Quality not Quanity

So after reflecting on my recent posts, I've decided that I have made a common error among writers. I became so caught up with Quanity that I neglected Quality. Sure I could post a new story everyday, but would they be worth reading? I doubt it. Just take a look at my previous entry. It was a great idea, but I failed to take the time to make it worthy. I just thought of it, wrote it once, and posted it. That's unacceptable... I apologize sincerely. Let's be honest, that ending was predictable, weak, and just plain out Wack. Wigidy wigidy Wack! The sad part is that I knew it was Wack when I wrote it, but I was so caught up in posting a story a day that I just posted it. I had it backwards, Quanity not Quality.
It's kind of like if your favorite musician made an album every month. Sure, we all wish that was possible, but would the quality of that monthly album be as good a well crafted yearly album. I just need to sit back and get refocused and not force things. I refuse to post mix tape quality stories, so I will focus on the big picture, the album... Well the story.
I don't have any ideas spinning, but something will come up. I just have to live life and wait for inspiration. I can't force this. But you can still stop by the blog and see how I'm doing. I will still post something daily, whether it be a link to something that moves me, book reviews, or just me rambling about nothing... Sort of like this. Thanks for your time, and patience. -Niles

Heartbreak Hotel

     Since this post is so long, I wont bore you with a long introduction. Basically, I thought of this idea a couple days ago, so today I finally made time to write this. It's kind of weird, and needs minor work, but this is just the roughdraft. I hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave me some feedback.

Heartbreak Hotel

    My check-in was uncomfortable, because I have a lot of baggage with me. Suitcases filled with memories and small objects that jog colossal collages of reminiscence. I really wish that I was back home in my bed, our bed, clicking off switches on lamps that that illuminated magic rooms. Now I was standing here in this reception. Not the reception that I thought our relationship would trigger. I was thinking marriage, but I guess my excess baggage was too much for her handle. So instead of soulful singing and champagne bottles setting off like fireworks, I was being greeted by a different kind of receptionist.

     She looked at me with comforting eyes from across the counter, while twirling a pen in her hand. I can tell that she hated her job, but it would suffice until she found something better… but hey, isn’t that why we all were here? The lounge was filled with cheap women selling their soul, pride, and body for any means of currency, from money, jewels, or simply… time. Short skirts and cleavage displaying tops were worn by these lost females in attempts to attract a male to take them away from this hotel. You can never advertise lust in hopes of a receipt certifying love. I glanced at these pathetic women briefly, pitying the fact they had less class that senior skip day. But a social status didn’t exist in this cheap hotel; we were all losers, outcast from society.

     “Hello Mr. Singleton.” The receptionist greeted. I wondered how she knew my name. Surely she couldn’t have remembered me from my stay a year ago. My puzzled look must have printed confusion on my forehead in Times New Roman, because she continued.

     “We received your reservation Sir. It was submitted by a Ms. EX two weeks ago.” I was stunned. I had to grab that counter for stabilization, or else fall back into the arms of the temporarily fixes of love that flooded that lounge. I slowly caught a grasp of my composure and filled out the needed paperwork. My mind couldn’t help but juggle burning thoughts of when, how, and why my Ex would reserve me a room here.

     “You know it’s kind of ironic, because she also booked herself a room close to yours. This establishment is far from a honeymoon resort…” the receptionist paused and glanced over my shoulder into the lounge. “But I guess special things can happen here.” I returned her smile with slight genuine as I took my room key from the counter.  

     “Have a nice stay, even though that may seem to be an oxymoron.” The receptionist said as I walked away. I didn’t even care to look back or acknowledge that I heard her. My mind was busy trying to decide my next course of actions. I wondered if I should go see her, but quickly thought against since she was the sole reason I was here. She caused me to retreat here and added insult to injury by making reservations. But then again, why would she be here, so close to me? If she wanted us to be near then why were we here anyway? Women confused me, but my cousin said it best when he said “Some women like being chased more than they love being caught.”

     Even though my room was on the first floor of this 3 story dump, I glanced over at the elevator. There was a sign on it that read “Love has it’s Up’s and Down’s…” It didn’t register at the time because my attention was stolen by a small figure I saw sitting down the hallway. I starred as I got closer trying to see if the image I was seeing was a person or maybe just luggage. I soon realized that I was looking at a person sitting Indian style with their head buried into their lap. From the length of the jet black hair I could distinguish that this person was a female, and I could hear gentle sobs. Echoes of broken hearted tears ricocheted off the hollow walls of the hallway. I slowed my pace taking easy steps like I was prepping to disarm a bomb, or an alligator hunter sneaking on a prize catch. With each step the unidentified person came clear, and within twenty feet I recognized her; it was Ms. Ex. My heart fell out of my chest, but I didn’t have time to pick it up, I had to keep moving. Maybe I could sneak by her and make it safely inside my room. But she was parked right in front of my door.

     I stood there for awhile trying to construct my next move. Should I just turn around and go home? How could I when I don’t have a home. This pitiful pile of bricks and faded graffiti casting of a building was the only residence that I’ve ever known. As I was looking at her creating bodies of salt water in her lap, I wondered what she has to be so heartbroken about. I was the one who was laid off when I just starting to think career moves. My contract as a holiday temp was terminated, and I thought I was up for a promotion. I had ambitions of making Partner in her heart’s Law Firm, but I guess I couldn’t pass the bar.

     She lifted her head exposing her red eyes, contaminated my infectious tears of guilt and just looked at me. Streams were cascading down her cheeks, and it was weird, because she was looking just how I felt on the inside. I was planning on waiting until I got in my room to release the dams. Her lips were trembling as if the most painful news in the universe was just laid on her shoulder. I remembered those lips… Even in their current state they still appeared luscious, and three second daydreams began of me kissing them again. I snapped back to reality, I think it was reality, and I continued to stare at her starring at me.

     “I’m… I’m sorry for I’ve done…” She mumbled. Everything in me wanted me to ask her to repeat herself. But she was sitting there looking so pitiful, so piteous, like a person facing the electric chair pleading to the judge. But who was I to judge? I didn’t want justice. I didn’t seek revenge, because honestly this woman could stand up with laughter and reveal that all of this was a malicious joke of closure… and I would still love her. I guess that’s the meaning of unconditional love.

     “What are you sorry about?” I asked knowing the answer; I just needed to hear her say it. Just say it my love and this can all go away. I was prepared to forget that the breakup ever happened. We could TIVO life and rewind back to happy times. Sad… I was developing the forgiveness of a victim of domestic violence; I was staring in a Lifetime movie, perhaps a repetitive character on the Oxygen channel.

     “I’m sorry for causing all of this.” She said as she swiveled her head gesturing to the hotel. Her eyes were encumbered with water and it was impossible to see her pupils. Her appearance was fairly spooky, but a cute spooky… a Scooby Doo kind of spooky.

     “I really wish there was something I could do to change it, to change this. I want to make things right, but… it’s too late I fear.” She said never breaking eye contact, I think.

     “It’s never too late…” I slightly mumbled, half ashamed of my exonerative heart. A part of me wanted to just leave her, like she left me. That small portion of me wanted her to feel the pain I felt, my hearts District Attorney, but if what she was saying and showing was truly authentic, she has served her time. That’s the nonsense I convinced myself to deem.

     “Then how? How can I fix this? How can I fix us? How do I delete a foolish, childish, idiotic mistake? Life doesn’t have a Backspace. Once I hit send, and the message was sent, there is no taking that back. You won’t ever forget what I’ve done… I won’t ever forget. But I just wish I could take it back.” She said as she stood up and faced me. She was still beautiful… my heart was building itself back together from the pool of blood that she had left, like a terminator cyborg, or a romantic reptile.

     “I forgive you…” I said in a low mumble again. I was still ashamed of my heart, but it was feeling better, blink by blink.

     “How? How do we walk away from this?” She said as she stepped closer gently grabbing my hand. She was still peering into my eyes, and my heart was almost at 100%. Love makes you dumb, but strong.

     “It’s easy…” I said as I pointed back down the hallway. “We just walk out of the door, and start over.” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. I should have at least put up a fight, just to appease my ego. But love is stronger than pride, unfortunately.

     She never said a word as we walked slowly towards the door. Sure we could’ve have just went to one of our rooms and made up officially, but I wanted to get out of this place. If everything goes right I would never have to return here again; that’s ‘if’.

     As we made our way past the lounge I could see the hatred in the eyes of the by standing women. I knew I looked stupid, but I was in love, so that’s acceptable. The receptionist made eye contact shot me a lovely smile. I returned it genuinely this time and kept on walking, hoping that I could get out of the door before Ms. Ex changes her mind. Her palms felt so warm, so comforting, it was as if our hands were molded my God to fit perfectly. I was happy, I was dumb… but I was happy.

     As we finally opened the door, the door to the future, a door of bliss, and a start of forever, I heard the receptionist repeat something, “See, special things can happen here…”  

'Dutch' by Teri Woods (The Review)

     I know that I'm about 10yrs late in reading so forgive me, but 10yrs ago I was only reading Source magazines. But I finally finished this after about week of only reading it during my smoke breaks. Does that mean that I smoke a lot? Perhaps. I don't consider this an actual book review, because by no means would my 6th grade English teacher approve of this. I just want to express my thoughts, and since there isn't a soul awake or interested at 1am, YOU have to listen to me ramble.

     I like the way this book was structured, because I was expecting the typical from beginning to end format. But Teri, (I say that as if I know her Personally) wrote this in a present tense that mixed with a flashback style of story telling. The present tense part of the story took place at Dutch's trial, and as witnesses took the stand, he and they had flashbacks which also fed into the storyline quite nicely. I love the way this story was told, because sometimes it's not what you say, but how you say it.

     The characters were constructed fairly believable, other than a few facts that puzzled me, but I understand you have to make the story at least a little Hollywood for it to be universally entertaining. So the fact that a 14yr old boy was accepted by the Mob family and granted control of multiple cities was OK with me... Just this time. Dutch overall was a realistic character, I can imagine holding a conversation with the guy, and that's important to me. If I can't imagine talking to, or observing the character in real life, then I lose interest in that person as well as any part of the story that they are directly connected to. Teri Woods did an excellent job with making these characters. It shows that she took time to get to know them and let them create themselves.

     Let's go with my Favorites... My favorite Character was Nina. Nina was a girl who ignored Dutch's fame a street cred. He did everything to win her over, but she never budged. She was traumatized by the death of her younger brother by the drug game, and since then she decided to have nothing to do with it or the people within it. I could picture her in my head vividly... probably because I've a few Nina's in my day.

     Least Favorite Character was Franky. Of course he was designed to be hated though. Franky was a Mob boss who became jealous of Dutch's fame and eventually organized Dutch's downfall, or so it seems. Anyway he was a prick, and he hated black people... and I just happen to be Black!

     Favorite Scene was, well, the whole Nina and Dutch coming of age Chapter. You know that I am a hopeless romantic, so this moved me a lot. For a minute I thought he was actually going get her, and I was rooting for him, but nope... no happy ending. I love it when the ending isn't happy, because that's life right? Write.

     Least Favorite scene was the courtroom shootout. This is one of the Hollywood moments, and as much as I loved Dutch's "Fuck You" to the court, let's just be realistic... I can't even get a cellphone into a courthouse, but these fools got automatic machine guns??? Maybe if it was described how they got the guns in there, I'd be cool with it. But hey, Franky died, so I'm cool with that.

     Overall this was a nice book, and I will start on Dutch 2 ASAP. Good Job Teri... These books are the reason I write... Right?... Write!

Purple Pigs

     Greetings to everyone who is suffering from Monday Blues. I had a fairly relaxed day at work, meaning that nothing crazy happened. Thanks to everyone who showed up for Poetry Night, but I think that I will change that. I have to realize that just because I don't havev a life outside of exploring my imagination through writing, that some of you actually have things to do on Weekends; Things that don't involve a blog where some lunatic confuses imagination with reality. So from now on Poetry Night will be Friday. I will use the weekend for planning the following week's agenda and thinking of entertaining ideas. Speaking of ideas, I thought of something during my smoke break at work. It's just an idea right now, but I feel that if I can do this right and not rush it, it may be the story that I need to solidify my resume. So I will keep you posted on the progress and maybe even a sneak peak. ANYWAYZZZZZZ
      Here is 'Purple Pigs'. So get all of the Kiddos in the bed. I know that they have just been dying of anxiety and creating havoc in your household this past weekend since I pushed the release date back. I'm sorry, but here it is... I think I've built up a big enough ((( BUZZ ))) about it. Thanks for reading this far, please continue :)

Purple Pigs

A father sat on the edge of his daughter’s bed, as she adjusted herself for her bedtime story. Ever since she was in her Mother’s womb, he has read her the same bedtime story, but tonight he wanted to switch things up a bit. Since she had recently turned seven years old, if you asked her she’d swear she was seventeen, he wanted to read her something different. But he had no ideas or any other books since he had relied solely on the same story. So the Father decided to just wing it; kids believe anything you tell them so it couldn’t turn out that bad.
                “Ashely, we are going to do something different tonight for story time.” The father said as he tucked her Winnie the Pooh blanket around her.
                “You’re going to let me stay up late and watch movies with you and Mommy!” The daughter said excitedly while leaning forward, totally ruining her neatly placed blanket.
                “No… I said something new, not something crazy.” The Father responded with a smile and kissed her on her forehead. After re-tucking her in and ignoring her puppy eyes, he began his story.
                “Ok Ashely, Close your eyes.” The Father said. Ashely appeared to have followed the instructions, but her Father knew better. She was making the same face she makes when he tries to surprise her. Like the time he brought home a puppy, and she was peeking the whole time.
                “No peeking.” The Father said as he pretended as if he was going to poke her eyes. She twitched and instantly started giggling; only proving that she was peeking.
                “You have to close them; I’m going to show you how to use your imagination.” The Father said. The daughter was interested now. She felt as if she was about to learn the secrets to a magic trick. She never really understood what an imagination was; it just always seemed like something to make playtime more fun.
                “Alright what do you see?” The Father asked.
                “Ummmm just black stuff.” The daughter said while frowning. The father could tell she was really focusing.
                “Don’t try too hard. You can’t force this, you just have to relax and let it happen.”
                “Ok Daddy.”
                “This is your imagination; you have control so you decide what happens. Now paint a sky.”
                “Ok, I see a sky!” The daughter announced with a big smile nearly opening her eyes.
                “What color is the sky?”
                “Blue… Sky Blue.” The daughter responded with a giggle. She was a silly little something, even when sleepy.
                “Why is it blue? It’s your imagination, you can make the sky any color your want it.”
                “I like blue, it’s pretty.”
                “Ok, now what do you see?”
                “Uhhhhh, a farm, and a farm house… a barn. And it’s red daddy.”
                “Ok do you see any animals on your farm Ashely?” The father asked. He really didn’t know where he was getting at or how he would finish this, but he was too far in it to change now. Plus she was having a good time.
                “A pig… it’s a fat pig. Oink Oink!” The daughter said still smiling and giggling.
                “Ok, what color is that pig?”
                “He’s pink Daddy.”
                “Why is he pink?”
                “Because all pigs are pink, duhhhh.” The Father almost started chuckling at her silliness, but he contained it.
                “Make him purple.” The Father suggested.
                “Uhhhh, ok. I did it! He’s purple daddy!” She was really excited now, slamming her fist against the bed. The Father just looked at her and smiled. Even if he couldn’t find a way to end this so-called story, at least she was happy. He just hoped she didn’t request this every night for a bedtime story.
                “And he is smiling Daddy. Why is he so happy?” The daughter asked as she opened her eyes. She was staring at her Father for a serious answer.
                “Because Ashely… He’s the only purple pig in the world.”
                Silence filled the room as the Daughter starred at the Father. He could tell she was pondering another question.
                "Daddy..." Ashely said tucking herself back in.
                "Yes my love?"
                "Am I your Purple Pig?" The Father smiled and kissed her on the forehead.
                "Everything I imagined..."

(Saturday Poetry Night) ~Dandelion~

Mic check, Mic Check, one-two, one-two... I would like to thank everyone for coming out tonight. You could've been on any blog on the web, but you're here with me. I appreciate that. :) So if you are a new viewer, The followers and I would like to say Welcome. Kick of your shoes and relax your feet. This Poem that I'm about to present, is one that I wrote months ago. I was drinking coffee' outside of a hotel and the grass inspired me. Crazy I know, but I titled this one Dandelion. I hope you enjoy. Some of you may have read this before when I posted it on my Facebook  page, so if that is the case I apologize. I don't want to bore you with a re-run, so have a drink... the bar is open. :)

                                                          Dandelion

I stand tall. Im eight inches, to plants that's eight feet/
Im Shaq, minus the feet, my roots they run deep/
Other weeds chatter, but Im too cute to speak/
Im mute, Im bleak. Im too new to breach/
I move, I sneak. Im too smooth to squeak/
Im silent under your radar, but still above your reach/
Its me who gardners seek. But murder is obsolete/
I re-generate hate, Im back within a week/
Im king in an insects jungle, Im humble, Im bumble bee/
Im pretty, Im a model. I strut, I bundle glee/
Im numeral uno, second to none, I exceed the number three/
I shine, I glow. I define then refine, then I show/
I smile, I flow, with the wind. My skin is thin, below/
Within, I hold water, I keep secrets of life, I grow/
I, become old, when its cold, my yellow turns to snow/
I lose hair that floats, and turn to umbrellas as the wind blow/
As the world turns, I become dizzy, I hang my head low/
Im still pretty, I still stand out like sit ins. I know, death is close/
I smell gasoline, from hell, the kerosene. It must be time mow/
I hear the thunder, the rumble, as this machine mumbles then it go/
I will never crumble, my seeds detect, they tumble as if they know/
I reflect on life, no regrets on mistakes I made twice/
I sacrafice to suffice. And stand in the path of this oncoming heist/
Is there a heaven for weeds, since weed made the world feel so heavenly?/
My seeds, will sprout around the golden gates, and we will then greet/
Our maker, our forsaker, outcasted from the Garden of Eden/
Now Im guarding my region, while only partially believing/
My leaves are leaving, Im grieving, how could life be so deceiving/
We live to die, so others may live to die, is that the sole reason/
Death is getting louder, I feel my soul retreating/
I try to fight it but I weaken. Why does it feel odd to get even?/
The sun flees, Im shaded, by blades that look faded/
The first one misses me, like an ex... but the second decapitated/
I live on for a second, then death feels so captivating/
My soul is vacant, my body was burglarized, and my life was taken/
A proud Dande-Lion. I feel dandy... Im lying/
Outside im still shining, but inside my wills crying/
I lay still, sighing. And picture myself on the hills on Zion/
Im smiling... wondering why is it that everyone fears dying.../



Chasing Carrots

     Woot! Woot! Freaky Friday! Are you feeling freaky? Whoa whoa now, this isn't that type of Blog... yet. So  know I said that I was going to release Purple Pigs today, but a lot of my followers requested that I finish the 3 part story I posted previously. So you know how much I love my followers... Especially on FREAKY FRIDAY! I wrote this in my head at work this morning. We had a silly little military formation, where all the low ranking worker ants, had to stand at attention and listen to the big boys talk for hours... about nothing. So as I was standing there trying to pass time, while others were fainting around me, and I decided to play this story in my head. This is what I came up with, and I'm quite proud of it actually. But like always, I can't figure out how to end things, so after this entry you may ask that I continue, or you may suggest that I trash it all completely. Either way, I had fun creating this. Again, I know Purple Pigs was suppose to post today, and many of you may have your kids tucked in now just impatiently waiting on my lovely life changing story... Kiss the kids, and tell them Uncle Niles is sorry... Purple Pigs will post Monday. So here is Part 4, Chasing Carrots...

P.S. Don't forget that tomorrow is Saturday Poetry Night! and of course Sunday Word. Don't forget to check back in, and bring your friends...

'Chasing Carrots'





           A pair of lights scanned across the side of Kristina’s house making their way towards my position. I ducked like a fugitive on the walls of Rikers. When I looked back for the source, I noticed a car pulling into her driveway so I received cover from a small bush by her window; the same bush I had suggested she remove for this very reason… Crazy Ex’s. I wondered who could possibly be coming to see her this time of night so I watched carefully as the figure stepped out of the car and came to light. It was her crazy ex…  the other crazy ex. I stared at this fool while clinching down on the bush out of anger. This was the same guy who came to my house and sucker punched me, leaving me with this gash on my head that stung every time a snowflake made contact with it. I wanted to break off a sharp twig from the bush and stab him in his jugular, but hey… this isn’t Rikers. He had what seemed to be roses of some sort in his hand, probably coming by here to apologize for his earlier behavior. I had to see what happens next. Hopefully Kristina would slam the door in his face and justice would be served.

                I needed a better view of the door so I decided to make my way towards a tree that was in the middle of her lawn. I couldn’t just stand up and tippy toe, so I decided to crawl. A silly precaution hit me; I was nervous that I would leave fingerprints in the snow and she would know I was here lurking in the shadows. Fingerprints in the snow…. If my fingers weren’t on the verge of frostbite I would have slapped myself. If she wanted to know who was outside her window all she had to do was look for the frozen body on her lawn, looking like Leonardo Dicaprio in ‘Titanic’. I always wondered why Rose let go; No matter how many times I watched that movie, Rose always lets go…

                I watched as he walked to the door and she answered it. I was expected her to wear a frown of disgust, but only wore that wardrobe around me I guess. She didn’t slam the door or shun him away. She smiled, accepted the flowers, and kissed him. She kissed him… with the lips that were promised to me… my lips… she kissed him with my lips! The same lips that I dreamed about… the same lips that I had nightmares of leaving… the same lips that I woke up to and they were still there, good morning kisses, have a good day kisses, how was your day kisses, good night kisses. The same lips that instigated passionate love making… Those were my lips, and now she had given them away.

                I didn’t care who saw me now, I just stood up and walked away. I didn’t know for sure if I was headed in the direction of my car, but at this moment I didn’t care. Plus it was hard to navigate through these white streets with a low head, and flooded eyes of slushy tears. I didn’t know what to think, I just felt stupid and embarrassed. Even though nobody saw me, I think, I still felt a high level of shame. My actions tonight were the pinnacle of low… a voice from across the street startled me.

                “Reggie?” The voice said. I had to wipe my eyes to identify this person and I was even more ashamed when I did. It was Julissa. Julissa had been a close friend of mine for years but we had never taken it further than that. Sure I’ve thought about it lustfully, but never lovely; she was just a friend. In fact she was how I met Kristina. And now she had caught me wet eyed on Kristina’s street.

                “What are you doing here Reggie?” Julissa asked with a look of concern. I had no answer, instead I looked around as if I was sleep walking, or maybe I would see a dog in arms reach with a lease attached to him… yeah I was just out walking my dog in the snow. But there was no dog around. The only stray pitiful looking animal wondering these streets was me. And I had no collar, no home of residence, no owner… just a homeless heart.

                “I don’t know Lisa, I just wanted to see…” I started.

                “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” Julissa asked as she stepped closer.

                “Doing what?” I asked, knowing damn well what she meant.

                “Chasing something you can’t have… You’re making yourself look like a jackass Reggie.” Her words hit hard, but I needed a good hit, one that wouldn’t leave a stinging gash.

                “It’s funny that you would say that Lisa, cause that’s exactly how I feel. I feel like a donkey chasing a carrot.” I said leaning against the street light that illuminated gliding snowflakes.

                “Chasing a carrot?” Julissa asked with a puzzled brow.

                “You know how they put a carrot on a string to get the donkey to come forward. That’s how I feel. She’s that carrot that’s in my face teasing me, and fueling me to drive forward. But I can’t see the strings that are attached. And no matter how fast I move, how strong my steps, how long my stride, I will never get that carrot. But I keep trying, because Lisa… That’s what a jackass is meant to do.”

                “…But you’re not moving forward Reggie. You’re going in circles, that carrot is teasing you man.” Julissa said stepping even closer to me. I looked up into her eyes, which I couldn’t differentiate from the snowflakes; she had beautiful eyes, yet I never noticed till now.

                “Reggie, sometimes that donkey spends his whole life chasing that one carrot that attracts his eyes, and never realizes all the carrots that are right under his nose.” I looked back into her eyes, and I noticing them getting closer. She leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips... on my lips. I became stuck to the very light pole I leaned on like a Child's wet tounge. This was truly becoming a Christmas Story.

'Portraits of Us'

Throwback Thursday! Well actually all of these entries have been throwbacks since Writers Digest haven't posted any prompts lately. But... I did write something new today! <(See I insert that little symbol when I'm excited.) During work, yes work because all I do is think of writing, I wrote a childrens story called Purple Pigs. I figured that you can't lose in writing bedtime stories, since that is the only genre where it's a Good thing if your audience falls asleep to your work. Smart guy huh¿ <(Thats my symbol for a Rhetorical Question.) But I liked it, and you will be the first to read it. I will release it tomorrow, so make sure that you swing back by. It's a cute story... ANYWAYZZZ, Todays post is part 3 and the last part of the Story I posted yesterday. I believe the prompt was write a story mentioning snow, ex friend, and a picture frame. So I decided to connect it to Silent Night and Love Hurts. So here you go, and again, Thanks for your time.

                                  'Portraits of Us'

Even after what she put me through on our ‘Midnight Movie’, and my hallucination of the ‘Christmas Carols’, Kristina still haunted my mind. I sat there on my door steps chain smoking menthols until my throat was Sahara dry, and my fingertips reeked like burnt popcorn. I missed her… like I was aiming to forget her. Everything reminded me of her, even sitting on the steps smoking; she hated when I smoked in the house, so it’s been routine that I take my habit outside. The stars reminded me of her eyes, which sounds like a corny cliché from an airport novel, but it’s true… her eyes really did twinkle. I was in dire need of a wish right now… I had to see her.

I parked two blocks away from her residence and sat there for a while. I stepped out once but quickly jumped back inside my car. I felt so dumb for doing this, but love tends to make people stupid… She had me dumbfounded. Finally I took a deep breath like I was about to perform a cannon ball, and stepped outside. The wind chill attempted to slap some sense in me, but I was too far gone. I took each step with regret but reminded myself that I had come too far to turn around now. Maybe if I just peeped through her window, just for a glance, my heart would be satisfied and I could return home. I knew just the window to sneak towards, since she always read in her guest room before she went to bed. I just hoped that she hadn’t already gone to sleep.

I slid my feet in the three inch snow to prevent from leaving a footprint; a silly trick I had seen on ‘Law and Order’. I could feel my heart beat bicycle kicking through my hooded Carhart jacket. My popcorn fingertips felt like metal when I rubbed them together for heat, but still I had come too far to let Mother Nature hold me back. I could see her hair in the window like a set of jet black curtains. I dropped the ground instantly, thinking that she was looking out the window; maybe she had heard me sliding my size thirteen boots. Snow flew up my shirt when I fell prone; leaving my chest freezing with ice dripping into my jeans… this was bad.

When I looked up at the window I felt stupid realizing that she actually had her back to the window. I shook my head at my stupidity and snow shot from my earlobes. She was holding something in her hand, viewing it. I crouched and duck walked over to get a closer look; the whole footprint idea was history now. It looked like a card but I wasn't sure, so I eased my face closer to the glass. I was so close that I could actually smell her. Oh how I've missed that smell, untill I remembered the last time I was graced with her aroma, and it didn't end well. I zoomed in with my Kodak and my face melted when I saw what she was holding. It was a picture of us that we took when we visited Chicago… It all was worth it now.