Free short stories about Generation End

Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

GOODBYE TIME

goodbye time

There are times when there’s nothing I want to write about. When there’s nothing much I really want to say. Time is so limited. It arrives, then it goes, and it arrives, and it goes – does it ever leave you feeling at peace? I suppose it does. There are times when time itself leaves me alone: it says to me, “Fine, Dean, do what you want,” and I’m at a beach or with some friends or I’m watching Netflix or something, and the little worries of life are chipped away and I’m left with something pure, like contentment, or love, or truth, or something only my heart will understand. How about you? When’s the last time you’ve forgotten to worry? When’s the last time you’ve let time leave you alone?

It was evening and Christie and I were sitting in front of penguins. She had her phone out and she was taking photos of them. The penguins were small, and they had their mouths open and were waddling about. She smiled at them, and I looked at the water and the horizon and I said something, and she said something back.

 

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M DOESN’T CARE ABOUT YOU

blurry donuts

M doesn’t care about what people think of her physical appearance. She’s a round person with a solid gut and stocky arms and stocky legs, and when it comes to her hair, it was as if she found the angriest person in the street, gave that person scissors and said, “Cut my hair however the fuck you want.” Her moustache has its own complicated personality and her favourite clothes are baggy t-shirts with slogans, baggy jeans that are too long for her legs and worn out slippers that reveal sunburnt, hairy toes. I’ve always been afraid to look at her armpits.

I have fun drinking with her though.

“Haven’t you ever thought of being like those Instagram girls?” I asked her. “You’d get more likes that way.”

“I am one of those Instagram girls. Haven’t you seen me in a bikini yet?”

We both laughed at this.

I’ve never asked her if she’s interested in men, or women, or both, or neither. Sometimes my friends and I speculate, but none of us have ever been brave enough to ask. And why does it matter? Why is her sexual orientation such a sensitive topic? And at what point in our lives did we put so much emphasis on how others look?

M and I have only ever been in one fight, and I no longer remember what it was about.

 

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SUPER POWER MEDITATION

 

People try all sorts of things to get rid of their woes. Sometimes they try alcohol, sometimes they try meditation.

“The worst form of meditation is masturbation meditation,” Jude told me. “You think that when you masturbate, you’ll be in a constant state of bliss, but you won’t be. Firstly you’ll always want to change the video you’re watching, so you’ll always be dissatisfied and wanting to find something better. Secondly you have this fear of getting caught by someone you respect or are related to. Thirdly when you come three hours later you’ll just feel like a fucking loser creep who has to clean up the mess he made and may get in trouble for the fucked up website he just visited. Lastly you’ll want to do this miserable act over and over again.”

“My meditation comes from the rosary,” Christie told me. “I reflect on life with it. Have you heard of adoration? There’s a place on the valley I go to on some Friday evenings and I sit there, and I absorb the peace of everything around me. You have to join me.”

The first time I tried meditation was during high school. They took us to this Buddhist temple and the monk told us to cross our legs and think of the colours of the rainbow. I sat there, thinking of a wall of red, then orange, then yellow, wondering why monks had to shave their heads.

I was much older when I tried meditation again. I had a broken heart, and I watched a YouTube video by some guy who talked about mindfulness. I then went to this free talk about Transcendental Meditation and they asked for fifteen hundred dollars and I tried to negotiate it down to thirty dollars but it didn’t work. I settled with Streamline Meditation.

I’ve heard that billionaires meditate, that athletes meditate, that supernatural things happen during meditation. People have generated electricity through meditation. People have pulled cars with their dicks through meditation. People have levitated through meditation. People have been cured of diseases through meditation. People who have seen the face of Jesus through meditation.

I have big dreams when it comes to my meditation. Before I meditate I tell myself that when I open my eyes, I’ll be able to fly. That I’d be able to pick up a mountain with one hand and spin it around with the other, that my testicles will be able to sing songs backwards, that my bank account will legally have thirty-eight million dollars in it, that I will calm down, that I will be able to produce unbelievably powerful erections, that I’d be able to say goodbye, that I’d be able to say no without feeling guilty, that I’d be able to be generous, selfless; that I’d be able to perform miracles, that I’d be the bringer of world peace, that I’d invent teleportation, that I’d shed my skin to reveal the most amazing person in the universe.

 

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Book I’m reading: The Pleasures of the Damned

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THE PERFUMED GARDEN

the perfumed garden

“Dude, you’re wrong. You need to read The Perfumed Garden.” This is what a friend said when I ignorantly asked him if Muslims were always so conservative about sexuality.

Instead of actually reading the The Perfumed Garden and coming up with my own opinions about it, I Googled it and found this summary: “Written between 1410 and 1434 for a minister of the Sultan of Tunis, the treatise is a sex guide for married Muslim men.”

And then there’s this passage from it:

Women desire what in men cannot last,

Youth, wealth and health, and not coming too fast,

Long-lasting and slow is what women expect,

And for seconds he’s equally quick to erect.

I wonder what it is about sex that makes it the way it is. It can make us happy yet it can also crush us to pieces. Why does it have to go around so confidently ruining and creating so many lives?

On the drive home I remembered an ex girlfriend of mine: no matter what, I always had to make her come, and I always had to make her come first before she even laid a hand on me. She always had something negative to say to me after each time, such as “I wonder why you took so long this time,” or “you have a repulsive taste in music,” or “don’t I turn you on enough? Why aren’t you trying?” and one night, when I couldn’t do it, when I couldn’t make her come, I blamed it on her for being so uptight, and she cried and I went to bed. After some time, no matter what she wore or what photos she sent me, she no longer turned me on. I began to look for any way I could to cheat on her: I went online, I invited any girl I could out for drinks, I flirted mercilessly. But none of it worked – they could smell my desperation and shame. Eventually, she left me for another man.

I entered my apartment to find Christie inside with a big grin on her face. “Surprise!” she said, and on my table was a jar of chocolate Kisses.

 

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Read The Perfumed Garden

DRINKING WINE ON A BALCONY BEFORE CHRISTMAS

balcony lookout

“Have you ever spoken to God on Christmas?”

This is what Christie asked me as we sat on my couch on my balcony. It was some time in the evening, and beyond us, beyond the railing, were buildings and trees and lights, and beyond that was the city, and beyond that was the universe, and beyond that was time, and the future and the present and the past, and beyond that was God. God who has to exist, otherwise how else will anything exist? But who made God?

“How do you speak to God?”

“How do you think?”

“I asked you first.”

“Did you?”

Christie took a sip of her wine. “Do you think you and I grew up making the wrong choices?”

“What do you mean?” I was looking at her legs.

“I mean, do you think it’s too late for us? I have this colleague, he’s this handsome guy, this built guy, and he’s married and he’s so faithful to his wife. I was speaking to him, and he’s like, this leader of his church group and he has these talks about how guys should stop watching pornography and treating woman like objects.”

I looked at her lips, thinking about the photos she used to send me. “I mean I think there’s always a chance for people to redeem themselves. No matter how terrible the things they’ve done and even continue to do. No one wants to admit this, but all it takes is one day or even one minute for someone to completely turn their lives around.”

 

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Book I’m reading: Here I am

FIRST DINNER WITH CAROL

1-i-dont-know-how-i-talked-you-into-having-dinner-with-me 2-your-hair-was-still-brown 3-what-do-you-think-of-me 4-what-do-you-think-of-anything 5-we-walked-into-a-bar 6-afterwards-in-my-car 7-wheres-your-mobile-phone 8-and-when-you-sat-up

And then I ruined it all by saying, “I don’t want a relationship”. You shrugged and said, “That’s exactly what the previous guy said,” and you told me about this guy you met on Tinder who was in a long distance relationship. You told me that he was a decent guy with a pretty good body and pretty big dick, but he always kept insisting that he didn’t want anything serious because he was moving on from his girlfriend and that he was confused and bla bla bla, and then I thought, What do I say to get out of this? How do I emerge from this to make sure neither of us are undamaged? and then I blamed you and said, “Well when we first fuckin’ spoke you said you didn’t want to get married,” and you said, “I said married, but I still want to be in a relationship,” and, tapping on the glove compartment, you said, “I shouldn’t have given so much of myself away right away. It’s what I always do wrong,” and I comforted you by saying, “Nah,” and this little debate of ours would continue for the entirety of what we had.

DINNER AT MY PLACE

dinner at my place - legs

For some reason I was thinking of high school during the first time Carol had dinner at my place. I was thinking of how my classmates and I would always look out of the windows, at the cars passing us, hoping that someone would be doing something sexual. We spent hours in silence, our eyes scanning for a girl giving some guy a blowjob, or a handjob, or at least a guy jerking himself off. There was this one guy in the bus, Todd, who would always yell, “Look at those white pants! I bet she’s wearing a g-banger.” I had no idea what the hell a g-banger was but I’d always nod and say, “Yeah, I bet she is.”

I made Carol pasta and garlic bread and served us both wine.

“I think the world needs to be more positive,” I told her.

“Why? Positivity will get you nowhere.”

“When did you become so jaded?”

“When I realised that things were exactly like the movies and exactly not like the movies.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You don’t know what?”

“I don’t know how to reply to that. I mean, we’re pretty lucky.”

She shrugged. She looked at her wine like it was an old friend about to leave for a long, long time. “Some things just don’t turn out the way we want them to.”

I knew what she was hinting at but I pretended not to know. At some point in our phone conversations she suggested that she wanted to be in a relationship and at some point I suggested that I didn’t want to be in one. We debated for a long time about it but nothing about what we said chipped away at our own selfishness.

We drank wine and I said a few things and she said a few things and I knelt her down and did what I had to do with her. In bed, our voices were hushed, as if we were keeping secrets from the world.

 

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Book I’m re-reading: Wild Sheep Chase

Book Recommendations / Book Suggestions

These books have shaped me in one way or another. In a way, these books may shape you, too. So read them at your own risk.

Norwegian Wood

book recommendation - Norwegian Wood Haruki Murakami

By Haruki Murakami. I read this when I was freshly dumped and overseas, on my own. Murakami writes a lot of weird shit, but Norwegian Wood seems to be one of his most grounded books. My favourite part of the book is near the end, with the woman and the guitar.

Read Norwegian Wood.

Ham on Rye

book recommendation - Ham on Rye Charles Bukowski

By Charles Bukowski. I was a bit of a stranger to Bukowski until I stumbled into another book of his, Women. The first chapter of this book was what seduced me, and the hilarious chapter about the woman in the swimming pool kept me going.

Read Ham on Rye.

1984

book recommendation -1985 by george orwell

Soviet Russia for Dummies.

Read 1984.

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (not the movie)

book recommendation - Extremely Loud and Incredibly CloseJonathan Safran Foer

By Jonathan Safran Foer. I read this book when I was a little younger and couldn’t let go of it. The story of the grandparents and the way the words spill to form something else completely made me fall in love with the art of love itself. I wonder if he’ll ever write another book.

Glamorama

book recommendation - Glamorama Bret Easton Ellis

The first book I’ve read by Bret Easton Ellis. What an age to read it, too – I read it when I was twelve.

Read Glamorama.

Watchmen

book recommendation - The Watchmen Alan Moore Dave Gibbons

By Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons. I’ve read plenty of graphic novels, but this is the only one I can clearly remember. My favourite part? Dr. Manhattan’s part.

Read Watchmen.

The Little Prince

book recommendation - The Little Prince

I know, it’s such a typical book to like. The rose, as irritating as she was, is my favourite character. An ex-girlfriend of mine wrote her own version of the Little Prince once and gave it to me as a present. I still have it, but don’t tell her that.

Read The Little Prince, and then watch the book get butchered into a cartoon.

The Rules of Attraction

book recommendation - Rules of Attraction Bret Easton Ellis

Also by Bret Easton Ellis. I watched the movie first (and, after reading it, prefer it slightly over the book). I was eighteen or something, and I was drunk, and some friends invited me to the movies to watch it. The first scene with the vomiting sobered me up, and the snow teardrop near the end got me drunk all over again. After the movie we drove to along the highway and the car broke down so we sat in the darkness of the car, talking about things I’ll no longer remember. We probably spoke about books. I really don’t know. The memory might not even be real.

Have a read of The Rules of Attraction, or watch the movie.

If you want to talk more about books or recommend any of your own, you can also add me on Goodreads.

CHRISTMAS IS COMING

Christmas is coming

Christmas is about family. Christmas is about being alone. Christmas is about gifts, and food, and handjobs and blowjobs and an uncle who is too drunk, and a friend who is too drunk, and the heat in one country and the blistering cold in another country and a shared moon that kind of hangs over everything: it hides in some cities, it’s gone in some cities, it watches you over the rest. Christmas is about hopeful films, of Mariah Carey’s song and not Mariah Carey’s story; it’s about that girl I fingered, it’s about that girl I didn’t finger, it’s about Santa and cookies and letters to Santa and photos of Santa and of midnight mass, it’s about a lonely woman, a lonely man, a jealous boyfriend, immigration, suffering refugees, ISIS, Muslims, Jews, transgenders, lesbians, queers, fags, homophobes, feminists, emos, hipsters, dickheads, bankers, cunts, bums; Christmas is about advertising and late night shopping and that huge rush to buy presents for mum and dad and stepmum and stepdad and cousins and friends and bosses and that chick you’re cheating with, its about Christmas ham, it’s about last minute shopping, it’s about the birth of Jesus Christ our saviour, it’s about snorting a dab of cocaine off the tip of some Indian guy’s cock and it’s about falling asleep too early; it’s about thinking about Africa, or that fucked up thing you did two years ago, or just the other week, or about that homeless guy you saw under the bridge. Christmas is about my suffering, not yours. It’s about that selfie she took that made sure to reveal her tits. It’s about the fortunate and the less fortunate and the sad and the happy and the people so far removed from the world that they don’t even know who they are. Do you know who you are? Christmas is about tears and laughter and all of that bullshit, it’s about that time I met a Princess and it’s about the time I kissed her in my car and it’s about the sweat and my red shirt and it’s about that time I opened your present and you took a photo of me opening your present, and it’s about that Snapchat I sent you, and it’s about that look you gave me, and it’s about that first time I asked you if you were wet and you said no, and it’s about that first time I yelled at you, and it’s about that time you made that promise that only I remember, and it’s about that time I was completely sober and I opened the door and I thought about nothing, and I grew up, and I evolved, and the world, time – it was universal, and as some sombre song by Adele played in the background things and people… everything changed but everything, deep down, was still kind of the same, and Frosty the snowman got fucked up and a dead John Lennon hums “so this is Christmas” in the dark while Martha, a woman who I have never met, has a long debate with her partner about whether or not they should attend midnight mass.

Surface Children is now out on iBookstore and Barnes & Noble

surface-children-short-stories-now-on-iBooks

Here’s some news, people. My book of short stories, Surface Children, is now out on the iBookstore for people with Apple devices, as well as other bookstores such as Barnes&Noble.

Download it here for iBooks and here for Barnes&Noble.