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  • ContactRida 5:25 am on May 23, 2014 Permalink | Reply

    luck of the Irish 

      20140522_180449 There was a sudden downpour. Her hair and clothes clung heavily to her small frame. A puddle of blood formed beneath her bare feet. She clenched her left hand where her pinky and ring finger used to be. “Tell us where he hid the gold or lover boy takes his first and last flying lesson.” She had no idea where Rex hid the treasure and he wasn’t talking since he no longer had a tongue. She loved him fiercely and would move heaven and earth to save him. To save them both. From the rooftop of their coveted luxury highrise, the glamorous life seemed so meaningless now. The rains stopped as abruptly as they had begun.She looked desperately toward the skies for answers. A rainbow appeared. “I know where he hid the gold. I can take you there.” She only needed time. And a little bit of luck.

    new 5 22 14 035

    new 5 22 14 036






  • ContactRida 7:02 am on March 20, 2014 Permalink | Reply

    my name is wanted 

    my name is pain
    for all the unwarranted beatings you gave me
    my name is sorrow
    for telling me you wish i wasn’t born
    my name is shame
    for making me feel like i was the sole cause of all of your woes
    my name is damaged
    for what you let happen to me
    my name is worthless
    for never saying how much i meant to you
    my name is exposed
    for never feeling safe with you
    my name is anger
    for seeing what i missed out on
    my name is empty
    for having to start all over again
    my name is motion
    for destroying and laying my new foundation
    my name is persevere
    for always believing in more
    my name is open
    for allowing others to love me
    my name is forgive
    for seeing you did the best you could
    my name is querida
    it means “wanted”
    your name is Mom
    for now i see you always loved me


    photo credit: http://s37.photobucket.com/user/iwanttobeaphotographerwhenigrowup/media/Nudes/lolanbumpweb2.jpg.html


  • ContactRida 7:35 am on March 5, 2014 Permalink | Reply

    i am telling you i’m not going 

    She played her favorite song by Jennifer Holliday for the last time. How could he tell her to get out of his life? “You’re obsessive! You’re suffocating me! You’re crazy!” he viciously screamed at her. “You weren’t at work. Where were you? Cheryl wasn’t there either.” she hurled back in his face. “I have never lied to you, never cheated on you. You don’t know what love is, do you?” he asked but she could tell he didn’t want to hear her answer.

    She lunged at him with such a fury, she startled him and he fell backward. She leapt forward and grabbed the glass Eiffel Tower. “I promise to love you forever,” he said when he gave her the tower. They were going to spend their honeymoon in Paris after they were married. But he kept pushing back the date, said there was no hurry. She loved him, so she waited, and waited.

    The edge of the Eiffel Tower caught his temple with a horrid precision. She let go of it but it stayed wedged into his skull. He stared at her. Tears streamed from his eyes, then the blood came. It seemed to caress his face. He tried to get up but he only managed to tumble the paintings and plants. She looked down at him. He was very still. His face was not contorted. He looked like he was sleeping with his eyes open.

    “I can fix this,” she whispered to him as she lovingly kissed his blood stained lips. She rushed to the kitchen and flung open the cabinet doors beneath the sink. He was always so orderly, she loved that about him. The lighter fluid was right where he always left it. She grabbed it and began squeezing the clear stream all over the furniture and carpet. She forced the last bit of fluid over the front door. She wanted no interruptions.

    She lit an incense and placed the kitchen knife block over the unlit end. When the embers fell they would seal their bond. She  slowly searched through her Ipod for Jennifer Holliday. She found it and the music filled the room. She removed the throw from the  sofa and placed it over her head as if it was a veil. She laid beside him and embraced him. “I do,” she softly said as she laid her head gently upon his shoulder. The tunes consumed the room, as did the smoke and flames.

    What remains is charred, broken and boarded up. An eerie reminder of the depths of a woman’s madness and a man’s promised love. Judgment was cast so easily but those among us who assign blame to her have never loved with an all consuming passion. True passion is an insidious virus that mutates the heart, the mind and the soul. True passion burns brightly, its flames eternal.

    2010-01-01 00.00.00-53




    • hemmingplay 12:37 pm on March 5, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      This was well-written, but that final paragraph stopped me. It reads as though you’re saying murder is understandable, that it was at least partly his fault because he was pulling back? Passion excuses all things? Feelings trump thinking? It could be that he was pulling back because she was obviously derranged. I don’t see a reason to make excuses for her behavior, even though she died, too.

      • ContactRida 5:17 am on March 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

        thank you for your reply. that was the whole point, seeing through the eyes of the killer, not the victim. the song that many people love is sorta creepy and stalky, which is why i chose it.

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