comfortable in that retched bar than at home with my wife, and that cat. Terrorizing me, following me. I see him even at the bar now following me. Inside my head.

Bye-bye. Jacy thought, guess I’ll see you around old house. I grabbed the last box from the house and left out the door dropping the keys off with the landlord who was standing outside of our door. I hustled to the moving truck, dropping off the box and shutting the back doors. As my mom and I left the driveway I waved out the window to lucy- the landlord who has been our landlord since I was born. (14 years ago)- and I turned around, placing my headphones on my head. My mom (who was driving) rolled her eyes.

You were coming over for New Year’s. I stood waiting for you in my apartment, staring out the black window. My reflection in the warm pale light, legs crossed, half-sat on the arm of the broken sleeper sofa, drinking a beer from the corner store up the street. The lamp on the end table next to me, the rest of the room mirrored behind. Taupe walls, dusty gray carpet, slow-spinning ceiling fan. The shine of the microwave in the kitchenette. Cabinets, sink, refrigerator. The high black table at the tile edge. My bed pushed up in the back corner, the narrow hallway leading to the front door, the little side dressing room and bath.

A cool breeze was thrown into the hot summer air, and I breathed it all in. Today was August 2005, and school was nearing a little bit faster than I had hoped. I was on the swing, reading one of my favorite books. The blue bird in the distance called out, and I slowly drifted into sleep.

Hawthorne Tische was on fire. Every nerve ending in his entire body was jangling, and urging him on to ravish Harper Collin's. The man's cock strained the fabric of his pants, and felt as if it was almost about to burst the seams; thicker, and throbbing with more urgency than he could ever recall. The sounds of her words, taunts, moans and whimpers, and the sight her body, skin sheened with perspiration, juices from her orgasm glistening on her thighs, neck and chest marked by his teeth, and ass and thighs welted and bruised from his spanks, was almost too much to bear. He wanted to take her, more than he could recall ever desiring any woman in his entire fourty-four years. Harper Collin's needed to cease with cease with the taunts so that she could be filled with his cock, but would she ever stop challenging him? Not a hope in hell, and that's the way he liked it.

The call came at two in the afternoon. It was high summer, a few days after the Vernal Equinox. The grass outside my modest rented house in the town had turned yellow. The jack fruit tree in the front yard bore fruits all over, spreading a rotten sweet odour in the air. A lot of them had fallen down; two three cows had invaded my fence to eat them. A lone cycler pedalled past on the road, making faint creaks. Nothing moved; we were having a siesta.