Wretchedness

Nausea.
Ice cold angry ocean waves in your stomach.
Brain made of pixie dust;
Relief, a Neverland notion.

Strange pulses tick tock rhythms
in your neck, head, chest, legs
you’re a science experiment gone wrong.
If only you could turn back time, eliminate the cause.

The sickly sweet scent
of gummy bears, to your left
sets your jaw to lockdown
and your insides to spin.

Water tastes like gasoline;
The flavor and texture seem all wrong.
Why does each sip feel like swallowing strips of Jello, whole?

The lights prod your eyeballs
and set your skin to steam.
Everything around you quivers;
it’s all a mirage where solace resides.

Hide in the dark; body naturally reverts to fetal position.
Clothes discarded.
Creepy-crawly uncomfortable like bugs on your skin.
Wait oh-so impatiently for the agony to end.

Will yourself to sleep,
coaxed with crackers.
You don’t want sympathy,
just peace in your organs.

je m'accuse

Hey faithful followers,
I apologize for the lack of updates, I've been focusing a lot on sending out work to be published and I don't want a conflict of rights, so the stories I've been putting out in the 'world' aren't here. I will update ASAP.

Thanks for your patience,
xoxox

Steffani

Pose Me

The pretty
parlor trick
doll,
with polish on her nails.

Rehearse the lines
In the mirror.
Sip each drink slowly.
She smiles on command.

Wardrobe of candy colored thongs and bras;
to be worn under her clothes just until they get home.
She knows all the cocktail jokes
And saucy propositions.

Squeaks and giggles;
exaggerated facial expressions.
Program Sexbot 3000
for her next mission.

Nick & Violet

“Good God she’s gorgeous.” Nick thought to himself, followed by a sip of his scotch.
She was a pretty young thing dancing five feet away from his table.
He hadn’t expected to meet anyone interesting at this wedding, let alone at a rehearsal dinner without an open bar.
He noticed she had taken off her black high heels and they were now dangling off her fingers as she shook with the music. He also noticed that her black and white strapless satin dress was several inches longer than the club attire the rest of the girls were wearing.
She was clearly younger than him, maybe twenty three to his twenty six but the pearls around her neck said she knew how to behave.
Nick finished his scotch, the ice hadn’t even melted yet. He was about to walk to the bar for another when something else caught his eye.
The girl had a heart, maybe the size of a quarter, carved into her calf. It was a hell of a scar. And when she flexed the muscle below, it looked as though the heart were beating.
As he approached the bar, he noticed she was following him. The song had changed.
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked.
“You took my line.”
“Let me guess, double scotch, neat.”
“On the rocks, but how’d you know?”
“That’s what I’m going to drink.”
“Alright, I’ll bite. But the next round’s on me.”
“You bet it is. But first, I’m going to step out for a cigarette.”
When she opened her purse to pay the bartender, Nick noticed the silver pistol under her wallet.


“So, are you here for Collin or Laura?” Nick asked as they lit their cigarettes.
“Laura. We were roommates in college. I’m one of the bridesmaids. And you?”
“Collin. I’m his cousin.”
“Are you in the wedding party?”
“Technically I’m an usher, if that counts.”
“Fair enough. I’m Violet, by the way.”
“Nick.”
She had a strong handshake, like someone who did it often and with purpose.
“Are you from around here?”
“Just moved actually, I was based out of Seattle but I travel a lot.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. I can’t stand being in one place too long.”
He also noticed the absence of a ring on her left hand.
“What about you, do you live here?”
“All my life.”
“It seems like a cool city.”
“Chicago’s great, if you know what you’re doing.”
“Well maybe you can be my own personal tour guide.”
“I might be able to pencil you in.”
Violet tossed her cigarette to the curb and pulled out a mirror to check her hair and lipstick.
“I need another drink.” She said, looking up.
“And I believe it’s on me.”
“I wouldn’t trust a man who forgot a deal.”
“Good.”



When the cab driver handed him the receipt, Nick stumbled out of the car. Then, he gently lifted Violet out of the back seat. She was humming Jingle Bells, for no apparent reason.
Nick carried her across the parking lot towards his apartment. One hand cradled her back and the other behind her knees. She had her arms wrapped around his neck and her head rested on his shoulder.
If fairies existed, Violet would be their princess. She was tiny, barely reaching Nick’s chest when she stood without heels. Her entire hand covered just his palm. But, despite her size, there was nothing child-like about Violet. She had the deep soulful eyes of a woman who had seen her share of shit.
“We’re almost there.” He whispered in her ear.
As they crossed the threshold of the building, Violet’s arms fell away from his neck and he tripped on his untied shoe lace.
Violet fell against the wall as Nick stumbled.
“What happened?” Violet slurred.
“We tripped. You fell.”
“Pick me back up.”
“Are you sure you can’t walk?”
“Are you calling me fat?”
“Christ, no, of course not.”
He leaned down to her outstretched arms and pulled her dress back down over her knees as he lifted her.
“You’re lucky the elevators are working.”
“Are we there yet?”
“Almost.”
“Okay.”
Violet laid her head back on his shoulder, her earring scratching the skin above his collar.
“Ouch!”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The chime of the elevator startled Violet and she started to wiggle against Nick as he stepped inside.
“Stay still if you don’t want me to drop you again.”
“You stay still.”
“I can’t carry you home and stay still at the same time.”
“Home? I thought we were going to your house.”
“We are.”
The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, Nick’s floor, and he stumbled out and to the left two doors down to his apartment.
He leaned Violet against the wall as he unlocked the door.
“Now are we here?”
“Yes.”
“Can you put me down now?”
“Well I can put you down here or you can wait until I walk over to the couch.”
“Fine.” Violet sighed.
When he lowered her to the couch, she closed her eyes.
“Do you want some water?”
“No.”
“Okay, go to sleep then.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
As he walked away, he heard her unzip her dress.
“Hey Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for everything.”
“No problem.”
###

“Nick?” Violet whispered
He pulled his eyes open, Violet, wrapped in a blanket from the living room, was standing next to his bed. Her pale skin looked neon white in the dark. Her long black hair, taken out of its ponytail hung over her shoulders and her eyeliner was smudged under her eyes.
“What?”
“Can I sleep in here?”
“Just go to sleep, Violet. I don’t care where.” Nick mumbled back.
“Thanks.”
She tiptoed to the other side of the bed, dropped the blanket to the floor and slid under the covers, naked, next to him.
It hadn’t been a long time since Nick had last had a woman in his bed, but it had been a while since one had done any sleeping there.
“Are you okay?” he asked, partially out of concern and partially as a distraction.
“I was cold.”

Nick awoke to the sound of the shower running. As he sat up, he dreaded the inevitable hangover but it wasn’t a horrible as it should have been. The vitamins she pushed in his hand before their night out must have actually worked. He’d only taken them to humor her.
The shower shut off and the curtain rattled open. Violet exited the bathroom with one of his blue towels swallowing her small body.
“Morning.” He smiled.
“I hope you don’t mind the shower.”
“Not at all.”
She perched herself on the empty side of the bed, swinging her legs up next to his.
“Still on for breakfast?” she asked, leaning back.
“You’re going to make an honest man out of me—this is the longest date I’ve ever been on.”
“I do what I can.”
He reached over and wiped a stray drop of water from her forehead.
“I’m going to guess you don’t have a spare change of clothes hidden in that tiny purse of yours.”
“True.”
“How do you want to play it then?”
“Can’t we just stop at my place on the way?”
“I don’t drive.”
“What?”
Nick shrugged. No one he knew had a car unless they traveled locally for business. Paying for parking was not something he wanted to add to his bills.
“Too expensive and the traffic is a pain in the ass. The train takes me everywhere I want to go. Or, as with last night, a cab.”
“That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.”
“It’s pretty standard here.”
“Another thing to get used to then.”
He wondered where she lived, what kind of car she drove. But it wasn’t the time to ask.
“We can just eat in.”
“Okay. You’re going to have to tell me how to get home eventually, though.”
“All in good time. You need some food in your system first. Go wait in the kitchen while I throw some clothes on.”
“I slept in your bed naked but you want me to leave while you put on some pants?”
“Suit yourself.”
Nick threw back the covers. He might just keep this one.
###
“So, if you’re going to keep sleeping over, I feel like I get to ask about the gun in your purse.”
Violet peered up at him from where she lay on the pillow.
“So ask.”
Nick rolled his eyes. She was impossible when she wanted to be.
“Why do you keep a gun in your purse?”
“Some bad things have happened to me. Now, I like to be prepared.”
It was a stock answer. This wasn’t the first time someone had asked her about it. And she wasn’t about to give him any more details than that. He knew this because she rolled away from him, pulling the covers up around her shoulders and covering her face with her hands when he tried to lean in for a kiss.
“Well, as long as I’m around, I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Violet mumbled from behind her tiny fingers.
“Okay, okay. Good night, Violet.”
“Good night.”
Nick had just started to fall asleep when he heard Violet start to whimper.
“What’s wrong?”
“Get my pills out of my purse.”
Her breaths were too shallow and coming too fast. Her pupils were huge. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Nick opened the bag and dug frantically around the lipstick, chewing gum, matches, wallet and that damned pistol until he found three pill bottles.
“Which ones?”
“The blue ones.”
Nick looked at the bottles. Green pills, white pills, blue pills. He tossed them to her.
“Open them.”
He fumbled in the field of sheets for the bottle, snapped open the cap and poured them into his hand. The pills rolled around his palm.
“Here.”
Violet’s hand shot out and with shaking fingers, she tried to grasp a single pill.
As she swallowed it, Nick went to the bathroom to get her a glass of water. It appeared as a courtesy, but really, he needed a minute to recover.
“Water.” He said, handing her the glass.
“I can see that.” She snapped.
“Can I ask what that was?”
“Which part? The panic or the pills?”
“Both.”
“I don’t sleep well.”
“Apparently.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
“Do you plan on keeping me around?”
“Yeah, as far as I know.”
“Then I’ll explain everything you need to know in the morning, okay?”
“Okay.”

Doll- Girl

Colleen sat cross legged on the floor of her bedroom, pink striped knee socks against black carpet, retying the pink ribbons at the ends of the braids in her hair.
“Honey, you need to walk the dog.” Her mom said, peeking in the door.
“But Mommy, I don’t want to.”
“Put on your shoes and do it anyway. It’s beautiful outside.”
“Okay.” Colleen sighed.

Her mother turned away from the doorway and leaned against the wall, out of sight, while her eyes filled with tears. Her beautiful sixteen-year-old daughter, had been reduced to her five year old self. And there was nothing she could do about it.
This should have been the year she learned to drive a car. Instead, they were putting training wheels on her bike again. She should be doing homework and studying for exams instead of practicing writing her name and reading flashcards and picture books. She should be going shopping on the weekends with her friends, instead of having to hold hands with her mother. It was stupid and heartbreaking and no one knew what to do about it.
Colleen laced up her pink sneakers and went to find Lucy, the white fluffy terrier they had waiting when she was released from the hospital. She crawled under tables and peeked under couches until she found Lucy in the kitchen, hovering by her leash.
“Ready to go for a walk, puppy?” Colleen giggled.
Lucy barked and nudged the leash with her nose.
Colleen giggled and clapped then knelt down to attach the leash.
“Okay Mommy, we’re going now.” Colleen yelled.
“Okay Sweetie. Remember to look both ways before you cross the street.”
“I will.”
After she heard the front door slam, her mother walked downstairs. She would have to sit on the porch and watch her daughter walk down the street when she should be watching her walk across a stage, receiving her high school diploma.

Suck and Swallow

Lollipop sticks pile up looking like unsmoked cigarettes
When I can’t get a fix.
Being unemployed sets way too many limits
Lips, tongue, teeth painted lemon, grape, peach.
Sweet sticky substitute for a nicotine hit.

One pill.
Some days, two pills.
I’ve got brown plastic bottles in my purse, in boxes, in drawers, on shelves.
Some of them empty, some of them filled.
Much better now than asking friends
for crumbs I could score.
Now I’m pouring out dollars to doctors
when my lungs get sore.
But I’ve lost ten pounds
Since I kicked my four to six beer
nightcap—self medication
habit.

The suffocation and the nightmares come less often.
My hands still shake like I’m jacked up on caffeine—or withdrawing from worse.

I used to be a whore.
(I’m not drunk until I’m making out with somebody.)
Getting fucked, not looking for love, just someone to hold on to. Someone to distract me; get me a whiskey when I couldn’t breathe.
Standing in line for condoms, plan b, ginger ale
Or to get tested for HIV.

But he changed all that.
Hitting me in an elevator, with his tool kit.
Taking me out for a coffee—dinner--drinks apology.

Now I sleep in a bed.
His bed. Our bed.
One year later, I sleep through the night, in a bed.
Something that hasn’t happened since I was a kid.
Not eating peanut butter out of the jar for weeks on end; subsisting on coffee, whiskey and cigarettes.

I go to the doctor.
I take my pills;
Take a shower, without falling over.
Eat dinner, more often than not. Real food, real meals. I remember how to cook again.
Fall asleep instead of blacking out; wake up without a hangover.
Wake up under covers; under arms instead of on my couch or someone else’s floor.
He proposes in his sleep
Once a month.
He talks about our some-day kids when he’s drunk.

He lights my cigarettes; splitting a pack when I’m too broke to buy my own.
No more whoring;
No more scoring.

Just me, my pills and my boyfriend.

New Novel Idea

Walking up the rusty fire escape, Kaitlin knew what to expect; Derek would be sitting on the balcony with a toothpick between his lips and a half full ashtray at his feet.

However when she reached the third floor, she squinted in the dim moonlight to make what looked like dried blood trailing from a broken nose, staining the collar of his grey tshirt and his left hand covered in half formed scabs.

"What in hell happened to you?" she asked, setting her bag down and sitting in front of him, leaning back against the railing of the balcony.
"Got in a fight."
"Well obviously."
"What else do you want to know?"

He lit a cigarette and looked over her shoulder as he exhaled.

Kaitlin took the cigarette out of his hand and took a drag.

"Why did you get in a fight?"
"Because."
"Goddamnit, give me something to work with here."
"I," he passed her the cigarette and cracked his knuckles, "I don't know if it was real or not."

###

Whoops!

Hey guys,
I know it's been forever since I've updated this but school and life and whatever got in the way.

Now it's summer and I've been writing a lot again, so I will start updating this regularly with my work.

I will also keep you posted on anything that gets published.

My project for this summer is to teach myself radio drama writing because I'm taking a class on it in the fall.
Look for my attempts at that.

Anyway,
Thanks.

xoxox always,
steffani

teaser line!

I told him from the start not to bother with a gaudy, expensive ring I'd probably get annoyed with and never wear; I'd rather have a 'thanks for putting up with me, wanna keep this going" bottle of scotch to keep on the shelf after it was empty and a new set of sheets to break in.

Halloween

I want to trick-or-treat
for cigarettes.
I want to knock
on doors
for nicotine hits.

I'll alternate:
a shot of liquor here
a cigarette there
a shotgunned beer
from the corner.

I'll change my costume
once
twice
three
times
and walk around
until I've got a pack full
of smokes
and a brain buzz from alcohol.

Let's play grown up
Halloween;
and get the treats
we really need.

now, now.

Oh sugar, I'm flattered.
But don't you worry
about me.
Yeah, I'm the girl
who he'll use
to get over his ex,
but when he's ready
to settle down,
he'll ask you
without a look back.

yeahhhh boy

Hell yes, I can be a bro.
But I wanna be your doll too.
Sometimes I want to wear
a pretty dress and a pair of heels,
to let you do the seducing.
Other nights, I want a fifth of whiskey
while I take in a hockey fight.

Come for my lips
and my tits,
but stay for the adventures
aside from my hips.
Let's watch comic books turned films
Or let me bake cookies
while you play xbox live.
I'm not picky;
I just wanna be with you.

Name Callin'

Look sweetheart,
you're going to have to come up with something a little more creative
if you wanna hurt me.
There's a real short list of people on this planet
who haven't
called me a whore.
It doesn't bother me at all
if you wanna jump on the bandwagon.

Sunflower

Ophelia dragged her suitcase through the doors of the train station, aching for a cigarette after the twelve hour train ride back to the city she loved. But, before she could wheel herself over to the benches overlooking the river to dig her lighter from her purse, she saw him standing there with a single sunflower.

"Hey." he called when he saw her too.
"Hi." she whispered, dropping her suitcase to the pavement.

The kiss that followed was a summer's worth of anticipation made tangible. His lips felt so right against hers after the months of dreaming.

"I missed you." he said.
"I love you." she said.

My own alternative-emo song (okay, okay, will be retitled, i swear)

We'd have been besties for sure,
if we'd meet five years ago.
I swear to god,
this is the first time
I've ever wished to be fifteen again.
Maybe I never would have started drinking--
never would have let a razor blade split my skin.
How is it that you know all the words to all my favorite songs
when all my 'friends' don't even know the names of my favorite bands?
Life's a wicked, wicked wench.
But you knew that already, didn't you?
Yeah, I know you do.
We're the kind of kids,
who wouldn't hesitate to throw a punch.
(My left hand never really ever did bend the same.)
And fuck's a word that fits in just about anywhere.
Where've you been?
Where you headed?
Are you going to leave, so all I've got is memories?
'cause it's a little bit kinda crazy
that you get me like this, just a few years too late.
Yeah, a few years too late's the story of my life.
But maybe it's not too late, is it too late to know you like this?

Ode to my Boobs.

My cleavage has received all the compliments I never have.
Pretty. Beautiful. Perfect. Ideal.
Their shape, size, component ratio, sensitivity and overall appearance have garnered them praises of a luxury car.
When given the drunken opportunity to look at, touch, and otherwise enjoy them, people, generally male, treat me like a princess. In utter awe of these orbs adorning my chest, I am a goddess. However, in the sober light of day, nipples tucked away behind clothing, I am not the girl one asks out.

If I lean over just enough during the course of a night, I have no problem picking a gentleman up, in any manner of speaking. But that's not the kind of thing one builds a relationship on.

A house needs a solid foundation to stand on, or else, it will fall, like a kid on roller blades. And while my boobs are delightfully firm, they are not strong enough to support a relationship.

Ten Dollar Word, Reminiscence

The vodka you'd been downing made you slur:
"Let's consummate this commiseration. Then we won't be lonely anymore".
and I said that'd be satisfactory; I didn't want the evening to terminate with me going to bed in solitary, not after all I'd been through.
So we kissed our way to oral copulation, in a clandestine rendezvous, the secret adding just as much thrill as the actions themselves.

Message in a Bottle III

This is the 3rd in a series of message in a bottle stories (Renee, Brad, Ophelia). Complete series will be posted soon! (*note, use of Ophelia here is for creative purposes not reporting of actual events)


Ophelia screwed the plastic cap back on her coke bottle, then shook the slip of paper inside down to the bottom. Next, she wound a length of duct tape around it to secure the seal. She closed her eyes and threw the bottle into Lake Michigan. When she opened them again, she saw a man down the path doing what appeared to be the same. The cellphone in her pocket began to buzz. A number she didn't recognize. She answered it.

"Hey, Ophelia. It's Oliver. Are you down by the lake?"
"Yes, in fact I am."
The figure she'd seen was walking towards her, hand at his ear. They each hung up as they met.
"Guess we had the same idea." he said.

The note Ophelia had put in the bottle and thrown into the water was a wish list. The first item, just above finding a job, was true love. Could it possibly have worked so quickly?

"I guess so."

They walked down the path to a bench and sat together.

"I missed you." Oliver said.
"I missed you too."

He leaned over to kiss her. And Ophelia's musings were confirmed in the hot amethyst passion she felt fill her body as his lips pressed against hers.

(to be continued)

in progress

I'd trade this belt buckle skeleton key
for your heart's password, any day.
unloved ain't so glamorous now, is it, kiddo?

did you really think
she'd take the sting away?
is she just killing time,
you're taking away the fun
of that victimless crime.

I miss your lips,
damn it.
I miss the way your hands felt
on my back; and pulling down my jeans.
I miss the way your eyes looked in the dark
reflecting the flame from your lighter.
Have I told you? I'm quitting smoking.
Funny how things change.

novel excerpt

“Janie, what’s wrong?” Kurt asked, putting down his glass of wine.
“I… I feel like I’m not doing enough to help these kids.”
Kurt got up and put his arms around her.
“Janie, you live three blocks away from campus, in an apartment you can’t afford so that you can run over if any of them need you. What more can you do?”
“You know what Carter said to me today?”
“What?”
“I asked him if he’d eaten anything, he said he had a couple of screwdrivers before noon.”
“He’s in college. They drink.”
“Kurt, he’s been making breakfast cocktails since he was thirteen. “
“You can’t fix them all. Jesus, half those kids shouldn’t even be in school. They need the kind of help you can’t give them in an hour or two a week.”
“They don’t have a choice! This school is the best thing that’s ever happened to most of these kids. Their parents don’t give a fuck. They tell them to grow up and get over themselves.”
“Well, maybe that’s what some of them need to do.”

Janie slammed her fork on the table and shook off Kurt’s arms.
“Go fuck yourself. That’s what my parents told me to do.”
“And you did.”
“Yeah, with the help of the people doing my job now.”
“I’m sure there are kids that do need your help, but I’m also willing to bet that a lot of them are looking for attention. They read about all the ‘artists’ that came before them, and the issues they claimed to have. You read all that celebrity paparazzi garbage; half of it’s publicity stunts, Janie.”
“I’ve got 25 kids directly in my care. I’ve got 25 more on an outpatient level. Of those 50 kids; maybe two are exaggerating, which is why they’re outpatient. The fact that they feel the need to exaggerate, indicates underlying issues, which means they need to be treated anyway.”
“Look, I’m not trying to trivialize your job. But you’re kidding yourself if you think that all those kids need saving.”
“Get out. And don’t come back.” Janie said, getting up from the table and walking to the front door.
“Janie, come on.”
“Get the hell out of my apartment, Kurt.”
“Fine,” he walked to the door, “you’re just as needy as your students and I really can’t take it anymore.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to leave.”
Kurt walked out the door and Janie slammed it shut behind him.