Juxtaposed by Tiffany

You’ve searched and you’ve found Short Shorts. This month we are exploring the talent of Seven Magazine’s own Tiffany. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, you have heard correctly. You may have read her numerous reviews on her blog TiffanyLovesBooks, but never before has a table turned as fast as today! Without further ado **enter drumroll** we proudly present Juxtaposed… SN:Please remember to tell us what you think AND submissions are ALWAYS welcomed. Check out our Contact Us page for additional information. Now, sit back and relax and enjoy Juxtaposed.

“Don’t stop. Keep running. Don’t stop. Keep running.” It has become my mantra. I have repeated these words so many times they have lost their meaning. I’m not sure what I’m really saying anymore. What were once words I used to keep me focused and motivated have become a meaningless mumbled jumble. I’m not even sure why I’m still attempting to repeat these words anymore. They have become so scrambled in my mind that they have simply become a sad effort to concentrate on anything but the pain.

I’m still running. My breath rushes in and out of my mouth and the stitch in my side make every step, every breath painful. I see everything around me as if it’s someone else running in my body. It doesn’t seem real. Just this morning I was doing normal things and joking with my friends, how can I be fighting for my life now? It’s like I’m having an out of body experience. I am surrounded by nature. All these barren trees fill me with foreboding. Every time my foot hits the debris covered ground I imagine a big neon arrow pointing down on my location. I try to run softly, to not step on twigs and fallen branches. This slows me down too much. I hear them catching up. I give up on that attempt.

“Don’t stop. Keep running. Don’t stop. Keep running.” I’m tired. My heartbeat is pounding in my head. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I need to find a place to hide. A place where I can catch my breath. I start to look around. I wonder what a good hiding place would be. Will I be able to get to it fast enough with my pursuers on my heels? My energy is waning and lifting my eyes from the ground feels like a bad idea. I need to watch my step and I don’t know that I can look around and run at the same time. This ground is too unstable. I can’t keep this up. I’m exhausted and my body hurts everywhere.

“Please let me find a safe place to hide.” I throw this silent prayer into the air. I don’t know who I pray to. A god, the universe, the bird staring at me perched on that tree. I glue my eyes to the floor, I don’t want to fall. If I do, I don’t think I’ll be able to stand again. “Please help me find a safe place to hide.” This time I say it out loud. Huffed through ragged breaths and barely above a whisper. I hope now that it was said out loud my prayer will be heard.

“Don’t stop. Keep running. Don’t stop. Keep running.” My legs are starting to buckle beneath me. I’m going to be caught. I just know it. There is no where for me to hide in these barren woods. There is also no one here to save me. No deity I believe in, no god to save me from my fate. I idly wonder what my obituary would say. “Here lies John. He wasn’t fast enough.” I can’t breathe. I feel it stuck in my throat. I try to cough, I need to dislodge it. It’s another sound that jumps out of my mouth. The force of it scares me. This laughter I hear bubbling from my throat sounds inhuman. I can’t stop it- it’s making it harder for me to breathe. I’m terrified. Tears are rolling down my cheeks.

I know I’m dead. There is no way I can escape. My hysterics start to die down as my mind tries to accept it’s fate. Would I have done anything differently? Would my death be noble? To die for what I believed in? I spoke up when no one else would. Will my story be told? Will I be remembered as a hero or a cautionary tale?

“Don’t stop. Keep running. Don’t stop. Keep running.” I’m starting to feel light headed. Is there something wrong with the oxygen here? I feel no relief when I breathe. My heartbeat is tattooing itself into my skull. Is there any hope of me coming out of this alive? The possibility fills me with hope. I take my eyes from the ground and attempt to look around me. My foot hits a rock and I find myself sprawled out on the floor. Tears fill my eyes as all hope escapes me. As if the gods are trying to seal my fate, a hand wraps around my ankle. And pulls.

A scream born of fear is ripped from my throat. I don’t know what to do. I scream at them to let me go. I threaten to kill them when I get my hands on them. I beg them to release me, I swear won’t go to the police. My throat is dry, my voice is hoarse and I’m still being dragged across the forest floor. I don’t know what they’ll do with me and my imagination offers no relief. I beg them to let me walk. The rocks and branches on the ground are hurting me so bad. The front of my body is starting to numb. I ask them again to let me walk. I apologize for the words that got me in this situation. I tell them that if they let me live, I won’t say things like that anymore. They laugh at me. Please, I beg, just let me walk. You guys have me, I can’t escape. Please just let me walk. The guy pulling my ankles grunts and drops my legs.

“Don’t stop. Keep running. Don’t stop. Keep running.” I know what I said to be true, I have no hope of escaping but I have to try. I would have hated myself for not trying. I run with all the strength left in my body. It takes them a few seconds to react. I look back and they are not pursuing me. I feel a spark of hope come to life in my gut. Maybe I can survive this. I look back a second time already a few feet away, one’s holding a gun aimed at me. My heart drops, my blood runs cold. I try to think fast. I don’t want to stop running but I don’t see what choice I have. I dive to the forest floor to avoid the bullet that’s left his gun.

Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. I try to stand up, my legs aren’t cooperating. I hear them approaching. I work even harder to get me legs below me. I know that if I can just stand up I’ll be able to get away. I hear their laughter and look up. They are standing a few feet back, amusement in their eyes and laughter poring from their mouths. I don’t get it. Is this some form of torture? Like in those dreams where you are trying to run and are giving it your all but seem to be moving in place. As one of the men cruel laughter seems to be getting louder I look up. He’s walking towards me. He points to my back and snorts with laughter. I don’t get it. Giving up on my attempt to stand I reach one hand around to my back and touch the spot he’s pointing to. My fingers come back from my spine with blood on them. Realization dawns on me. I’ve been shot.

I’m not sure if I’ll survive this. If they let me live I know I won’t come out of this the same. Staring at the blood staining my fingers I wonder if it was worth it. Would I do it again, knowing that this would be the outcome? I never realized the power of words. How they have the power to motivate or condemn. My actions, my words have brought me here. I hear a gun being cocked above me. I know now that my death is eminent. People constantly die fighting for our country, fighting for our freedom. I know I’m no hero but I am at least dying for what I believe in. I take comfort in that. I’m not dying for nothing. Free speech is something worth fighting for. This battle for freedom won’t stop. Although I may not keep running, my message has been heard. Peace envelopes me as the gun shot reverberates in the air around us.

Charley Parkins by Coty Poynter

You’ve searched and you’ve found Short Shorts. Join us each month where we explore amazing short stories. Always let us know what you think and submissions are welcomed. Now, find a comfy chair where you can lose yourself in this fateful tale written by: Coty Poynter

CHARLEY PARKINS

Across from him she sits. Electric blue eyes staring into his faded browns. The coffee screams, releasing the pain of the scalding brew. The waiter pours him another cup. He begins to speak words. Loving words of endearment and reassurance. The kind of words that a man thinks a woman wants to hear in times of trouble. The words that are suppose to soothe, to stop, to comfort. His rough voice is transformed into that of an opera singer as the words flow from his tongue. Locked her electric blue eyes are, but glassy they do not become.

When he finally runs out of words to speak, he looks at her with anticipation. He waits for the tears to come, for her reply, for some reaction. Nothing. The electric blues remain dry, her body does not shake, not even her lip quivers.

A sense of dread begins to flow up his feet, through his legs, his balls, chest, and into his head. The room begins to spin, although she remains stationary. Immovable she has become.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling sharp needles, and exhaling glass. He grabs the cup of coffee to chase the glass down, but the black magma only serves to enhance the pain. He clears his throat. In this instance, one final word has dislodged itself from his dry, pained throat. It travels up his esophagus like vomit, forcing its way onto his tongue and out of his mouth.

“Why?”

The statue with electric blue eyes stares soullessly back at him. Her response came as if she had prepared for this last word.

“I don’t know, you didn’t seem to want me anymore. And I’m pregnant.”

The immovable statue with electric blue eyes rises from the table and exits. He sits there. His faded browns becoming glassy. He hears the sound of heels approaching the table just as soon as they left. The statue reaches down for her pen.

“I just came back for my pen. Oh yeah, the baby isn’t yours, Charley.”

The statue makes a swift exit for the second time.

Charley Parkins sits at the table, his coffee now whispering. His faded browns are now bleeding. His mind is empty, and his heart is silent. A cold wind blows over him. He shivers. As drops drip from his browns, he tries to create a positive thought of any kind with no luck. Then a thought comes to mind.

“Leech.”
—————————————————————————————
Charley Parkins sits at the table. His once hot coffee now ice. His browns bled dry. Without paying his bill, Charley rises from the table and leaves. Walking mindlessly down the street, Charley can not pinpoint where he went wrong. Where they went wrong.
How could such a sweet girl do something like that, he asks himself. How could he have been so blind as to not notice the truth of the situation.

Charley snaps back to reality. Without knowing how he has procured it, Charley opens the bottle of whiskey in his hand and begins drinking. His first gulp drains nearly one third of the bottle. He wipes his mouth, caps his spirit, and begins to head towards his home.

Like any man who is down and out, Charley turned towards the bottle. Two bottles to be precise. The first bottle of whiskey was half gone when a cop stopped Charley on his way home. The officer, Grant Hadley, was a friend of Charley. Not a long time friend, but they had a few past encounters. Charley shared his story of heartbreak with Officer Hadley when he stopped him.

Instead of taking him into custody, Hadley opted to take the bottle. He told Charley, that he’s going to give him a break this one time. That if he see’s him like this again he’ll have no choice, but to take him in and charge him.

Charley gave him a drunkards promise to not do it again.

Grant Hadley gets into his squad car and pulls away without looking back. He gave Charley the decency of solitude, without a second interruption. Unlike woman with electric blues.

Charley takes a breathe to enjoy the solidarity of the moment. The moment is ruined when one thought finds its way to the forefront of his mind.

“I just came back for my pen.”

The sentence replayed constantly in Charley’s head. It was teasing him. Plaguing him to no end. Dancing around inside his mind, unable to end the song it’s dancing too.

Charley snaps back to reality. Words begin to form in his throat. Unable to swallow them, they seep from his mouth.

“Fucking bitch.”

Charley Parkins takes a drink from his second bottle of whiskey without knowing how he came to acquire it.
—————————————————————————————
Polishing off the second bottle of whiskey, Charley Parkins continues to drunkenly roam about the city streets. Staggering down that sidewalk, stumbling up this curb, the drunkard odyssey continues on. With his knees growing weak and his feet sore, resting was what his body wanted, but a man in emotion shall remain in motion, even if it kills him.

Charley is in a bad place. His thoughts race around, the car with her decal plastered all over continually coming out ahead of all the others. He begins to sink back into the confides of his mind to piece together the events where everything took a turn for the worst.

“Was I ever truly happy?” he thought to himself. “Yes. But was she?”

Charley rattled his brain, attempting to dislodge any memories that were tightly pack into the back of his muddled mind.

Sorting through his mind, Charley neglected to take notice of where he currently walked. Slipping into a state of subconscious movement, his mind preoccupied, Charley hears a faint beeping. Grower louder and longer the more he tries to ignore it, he is forced away from his thoughts to focus on reality, but a moment too late.

The driver of the vehicle too distracted to take notice of this pitiful drunkard roaming in the middle of the street. His girlfriend incessantly nagging him about how to deal with their pregnancy, about how she wishes to be married, and how she can’t believe HE didn’t pay the bill. “What a selfish prick HE is!”

As Charley snaps back to reality, he finds himself face to grill with a large black Ford F-350.

Charley Parkins has met his end during his worst day ever.

About the Author in his own words: I’m Coty Poynter, a 20 year old writer and aspiring filmmaker. I have written short stories, scripts, prose and poetry over the past few years to hone my craft. I live in Baltimore, Maryland, working at a bookstore. I will be attending Salisbury University in Fall 2013 where I will be majoring in Media Production and minoring in Creative Writing. Writing has played a large part in my life since I was young boy, helping me escape from the boring reality of the world or simply to hide from the sadness that pursued me that day. I hope, someday, to write books that will be published and screenplays to be transformed into movies. When I’m not writing in my free time, I’m reading or getting out for a jog to let my mind rest. My favorite author is a close call between Charles Bukowski and Kurt Vonnegut, both have a great impact on me. I just love living life to the way I see fit so that I may be the happiness being I can be.

“When something feels right and good in your gut, your mind, and heart. Do everything you can to pursue that dream and make it a reality for that is where true happiness lies.”

How to reach Coty:

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/coty.poynter

Twitter (Most Used Network):
https://twitter.com/CotyMPoynt

Tumblr (My Creative Outlet/Blog):
http://cotypoynt.tumblr.com

HitRECord:
http://www.hitrecord.org/users/seePoyntandRECord

The Doctor Will See You Now by Ymelda Ramirez

“I’m pregnant.” I could feel letters scrambling, beating each other up to form words to make this better; they were unsuccessful. There was nothing to make this better. I mean, I could have an abortion. Pretend it never happened. Technically speaking it was smaller than a peanut. It didn’t have personality. I wouldn’t even have known I was pregnant anyway. I only knew because I was three days late. I was never late.

Jacob, however, was always late. Always late with some type of nonsense excuse that would only make sense if I lacked self esteem, but I didn’t. I had my pride. I had my morals. I bowed down to ignorance and accepted what we had. I loved him. I pushed aside all reasons and focused my energy on the type of person I wished him to be. I wished him to be mine. Only mine.

I had pictures of us on vacation spread out through my apartment. He had a side of the closet and a toothbrush in the bathroom. My grocery store runs included all his favorite snacks and beer. He loved Yuengling, especially with grilled wings. He loved when I rubbed his back while watching prime time. We spoke over twenty times a day on the phone. Every weekend we went off on some adventure and more often than not, he slept in my bed. My friends didn’t even know, that I, was the other woman.

“Huh?” His eyes opened up and I could see the fear building up inside him.

“I’m pregnant.” I looked away; I couldn’t bear to see the rejection of our love in his eyes.

“Ummm, well….you…I mean what do you want to do?” He walked over to the kitchen, opened the fridge and searched for an answer.

“What do you want to do?” I followed him into the kitchen and stood with my back against the wall staring at the cold truth. I was in this alone. His fun was over and my world was about to change.

“I have two kids. You know that.” He finally reached in and grabbed a Yuengling. Something stirred inside me. It was too early to be the baby, but I felt like it was telling me ‘This is what you chose for us?’

“What do your two kids have to do with this one?” My heart raced and I knew what was coming, but the fear kept me from making a move. I couldn’t say it. Not yet. I was hoping that he would turn around, grab me, look into my eyes and tell me that we were in this together and that he was finally leaving her. Then he would kiss me passionately, make love to me and reassure me that it was all going to be ok as long as we had each other. Nothing could prepare me for what came next.

“I have two kids. Three is not an option. Get rid of it.” He sipped his beer as the cold oozed from his eyes. “How soon can we take care of this?”

“Get rid of it? You. Want. Me? ME? To get rid of IT?!? This isn’t a purse, a phone call, or some type of picture that would compromise your bullshit marriage, THIS is a life. I have a life growing inside of me that came from you.” The tears overwhelmed me, but the ignorance took a back seat to the obvious.

“What the fuck? How do I know that it’s mine anyway? I don’t know what you do when I’m not around.” He slammed the beer bottle on the counter and I couldn’t help but flinch. This person standing before me was not the Jacob that would tickle me at the nap of my neck whenever he wanted to remind me that he loved me. This was not the Jacob that would hold me close and whisper in my ear how happy he was that he met me. This man, this man was not the one who told me he hated her and the way she treated him and the kids and that I was different. This was something else. Something I didn’t know.

“It’s yours. Trust me it’s yours.” I looked at the kitchen tile and started making patterns in my head in order to distract the pain that my heart was pushing into my being. “It’s our child. Whether you want it or not.”

“I don’t want it. I can’t have it. Do you understand what this could do to me? Don’t you love me? Can’t you see what you are doing to me? What you are going to do to my family?” His face was flushed. Hot pink I think was the color on his cheeks.

“You? What do you think it does to me to know that when you aren’t sleeping with me, you are with her? How do you think I feel when I have to keep you a secret from my family and lie about where you are to my friends? I hate not being able to hold your hand or kiss your lips in public ‘because someone might see.’ To hell with you and to hell with her.” I stomped out of the kitchen like a teenager denied hanging out with her friends on the weekend. I could do this alone. I didn’t need him.

“Seriously? To hell with me?? LOOK AROUND YOU TRIST! I PAY FOR THIS SHIT. Every fucking thing you want, I pay for. I give you the world!! All that I ask for in return is your discretion.” He ran up to me and held me. Not the way a lover holds his beloved, but the way an abuser holds his victim. This is the part where he would make himself the victim, and I the reason. I refused to fall for it.

“Discretion? That’s all that you ask from me? I guess my to do list was a lot shorter than I made it out to be. You’re an asshole. I should have known better than to expect anything from someone like you. It’s been three years. Three long miserable years of giving you my discretion. I can’t do it anymore.” I pulled away and walked back into the kitchen. I stood in front of the counter that held his beer.

“Oh you can’t huh? You planned it this way? I’m not leaving my wife. I can’t.” His eyes became watery. I wasn’t sure if his emotions were genuine or something to once again trap me and keep me hanging on his wall of honor.

“It’s not that you can’t. It’s that you won’t. She’s not the bad one. You are. You are the one that wants the best of both words. I’ll make this very easy for you. Take what you want and get out. I’ll never ask you for anything. We will be ok.” I reach over for the bottle of beer and hold it in my hand.

Jacob pulled back and instantly the tears went away. The emotion switched to laughter and he couldn’t contain himself. “Ha…really? You will be ok. Wow! I must admit that I want to see that happen. Do you know how much a child cost? Whose going to help you with child care, or when the little shit wont’ stop crying? What are you going to do then?” He began to pace the kitchen. He was no longer talking to me, but speaking to the husband inside him. “This is over. No more of this. Walk away and this will go away. You’re not keeping it.”

“I’m keeping it Jacob. I am keeping this child, but I chose not to keep you. We are done. Get out.” The child growing inside me was giving me a strength that I lacked all these years. It was long overdue.

“You’re right. You need to think this through. Call me tomorrow. I heard about a clinic, not to far from here. I’ll take the money from my vacation fund and yeah…don’t worry about this kid. We got this.” He walked over, took the beer from my hand and drank. He finished the bottle in seconds, placed it on the counter behind me and then hugged me. He hugged me tight. He kissed my neck and held me.

I didn’t hug him back. I knew this was good bye. My arms dangled under his strong embrace. “I’m done.” The tears didn’t come. They disappeared into the self love I discovered. The self love that was now turning into someone to love that would always love me unconditionally. I didn’t need second class love. I needed genuine love, and that’s something that Jacob could never give me.

Jacob left that day. I was strong enough not to speak to him. He called. He texted. He emailed and even showed up at the apartment a couple of times. I just blocked him from my life. It’s a daily struggle not to think of him. He was my world. The one that got away. I realize now the value of me. The importance of loving myself first and not letting anything or anyone come in between me. Love is something that starts in the heart and spreads through every orifice, consuming the bad and expelling it. Each beat is another chance to heal the soul and make things right. I made things right, no matter who or what it cost me.

“Trista Stuart, the doctor will see you now.”