Robin Sparkles/Daggers #himym
It’s Not Right (But It’s Okcurrrr) sample
Still need to incorporate the other iconic quotes, but here’s a start.
this show kept it real
[A short story I wrote a few years back]
We’re all at the park. Mom is there, cutting up the watermelon. Since times were tough at home, watermelon was a two-for-one: food and drink. Tony and you are throwing a ball back and forth. It’s obvious you don’t treat Tony like your natural born son; he’s so scrawny compared to your. Mom yells at you to be gentler with him but you don’t take her seriously. You never did really, Jerome.
I sit under the tree, playing with the few flowers nearby. I pluck one, such a beautiful flower, however, I pull its petals. I can see you in my periphery and I can tell this irritates you. You holler at me to come and play with you but I don’t budge. I ignore you, well—at least I pretend to. My name gets louder as the seconds go by till your large hand smacks the flower out of my hand and you yank my arm. Mom pauses and looks, then continues to cut the watermelon; she seems so afraid of you. I see that flower on the ground, destroyed as if it had no purpose. But the flower lives in my hand- it will always live in my hand when I think of you, Jerome.
The museum was cooler than the park; the weather almost got Mom overheated. She’s so weak at times. You take my hand, parading me around to show the others your possession. Can you feel the flower? I do. Tony stares at one painting, the one he’s writing a paper on. It’s a mess, the painting, yet people are flocking around it. Mom asks Tony what exactly he has to write and Tony says something but I ignore him. I can feel the sweat in our hands as you continue to hold mine. I look up at you, angry. In the background of the painting I see a boy and girl under a tree. They could be playing with flowers, or they could be talking about their lives—we’ll never know. I tell you, “Look, I’m in the painting, I’m both of them.” You grasp my hand harder; my fingers turn white. Does this annoy you, Jerome?
At home I hid from him but there’s only so little places to escape. You’ll find, eventually. You always do. I feel as though I’m behind bars, sentenced to a life of punishment for a crime I am not aware of. You are the warden and I, the prisoner. I hear my warden walking up the steps. Your heavy feet, one after another, stomping with no care for the noise you make. You open my cell and stand in front of me. I can hear Mom talking to Tony downstairs. We’re alone, you and I. You just stare at me, your eyes full of disappointment. We say nothing but the silence spoke for us. My eyes break the gaze and you walk away, closing my cell door shut. I stay inside, afraid to leave. Do you love me, Jerome?
I hate you. I despise you. I curse you. Is that what you want, Jerome?
I wonder what you look like. I wonder if you wonder the same about me. Mom says I met you once, as an infant. No memory cells in my brain, no real image of you at all. You reoccur at night and it plays the same way, not a beat is missed. You want to love me, or at least I make you want to love me. No one speaks of you, not even Tony. It seems as though they’ve tried to forget you but when they see me, it all comes back. I made you up. You, daddy, are a figment of my imagination. You, daddy, were never there for me. You, daddy, will never be there for me. How I longed to chase after you, hold your legs and not let you go but the flower in my hand would be too much for you. Maybe it was better this way. At least this way I could never shame you, Jerome.
A black former UCLA employee who says her supervisor joked she wanted to wear a noose around her neck for a party is suing University of California Regents, saying she lost her job because of age and race and for complaining about her boss’ conduct. Janette Briceno, 59, filed the lawsuit Wednesday in Los Angeles […]
Ruh-roh… I hope my name isn’t in any of the court documents. I mean, I was kinda-sorta-maybe involved directly (and indirectly) with some of these occurrences. However, whomever is the “author” of this “article” may need to reconsider the structure and syntax of this.
I just can’t right now.