Sorry for the delay! Here’s the second part to the last post!


I decided to finally try during one of these races. I was off to a good start, but I couldn’t keep my balance as I flew down one of the hills along the bike path. I felt my handlebars shaking and knew I was going to go flying. I hit the front break by accident and went right over the handlebars. My friends said I slid at least ten feet on the asphalt. I screamed as loud as I could when I saw the blood dripping down my arms and legs. My elbows and knees were completely scraped up.

When I finally got back to my house, my mom freaked out. She yelled for my dad and frantically asked what happened. “I fell,” I said. She rolled her eyes. “Again?”

My father heard me sobbing in the kitchen all the way from his bedroom down the hall. “Come,” he said. My cries grew even louder. I’d been down this road before. He had a bottle of peroxide in his hands.

“You’re going to need gauze strips.”

“But, Dad!” I yelled!

“Regular band aids won’t work, Nick. You really did it this time.”

“But, Dad! It’s going to hurt when you rip them off!”

I was a big cry baby back then, but my father was right: the cuts on my arms were filled with dirt and rocks that needed to be cleaned out. I would have rather dealt with the infection. The stinging was unbearable. My father always told me to be careful, and I would listen, but every time I didn’t, I paid for it. Every part of this process hurt.

Ripping the gauze off was next. As soon as I started feeling good, that was when we knew it was time. “Take a deep breath,” he said. I feel partly responsible for his hearing issue.

Bike Rides

This is a short, slightly exaggerated memoir piece. Anyone who knows my friends and I knows that we used to go all over our neighborhood on our bikes. This is also the first part of a two-part story. There’s a little bit more substance to these, so I’m spreading them out. Be sure to pay attention!

Bike Rides

I was racing through the streets of Farmingdale, New York with my friends at the time. We often tried to beat each other to the end of the block; however, we sometimes had marathon races around all of South Farmingdale, where we would start at the local park and drive to Boundary Avenue (a busy road which required us to ride in single file on the sidewalk, so positioning prior to reaching the road was significant), then go down a hilly backroad that went along the Bethpage State Parkway bike path, up another steep hill to the west on the Farmingdale/Plainedge border, and then back around to the park. In other words, it was a giant, horribly-shaped circle similar to what a four-year-old could do at preschool. I always remembered “Slow and steady wins the race,” so I would try to pace myself because I often saw my friends tire out right at the very end of these long races. The reason, though, why I saw them tire out right before the end, wasn’t because I was watching from the finish line, but because I came in last regardless. I always underestimated what my friends were capable of; I never learned that if I wanted to get better, I would have to try; I couldn’t rely on my friends to let me win. That wasn’t how life worked. “You’re ten now, Nick,” my father would always say. “You have to start doing things on your own.”

Running Late

Sorry for not getting a post out yesterday! I’m hoping to get back on track with this. It’s a little different from what I’ve been posting. This is a one page (double spaced) play I wrote for the same tiny text class. I loved this assignment because it forced us to make every description, every line, and every word count in order for it to fit on the page. These kinds of assignments are great for anyone who has trouble cutting their work down.

Running Late

NICK is running late for work in Queens. He lives in Farmingdale with his father, who is a retired, New York City public school teacher. NICK grabs his clothes and goes to take a shower.

Dad, is it going to rain today?

Well, let me check. It could be fine here, but you never know in Flushing. It’s always changing.
FATHER realizes the TV remote is missing. NICK prepares his lunch and bag in the kitchen.
What did you do with the remote?

Nothing, I’m in a rush, Dad! Don’t worry about it; it’s fine!

Just hang on. You’ll get there on time. Do you have an umbrella? What did your mother do with the batteries? Mumbles to himself: Always fucking around; nothing is ever where it belongs.

No. But traffic. Dad, It’s 2:15. There’s always traffic. Dad, please! I have one in my car.

She always does this. She must have taken it. Let me check my room. You need a jacket. Make sure you have your books and a lunch. You two always forget everything. I can’t keep doing this.

A Place You Are Just Passing Through

This is another small flash fiction piece that I did in class. The title is the prompt. Write your own stories in the comments below or email me. I would love to start showcasing all my followers’ work here! Make it as long or as short as you want! Here’s mine:

A Place You Are Just Passing Through

A small town is filled with a million different things going on.
It seems uneventful, because I’m only passing through, but it is its own universe for some.
Everything they will ever know and love is there.
They could be coming Home.
It deserves to be looked at more closely.

The Rush

The third and final story for tonight! This, again, is based off a prompt. I’m too tired to think on my own right now. The prompt was simply: Write about moving quickly and doing things fast. Enjoy!

The Rush

From the moment he woke up, he found himself rushing. Rushing through the shower, breakfast, the commute, work, school, dinner, studying, sleep. There was no time to slow down, look around. Life hit him all at once. Full time job, grad school at night. Never a moment to relax, read a book that wasn’t assigned to him, watch a movie, binge watch shows on Netflix. Weekends were a time to catch up. He couldn’t even go out on Fridays.

Without work, he couldn’t function. His mind wandered when its left to sit around for a minute. He was afraid of where it would take him. He was so self conscious, afraid of judgement. Keeping busy keeps him happy.

He lived for the rush. His father told him to keep pushing forward no matter the circumstances. As long as he was putting himself in a position to succeed, he would eventually run into it by chance alone. Someone would notice. He took it to heart from a very young age. It worked to get him where he was at before the accident, but now he couldn’t slow down, not in time.

It was a typical day, getting out of bed, doing everything he could to get to work on time (by on time, I mean an hour early, to get everything in order for the day to run as smoothly as possible: water in the coffee maker, straighten out the desk, check emails and respond accordingly). He showered a little too long one morning because he stayed up a little too late and hit the snooze button one too many times. Everything was thrown off. He couldn’t handle it. He wouldn’t be late, but as far as he was concerned, his life was crumbling all around him.

He couldn’t warm up the car and had to drive with the windows still covered in ice. To save time, he checked his emails while he was on the expressway. In the middle of responding to one, an alarm went off reminding him to pick up the new necklace for his wife. It startled him and caused him to drop the phone. With the windshield still not fully defrosted and him bending down, he never noticed the car drifting into the other lane, or the patch of ice that caused the tires to slip.

Roller Coaster

I know its almost 1:30am, and technically tomorrow, meaning that I missed my deadline, but oh well! Also, since it’s late, and I’m incredibly tired, I wrote a hint fiction piece. For those of you who follow my blog, I’ve done this many times in the past. I learned about hint fiction during my undergrad at Queens College. For those that haven’t followed my blog, or don’t know about hint fiction, hint fiction is a story that is twenty five words or less. This took a lot longer than you would expect, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out! I hope you are too. Tomorrow, I’ll write something longer. Enjoy.

Roller Coaster

Feeling every little bump,
he grips the bar tightly.
His heart can’t take it,
and feels it, smiling,
as he goes down one last time.

The Ocean

Can you believe it? Two days in a row! I haven’t done this since the summer. How pathetic! Anyways, I really like how this one came out. I’m hoping that the more I do this, the easier it becomes and the less likely I’ll have to rely on prompts. I’m already looking forward to what I’m going to write about tomorrow! So enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Also, in case you’re wondering, I’m almost done with the last Ferrante novel. A little over 100 pages to go. It’s incredibly sad that the series is finally coming to an end. I haven’t enjoyed reading anything as much as I enjoyed reading this series. If you haven’t hopped on the Ferrante bandwagon yet, I suggest you do. I’m at a point right now where I can’t imagine reading anything else afterwards.

The Ocean

I’ve been lost out in the ocean for a little over a month, content. I often wonder if I’m truly lost. Lost implies something has gone missing, when the opposite appears to be true. It appears that I’ve been lost all my life, until now.

I don’t write on my death bed—raft, I should say. Only little bursts of rain here and there, the big storms off in the distance, battering uncharted islands with nothing but gulls and other seabirds on the beaches, all only visiting. Soon, they’ll rise up using the ocean’s powerful gusts of wind, willfully giving themselves up to a power greater than anything they could have imagined.

I love the different kinds of blues the ocean offers. In the shallows, before sunset when the light is yellow, the water is almost green. During the day, when the sun is at its highest in the sky, and the water is undisturbed, the water and sky become one, it’s truest color. It’s impossible to tell whether I’m floating or flying. The horizon dissolves before my eyes. At night, under the white light of the moon and stars, the water is hard to see, but it’s starry reflection guides me through the endless night.

The next morning, I knew it would come at some point, prayed it would, the sun rose slowly and I couldn’t help but smile. My line is tight and bouncing on the edge of the raft. Breakfast. There’s still lots of freshwater from the last rain shower. My books haven’t been ruined by the water yet, either. In my notebook, I attempt to draw the schools of fish darting back and forth underneath the raft. Larger fish underneath them are driving them up to the surface. The seabirds, who timed this moment perfectly, are out and diving deep into the water for an easy meal. The large school of fish knows well what’s happening, but they keep fighting for survival.

Inspiration can be found in every inch of the ocean, and I’m in the middle of it. What a blessing it is! If I’m lost, I hope I’m never found. I hope to stay in the ocean for as long as I live. Each day I learn something new looking into the waters. New perspectives, fresh surprises, all unique, and all natural, waiting for someone to find the beauty in them. Every day I’m out here, I tell myself how lucky I am that I’m the one. And I know that as long as I continue to see the beauty in everything, only good things will come. Like the gulls, I’m simply here to enjoy the ride.