Progression of a Writer

     When I began writing fiction and doing the assignments in the class I feel my creativity was in a slump. I hadn't taken the time to full flesh out my concepts until I wrote small sections and worked my way back up to where I imagined I once was. With the Journal entries I learned about characters, settings, and proper dialogue. Then, taking that knowledge I worked in plot, point of view, and perspective. Perhaps the most interesting practice was learning Gardner's five beginnings.
     The next task at hand was to write poetry. I had written a little poetry and analyzed it some in high  school but never had I really taken the time to consider what comprises a poem. Learning to see the music of a poem was invaluable as I dissected pieces of poetry to see how rhyme and meter were used in the stanzas. It also taught me to analyze parts of my life that were difficult to discuss or emote. I even learned to create rich works from simple objects and little direction.
     Learning to write drama was very interesting as an actor. I read plays when I get a role but not for how it's written. I merely looked at what my character thought and felt without analyzing how it tied the piece together. The most interesting of which was a play with two characters, a predetermined phrase, and four words of dialogue to be said by any one character (who was not determined throughout the entire play). In the end, I was able to complete an entire one-act play using all the elements of a script.
     Finally, I learned the importance of revision of a piece. It's something I tend to neglect for a lack of care and a lack of certainty on what to do for a piece. When I write a piece I speak from the heart but unfortunately the heart tends to make grammatical errors and says things on a whim. With proper editing, a piece can be elevated exponentially and new insights into alternative directions for a piece can be explored.

Greetings from Las Vegas

A postcard burns to ashes.
     The edges curl with a greeting from Las Vegas.
          People draped over furniture like little tattered fabrics
               drooping in a drunken stupor.

I awake in a bed with leopard skin sheets.
     A strange woman in my bed.
          The taste of tequila and cigarettes on my breath.
               My hotel suite spins in a sickening spiral; pulling my limbs down like quicksand.

It was my bachelor party here in Vegas.
     Friends all gathered around my feet.
          Who is this strange man in the mirror?
               I recognize his face but these sad eyes are something bewildering.

Face cradled in my hands I gaze upon my wedding ring.
     Little silver band engraved with 'Always and Forever True'.
          I grab an open bottle of liquor from one of the mannequin's hands and pour it over the postcard.
               I light a match and watch the postcard burn to ashes.

Final One-Act Play

JAKE: sixteen years old, hard of hearing son of HELEN, sarcastic and a bit of a punk, can read lips

HELEN: late thirties, husband Tom recently passed, recent alcoholic, JAKE takes frustrations out on her, blames herself for Tom's death


 

 It is a dark and damp morning as a young boy enters the living room. It is adorned with three tall bookshelves on the backside of the house facing due east. Among the books are various plays and novels by all the famous authors. A single statue stands in between each bookshelf with a bronze sword stabbing the floor. In the middle of the room there is an arm chair made of a fine black leather and a side table of maple upon which a lamp of ivory rests. Under this lamp there is a book already marked with a bent page a little over half way through the tomb. The wood floor is almost naked except for a single rug under which these objects rest. A persian rug spun many years ago is now soiled in patches and unraveling at all ends. It is a beige sort of eggshell color and so dull it never seems brighter than the dirt it carries. The fireplace across from the bookshelves is slowly dying out as little cracks and pops wrestle for air. Along the wall opposite the hall the characters are entering (facing north) there are a series of two hallways and betwixt <great word< them is a hefty liquor cabinet left slightly ajar. One hallway leads into the kitchen and the other to the bedrooms. The boy is entering from the main hall and foyer having just come from outside. His mother walks over to the front door where he left the door open. As she closes it she picks up a small box. She stands in the doorway; framed like an elegant oil painting.


 

HELEN: Aren't we forgetting something?

JAKE: (turns around to sign sarcastically to HELEN) I don't understand what you mean.

HELEN: (signing with martini slipped between her fingers) <great visual What the hell do you want, JAKE?

JAKE: I'm just going into the kitchen for a snack.

HELEN: I give you everything a boy would want and it's never enough. I mean, my own son resorting to these?!

(pulling a small red box from her dress pocket)

(JAKE checks all of his pockets for the cigarettes that used to be there)

Aren't we forgetting something? I found these in your pocket. Rather, they fell out of your pocket. Did you bring this into my house? Are you ever going to change?

JAKE: Those aren't mine. They're probably yours. Or maybe one of my friends. They love to play practical jokes on me like that.  <is Jake signing too, or he can talk b/c he's only "hard of hearing"?

HELEN: (revolving martini in left hand, gazing solemnly into the gin. She shakes the box) They're empty. You stole them from me, didn't you? Third night in a row you stole from me. I'll have to lock my purse in room at night if you keep this up. What do you take me for?

JAKE: (glancing at the box with a smirk on his face) It's not even my brand.

HELEN: (spilling all the martini on the floor except the olive) Ah ha! I knew you were smoking!<of course! Kids generally smoke when their parents do:) 

JAKE: (walking into the kitchen) Yeah? If you knew why didn't you do something about it?

(Helen is left in the living room alone. She grabs a towel off of the liquor cabinet and cleans up the gin. We see JAKE enter the kitchen and pull a small saran wrapped bag with weed from a cookie jar on the counter.)

JAKE: Huh. It seems lighter than usual. Mom must have used some. How dare she accuse me of taking her smokes. Ever since I got my own job I've been paying for all the groceries so she can fix her habits. I mean, I'm sixteen, not five. I don't need her anyway. I ought to just leave this house and let it fall apart without me. It's not like my mom needs me either. She's just living long enough to torture me before she dies. If I left now it'd end sooner. Less painful for everyone.  <who is Jake talking to, himself??

(JAKE pulls the weed out of the bag and pulls a grinder from his backpack. He sits down at the head of the table, facing the living room, and splays everything he needs out on the table top. As he begins his work with intense concentration he looks back up and into the living room with a disgusted look of frustration on his face. It quickly disappears as he catches HELEN on her knees, gripping the liquor cabinet, praying and crying)

HELEN: (crying softly with head bowed) Jesus. Where did I go wrong? Is it because his father died? I swear I didn't want him to die. I loved Tom so much. Why did you take him away from me Lord? Why did he have to die in that car accident? Ever since you stole Tom away from us Jake has hated me and resents me. I just…I try so hard to make him love me but he only pulls farther away from me. Why do you take everyone away from me, Lord?

(JAKE has read her lips the entire time. He shakes his head and curses under his breath. He grabs the joint he has created while HELEN was praying and puts the rest in his bag again. He walks back into the living room and takes Helen's hand. She looks up at him with tears in her eyes.)

JAKE: (setting HELEN in her chair and moving back to the liquor cabinet) Let me make you a drink.<a sad ending

(JAKE mixes her another martini while HELEN wipes away her tears, looking away from JAKE as to try to hide her embarrassment. JAKE hands her the drink and pulls out a cigarette for both of them. HELEN starts to protest but sighs heavily and accepts the idea that her son, like herself, has resorted to drugs for comfort. JAKE pulls up a seat from the foyer and sits next to HELEN. HELEN takes her martini from JAKE, takes a sip, and rests her head on his shoulder. JAKE lights his cigarette,<thought he was going to smoke the joint?? What happened?  <end play w/ this theme: like mother like son.   takes a drag and pats her hands, folded neatly in her lap.)

JAKE: sixteen years old, hard of hearing son of HELEN, sarcastic and a bit of a punk, can read lips

HELEN: late thirties, husband Tom recently passed, recent alcoholic, JAKE takes frustrations out on her, blames herself for Tom's death


 

 It is a dark and damp morning as a young boy enters the living room. It is adorned with three tall bookshelves on the backside of the house facing due east. Among the books are various plays and novels by all the famous authors. A single statue stands in between each bookshelf with a bronze sword stabbing the floor. In the middle of the room there is an arm chair made of a fine black leather and a side table of maple upon which a lamp of ivory rests. Under this lamp there is a book already marked with a bent page a little over half way through the tomb. The wood floor is almost naked except for a single rug under which these objects rest. A persian rug spun many years ago is now soiled in patches and unraveling at all ends. It is a beige sort of eggshell color and so dull it never seems brighter than the dirt it carries. The fireplace across from the bookshelves is slowly dying out as little cracks and pops wrestle for air. Along the wall opposite the hall the characters are entering (facing north) there are a series of two hallways and betwixt them is a hefty liquor cabinet left slightly ajar. One hallway leads into the kitchen and the other to the bedrooms. The boy is entering from the main hall and foyer having just come from outside. His mother walks over to the front door where he left the door open. As she closes it she picks up a small box. She stands in the doorway; framed like an elegant oil painting.


 

HELEN: Aren't we forgetting something?

JAKE: (turns around to sign sarcastically to HELEN) I don't understand what you mean.

HELEN: (signing with martini slipped between her fingers) What the hell do you want, JAKE?

JAKE: I'm just going into the kitchen for a snack.

HELEN: I give you everything a boy would want and it's never enough. I mean, my own son resorting to these?!

(pulling a small red box from her dress pocket)

(JAKE checks all of his pockets for the cigarettes that used to be there)

Aren't we forgetting something? I found these in your pocket. Rather, they fell out of your pocket. Did you bring this into my house? Are you ever going to change?

JAKE: (signing) Those aren't mine. They're probably yours. Or maybe one of my friends. They love to play practical jokes on me like that.

HELEN: (revolving martini in left hand, gazing solemnly into the gin. She shakes the box) They're empty. You stole them from me, didn't you? Third night in a row you stole from me. I'll have to lock my purse in room at night if you keep this up. What do you take me for?

JAKE: (glancing at the box with a smirk on his face) It's not even my brand.

HELEN: (spilling all the martini on the floor except the olive) Ah ha! I knew you were smoking!

JAKE: (walking into the kitchen) Yeah? If you knew why didn't you do something about it?

(Helen is left in the living room alone. She grabs a towel off of the liquor cabinet and cleans up the gin. We see JAKE enter the kitchen and pull a small saran wrapped bag with weed from a cookie jar on the counter.)

JAKE: (talking to himself and facing the audience) Huh. It seems lighter than usual. Mom must have used some. How dare she accuse me of taking her smokes. Ever since I got my own job I've been paying for all the groceries so she can fix her habits. I mean, I'm sixteen, not five. I don't need her anyway. I ought to just leave this house and let it fall apart without me. It's not like my mom needs me either. She's just living long enough to torture me before she dies. If I left now it'd end sooner. Less painful for everyone.

(JAKE pulls the weed out of the bag and pulls a grinder from his backpack. He sits down at the head of the table, facing the living room, and splays everything he needs out on the table top. As he begins his work with intense concentration he looks back up and into the living room with a disgusted look of frustration on his face. It quickly disappears as he catches HELEN on her knees, gripping the liquor cabinet, praying and crying)

HELEN: (crying softly with head bowed) Jesus. Where did I go wrong? Is it because his father died? I swear I didn't want him to die. I loved Tom so much. Why did you take him away from me Lord? Why did he have to die in that car accident? Ever since you stole Tom away from us Jake has hated me and resents me. I just…I try so hard to make him love me but he only pulls farther away from me. Why do you take everyone away from me, Lord?

(JAKE has read her lips the entire time. He shakes his head and curses under his breath. He grabs the joint he has created while HELEN was praying and puts the rest in his bag again. He walks back into the living room and takes Helen's hand. She looks up at him with tears in her eyes.)

JAKE: (setting HELEN in her chair and moving back to the liquor cabinet) Let me make you a drink.

(JAKE mixes her another martini while HELEN wipes away her tears, looking away from JAKE as to try to hide her embarrassment. JAKE hands her the drink and pulls out the joint for both of them. HELEN starts to protest but sighs heavily and accepts the idea that her son, like herself, has resorted to drugs for comfort. JAKE pulls up a seat from the foyer and sits next to HELEN. HELEN takes her martini from JAKE, takes a sip, and rests her head on his shoulder. JAKE lights his joint, takes a drag and pats her hands, folded neatly in her lap.)

Fiction Rewrite - Character

ayson Scott is nothing if not average. In fact, his social status is simply that: average. Average life in an average town west of Plano, Texas. Nothing special.

     Jayson works nights at the 7/11 on Broad Street. Nothing out of the ordinary for the 22 year old college drop out. Most nights are slow but this night was especially boring. Three customers: the hot cheerleader from his high school Becky Taylor with her dumb ass boyfriend Jeremy Sox and some old man begging for smokes with only enough change for gum.

     "Tell ya what," Jason remarks. "I'll give you a pack of smokes if you do me one favor."

     "Yes?" the man asks.

     "Come back after you find out who's playing at the Door and tell me, will ya?"

     "Of course! Sure! Can I have Camel?"

     I reach for the little brown box as he nods his head like a bobble figure. As he leaves in a dash I think to myself 'I was always taught to treat others the way I'd like to be treated. You know; Catholics. Lot of nothing but sitting and standing with strange chanting and something about bloody wine. Lot of whining going on in that church. Too much for me. I gave it all up years ago. Now the only thing I believe in is that flying spaghetti monster...that is if I ever catch the darn thing. As for God, well, let's just say I don't believe in fairy tales.'

     An hour passes before the man comes back.

     "I know who's playing!" he shouts as he slaps a flier on the counter.

     "Nine Eleven to Panama, Calipso, Drugged by the Nails, and...what is this shit?!"

     I raise an eyebrow to the man. He's written in a band on the flier: Jesus Loves You. My heart sinks a moment as it recalls my former religious zealous now snuffed by years of insecurity and uncertainty.

     "Haven't you heard son? Jesus loves you...he loves all man. I wanted to thank you for being so kind to me. No one is ever so kind."

     He begins to cry in front of me. I get very uncomfortable but am unable to tell him to shut up. He's gripping a cross so tightly his hands turn a ghostly white. He wipes his eyes, realizing I'm not a Christian, and drips them on my sleeve.

     "I baptize you in the name of the..."

     "What the fuck are you doing?! Get out of my store!"

     I chase him out of the store and push him to the ground. I shiver with fear and anger at the man. I'd been baptized when I was four. I don't remember much more than icy water from a creek drowning me. My parents had to take me to the hospital. They claimed I rejected the healing power of Christ but how could I? I was four for Christ's sake.

     As he once again dashes out of sight, I notice a glimmer on the ground. His crucifix broke off the chain and sits with chipped edges. It's made of electrical wire and two nails. I stare at it in my hands and a flashback hits me. I'm laying in bed drinking Jack Daniels with my boyfriend Daniel. We're smoking and discussing the occult when he turns to me in tears. I question what's wrong and he tells me he's devout. Has been for years and can't believe my feelings. I tell him I can't accept a God that would punish me with homosexuality. He punches me in the chest and runs out of the room. I call him later and he wont answer. I run into him one week later and he's wearing a cross for the first time since I knew him. It was a simple wooden plank colored with a rainbow. He agrees to talk to me. We sit in swings and discuss how religion isn't about separation but instead about unity, charity, and faith. I told him I'd run out of faith many years ago and I'd given up on myself.

     "Give up on me. There's nothing you can say to make me change my mind. Until people accept us...until God accepts what he did to me...I'll never forgive him. I can't love him and I'm definitely accepting him. I don't need people like that in my life."

     Looking down at the nails I remind myself why I don't care for Christ. How can that man have such faith? How can he have such conviction to believe God loves him? God doesn't love anyone. If God loved me...he'd bring Daniel back. He'd accept gays and make the world that unified bullshit Daniel kept dreaming of.

     Walking back into the store I notice Daniel grabbing a candy cane. It was December. I drop the cross and Daniel looks my direction. Standing there I thought...'Did I just get a prayer answered?'  

     "Hello Jayson. Still as big a douche as ever?"

     Daniel threw the candy cane on the counter as I stepped behind it in what seemed like a distant world. As the candy slapped the counter a cross necklace twisted under his sweater. The last time he had worn this was when we were dating. I hadn't notice him wearing it much after that. I gave him the necklace when we first started dating. Back when things still made sense.

     "Did...did I just wish you here?"

     "What the fuck Jayson? Are you high on the job? I knew you were a horrible person but this is a new low. Even for you."

     I told him about the man who entered before him and about the poster still sitting on the counter. Daniel actually listened the entire time. Didn't say a word. He just kept looking at me like I was crazy until I finished. He grabbed his candy, took a bite and said, "You know what this means, right?"

     I couldn't understand what he could have meant. I just shook my head like a moron. Confused and scared.

     "You met Jesus...and threw him out of the store. You threw Jesus out of 7/11. Wow. Jayson, you truly are the scum of the earth."

     Daniel was chuckling at me. I started laughing too. How absurd. Jesus...in our store? Then again...he did have long hair and was poor. As I contemplated all of this Daniel grabbed my hand and pulled me outside. It was snowing now. Where the man had fallen there was a snow angel. It was the strangest thing. Daniel kept laughing at these phenomenon.

     "Told you dude. You fucking threw Jesus out of Heaven."

What Do You Know About Your Characters?

Character's name: Jayson Scott

Character's Nickname: Jay

Sex: Male

Age: 22

Looks: Wears uniform for 7/11, somewhat attractive, has black hair and blue eyes

Right-or left-handed: Right handed

Education: GED

Vocation/occupation: 7/11 Clerk

Salary: Earns Minimum Wage

Status and Money: Minimum Wage, bad with money

Marital Status: Single

Family, Ethnicity: White, mother and father, one brother

Diction, Accent: Speaks with some slang/crass

Relationships: Pines for Daniel

Places: Home, 7/11, Bars/Clubs

Primary mode of Transport: Car/Bike

Halloween Costumes: Dracula, Ghost, classic characters

Tricks: Practical Jokes on occasion

E-mail and Blog: Has both – Jscott@hotmail.com / Jscott'srevenge.blogspot.com

Passwords: h4tr3d

Possessions: very few (keys, walkman, cigarettes, lighter, wallet, cell phone)

Recreation, hobbies: art/photography

Obsessions: video games and collecting antique electronics

Addictions: Weed

Superstitions: Believes in bad luck

Prejudices: Religious types

Politics: Democratic

Sexual History: Had relations with Daniel

Medical History: Allergic to shellfish

Ambitions: Very few left

Religion: Used to be Catholic

Fears: God

Character flaws: Very short temper

Character strengths: fairly open minded

Secrets: Still enjoys childish television programs

Pets: None

Taste in books, music: Punk Rock/Metal, reads all the classic novels

Journal entries: only on his blog

Correspondence: refuses to conformity

Food preferences: spicy and sweet foods

Handwriting: always prints

Astrological sign: Taurus

Talents: Can perform magic tricks

Friends: mostly only stoners and Daniel

Relatives: immediate family of brother and parents plus two uncles, an aunt, and all four grandparents

Enemies: God

As seen by others: scum bag

As seen by self: a nobody

Scars: one behind left ear, two on right forearm, one on back of left leg

Tattoos, piercings: one tribal on his right bicep, pierced ears and lip

Fiction Rewrite - Opening Up

ayson Scott is nothing if not average. In fact, his social status is simply that: average. Average life in an average town west of Plano, Texas. Nothing special.

     Jayson works nights at the 7/11 on Broad Street. Nothing out of the ordinary for the 22 year old college drop out. Most nights are slow but this night was especially boring. Three customers: the hot cheerleader from his high school Becky Taylor with her dumb ass boyfriend Jeremy Sox and some old man begging for smokes with only enough change for gum.

     "Tell ya what," Jason remarks. "I'll give you a pack of smokes if you do me one favor."

     "Yes?" the man asks.

     "Come back after you find out who's playing at the Door and tell me, will ya?"

     "Of course! Sure! Can I have Camel?"

     I reach for the little brown box as he nods his head like a bobble figure. As he leaves in a dash I think to myself 'I was always taught to treat others the way I'd like to be treated. You know; Catholics. Lot of nothing but sitting and standing with strange chanting and something about bloody wine. Lot of whining going on in that church. Too much for me. I gave it all up years ago. Now the only thing I believe in is that flying spaghetti monster...that is if I ever catch the darn thing. As for God, well, let's just say I don't believe in fairy tales.'

     An hour passes before the man comes back.

     "I know who's playing!" he shouts as he slaps a flier on the counter.

     "Nine Eleven to Panama, Calipso, Drugged by the Nails, and...what is this shit?!"

     I raise an eyebrow to the man. He's written in a band on the flier: Jesus Loves You. My heart sinks a moment as it recalls my former religious zealous now snuffed by years of insecurity and uncertainty.

     "Haven't you heard son? Jesus loves you...he loves all man. I wanted to thank you for being so kind to me. No one is ever so kind."

     He begins to cry in front of me. I get very uncomfortable but am unable to tell him to shut up. He's gripping a cross so tightly his hands turn a ghostly white. He wipes his eyes, realizing I'm not a Christian, and drips them on my sleeve.

     "I baptize you in the name of the..."

     "What the fuck are you doing?! Get out of my store!"

     I chase him out of the store and push him to the ground. I shiver with fear and anger at the man. I'd been baptized when I was four. I don't remember much more than icy water from a creek drowning me. My parents had to take me to the hospital. They claimed I rejected the healing power of Christ but how could I? I was four for Christ's sake.

     As he once again dashes out of sight, I notice a glimmer on the ground. His crucifix broke off the chain and sits with chipped edges. It's made of electrical wire and two nails. I stare at it in my hands and a flashback hits me. I'm laying in bed drinking Jack Daniels with my boyfriend Daniel. We're smoking and discussing the occult when he turns to me in tears. I question what's wrong and he tells me he's devout. Has been for years and can't believe my feelings. I tell him I can't accept a God that would punish me with homosexuality. He punches me in the chest and runs out of the room. I call him later and he wont answer. I run into him one week later and he's wearing a cross for the first time since I knew him. It was a simple wooden plank colored with a rainbow. He agrees to talk to me. We sit in swings and discuss how religion isn't about separation but instead about unity, charity, and faith. I told him I'd run out of faith many years ago and I'd given up on myself.

     "Give up on me. There's nothing you can say to make me change my mind. Until people accept us...until God accepts what he did to me...I'll never forgive him. I can't love him and I'm definitely accepting him. I don't need people like that in my life."

     Looking down at the nails I remind myself why I don't care for Christ. How can that man have such faith? How can he have such conviction to believe God loves him? God doesn't love anyone. If God loved me...he'd bring Daniel back. He'd accept gays and make the world that unified bullshit Daniel kept dreaming of.

     Walking back into the store I notice Daniel grabbing a candy cane. It was December. I drop the cross and Daniel looks my direction. Standing there I thought...'Did I just get a prayer answered?'  

     "Hello Jayson. Still as big a douche as ever?"

     Daniel threw the candy cane on the counter as I stepped behind it in what seemed like a distant world. As the candy slapped the counter a cross necklace twisted under his sweater. The last time he had worn this was when we were dating. I hadn't notice him wearing it much after that. I gave him the necklace when we first started dating. Back when things still made sense.

     "Did...did I just wish you here?"

     "What the fuck Jayson? Are you high on the job? I knew you were a horrible person but this is a new low. Even for you."

     I told him about the man who entered before him and about the poster still sitting on the counter. Daniel actually listened the entire time. Didn't say a word. He just kept looking at me like I was crazy until I finished. He grabbed his candy, took a bite and said, "You know what this means, right?"

     I couldn't understand what he could have meant. I just shook my head like a moron. Confused and scared.

     "You met Jesus...and threw him out of the store. You threw Jesus out of 7/11. Wow. Jayson, you truly are the scum of the earth."

     Daniel was chuckling at me. I started laughing too. How absurd. Jesus...in our store? Then again...he did have long hair and was poor. As I contemplated all of this Daniel grabbed my hand and pulled me outside. It was snowing now. Where the man had fallen there was a snow angel. It was the strangest thing. Daniel kept laughing at these phenomenon.

     "Told you dude. You fucking threw Jesus out of Heaven."

Fiction Review - Dog

Jayson Scott is nothing if not average. In fact, his social status is simply that: average. Average life in an average town west of Plano, Texas. Nothing special.

     Jayson works nights at the 7/11 on Broad Street. Nothing out of the ordinary for the 22 year old college drop out. Most nights are slow but this night was especially boring. Three customers: the hot cheerleader from his high school Becky Taylor with her dumb ass boyfriend Jeremy Sox and some old man begging for smokes with only enough change for gum.

     "Tell ya what," Jason remarks. "I'll give you a pack of smokes if you do me one favor."

     "Yes?" the man asks.

     "Come back after you find out who's playing at the Door and tell me, will ya?"

     "Of course! Sure! Can I have Camel?"

     I reach for the little brown box as he nods his head like a bobble figure. As he leaves in a dash I think to myself 'I was always taught to treat others the way I'd like to be treated. You know; Catholics. Lot of nothing but sitting and standing with strange chanting and something about bloody wine. Lot of whining going on in that church. Too much for me. I gave it all up years ago. Now the only thing I believe in is that flying spaghetti monster...that is if I ever catch the darn thing. As for God, I despised him. What a fucking hypocrite. Spouts a lot of shit about loving but when its his turn to love he just sends plagues.

     An hour passes before the man comes back.

     "I know who's playing!" he shouts as he slaps a flier on the counter.

     "Nine Eleven to Panama, Calipso, Drugged by the Nails, and...what is this shit?!"

     I raise an eyebrow to the man. He's written in a band on the flier: Jesus Loves You. My heart sinks a moment as it recalls my former religious zealous now snuffed by years of insecurity and uncertainty.

     "Haven't you heard son? Jesus loves you...he loves all man. I wanted to thank you for being so kind to me. No one is ever so kind."

     He begins to cry in front of me. I get very uncomfortable but am unable to tell him to shut up. He's gripping a cross so tightly his hands turn a ghostly white. He wipes his eyes, realizing I'm not a Christian, and drips them on my sleeve.

     "I baptize you in the name of the..."

     "What the fuck are you doing?! Get out of my store!"

     I chase him out of the store and push him to the ground. I shiver with fear and anger at the man. I'd been baptized when I was four. I don't remember much more than icy water from a creek drowning me. My parents had to take me to the hospital. They claimed I rejected the healing power of Christ but how could I? I was four for Christ's sake.

     As he once again dashes out of sight, I notice a glimmer on the ground. His crucifix broke off the chain and sits with chipped edges. It's made of electrical wire and two nails. I stare at it in my hands and a flashback hits me. I'm laying in bed drinking Jack Daniels with my boyfriend Daniel. We're smoking and discussing the occult when he turns to me in tears. I question what's wrong and he tells me he's devout. Has been for years and can't believe my feelings. I tell him I can't accept a God that would punish me with homosexuality. He punches me in the chest and runs out of the room. I call him later and he wont answer. I run into him one week later and he's wearing a cross for the first time since I knew him. It was a simple wooden plank colored with a rainbow. He agrees to talk to me. We sit in swings and discuss how religion isn't about separation but instead about unity, charity, and faith. I told him I'd run out of faith many years ago and I'd given up on myself.

     "Give up on me. There's nothing you can say to make me change my mind. Until people accept us...until God accepts what he did to me...I'll never forgive him. I can't love him and I'm definitely not accepting him. I don't need people like that in my life."

     Looking down at the nails I remind myself why I don't care for Christ. How can that man have such faith? How can he have such conviction to believe God loves him? God doesn't love anyone. If God loved me...he'd bring Daniel back. He'd accept gays and make the world that unified bullshit Daniel kept dreaming of.

I turn around and see a dog chained up outside the store. I'm not sure how I missed him before. A thick piece of rope tied around its neck it begins to screech at me with a low pitched bark. I cover my ears but the sound rings in my ears. I can't take it. I grab the nearest beer bottle and raise it above my head. I toss it with all my might, thinking about God and Daniel in a sickening whirlpool of hate. The bottle smashes the wall behind the dog. Shrapnel pierces the dogs skin and cuts into the rope. The dog shrieks one last time before turning tail down a nearby alley. Several red dots fleck the ground.

     Walking back into the store I notice Daniel grabbing a candy cane. It was December. Outside it was snowing fiercely. If you stepped outside your vision would be as blind as my confusion. I drop the cross and Daniel looks my direction. Standing there I thought...'Did I just get a prayer answered?'

     "Hello Jayson. Still as big a douche as ever?"

     Daniel threw the candy cane on the counter as I stepped behind it in what seemed like a distant world.

     "Did...did I just wish you here?"

     "What the fuck Jayson? Are you high on the job? I knew you were a horrible person but this is a new low. Even for you."

     I told him about the man who entered before him and about the poster still sitting on the counter. Daniel actually listened the entire time. Didn't say a word. He just kept looking at me like I was crazy until I finished. He grabbed his candy, took a bite and said, "You know what this means, right?"

     I couldn't understand what he could have meant. I just shook my head like a moron. Confused and scared.

     "You met Jesus...and threw him out of the store. You threw Jesus out of 7/11. Wow. Jayson, you truly are the scum of the earth."

     Daniel was chuckling at me. I started laughing too. How absurd. Jesus...in our store? Then again...he did have long hair and was poor. As I contemplated all of this Daniel grabbed my hand and pulled me outside. It was snowing now. Where the man had fallen there was a snow angel. It was the strangest thing. Daniel kept laughing at these phenomenon.

     "Told you dude. You fucking threw Jesus out of Heaven."