Creative Writing

Real Friend | A Short Story

Avery rang his cell for the third time.

“He’s ignoring you.” Elaine said in a low voice.

“Boys.” Avery tossed her phone in front of her, casting a look at Elaine. Both girls snorted. “How’s Drew by the way?”

Elaine grabbed a bottle of nail polish off her vanity. “The same.”

They were sitting in Elaine’s bedroom, a pink and gold explosion. The walls were bright pink, as was the bedding. The pillows seemed to span every shade of gold.

“Should we ditch them?”

Avery’s eyebrows hitched higher up on her wide forehead. “You think?”

Elaine uncapped the nail polish and began painting her toenails a bubblegum pink. “I don’t know what I saw in Drew.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“You’re defending him?” She brought her foot closer to her face and blew on her big toe.

Shrugging, Avery leaned in closer to her friend. “Is there something you know that I don’t?”

“No no.” Elaine wagged the applicator brush at Avery.

“Then what?”

“He’s boring.”

Avery resisted the urge to roll her eyes, looking away instead. Her phone, which she tossed onto the bed a moment ago, taunted her by remaining silent. “What do you think he’s doing?”


“No, Jackie.”


“If he’s doing nothing, then why isn’t he picking up?” Avery picked up a pillow and tugged at the gold beads.

Elaine twisted the applicator back into the bottle and spread her feet out in front of her. The pinks of her toenails glistened in the golden light of her room. “You tell me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t get him.”

“Find another.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” A frown pulled at the corners of Avery’s mouth.

Just then her phone buzzed on the bedding.

“It’s Jackie.”

Elaine narrowed her blue eyes and reached for the phone. “Don’t pick up.”

“Why not?”

“He didn’t pick up your calls,” Elaine emphasized the last word. “So you shouldn’t pick up his. Give him a taste of his disgusting poison.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she repeated. “Maybe he was busy.”

She sighed, tossing the phone in Avery’s direction. “Do as you please girlfriend. Just remember who your real friend is.”


Friendships And Writing

Have you ever been in a relationship with someone, and one day you two stopped talking for whatever reason? Then you never talked to him or her ever again?

Have you ever invested a lot of time into a project, and one day you stopped working on it? Then you never touched it again?

Uh, yes and definitely yes. 

The latter tends to haunt me more. 


Valentine’s Day Gifts For Writers

Forgo the roses if your lover is a writer.

There are a million better things to give.

I’ve never been in a romantic relationship. But we don’t talk about that.

I like to think one day, when I can actually afford a cardboard box, I’ll be a good gift giver.

I have nothing against flowers. My aunt is a florist, which means discounted flowers for me whenever I want. But I rather get a billion other things instead.

Hello, haven’t you heard of…

Pens. Fountain pens. Gel pens. Ballpoint pens. Felt-tip pens. Disposable pens. Refillable pens. Rollerball pens. Quill pens.

Pencils. Wooden pencils. Mechanical pencils. Watercolour pencils. Pastel pencils.

Crayons. Pencil crayons. Wax crayons.

Rulers. Wooden rulers. Plastic rulers. Metal rulers. Stainless steel rulers. Flexible rulers. Non-flexible rulers.

Highlighters. Fluorescent highlighters.

Markers. Permanent markers. Non-permanent markers.

Books. Fiction books. Non-fiction books. Long books. Short books. Hardcover books. Softcover books.

Notebooks. Spiral notebooks. Binded notebooks. Leather notebooks.

I could go on. But I’m stopping it here to give you a chance to prove yourself. Or redeem yourself.

Creative Writing

A Descending Ascension

“It’s not worth it anymore,” she mumbled.

“So that’s it? After everything—”

“Stop Jake.”

He gripped the railing. “Riley, I’m not blaming you or trying to point fingers.”

A long silence descended upon them.

“I don’t know.” Her voice was quiet.

Jake stood, unmoving. “Okay.”

Riley went down the steps and turned the corner without saying another word.


Short Story Share

I often write about reading and when I do, the posts tend to be centered around books. What doesn’t get as much recognition, sadly, are short stories. In fact, some people consider them to be dying. So even though I can’t revive the form on my own, I figured I’d share a short story I read and enjoyed. Also, it may or may not be a feature I bring back whenever I read a piece I can rave for days about.

Now I don’t normally recommend products or services on this blog. And even when I do, I do so honestly. Besides this isn’t much of a recommendation. The post is called ‘Short Story Share’ for a reason.

I’ve been rambling because I’m writing this on the subway. Forgive me.

It’s called “The Turing Test”. Google it. There’s a whole different kind of story behind the concept. Wikipedia has a better explanation than anything I could write. Chris Beckett, a science fiction author, wrote the piece.

Since this happened to be an assigned reading for a class, I didn’t think I’d enjoy it. That isn’t to say I haven’t liked anything I had to read for school. I just lower my expectations so I’m not terribly disappointed. So reading through the entire story during my commute, which can be very distracting, is impressive enough. I don’t know whether I’m more proud of myself or the author. Okay okay. The author wins.

Without giving away too much, which is something I’m prone to do, the story revolves around technology, humanity, and how implications of the former affect relationships of the latter.

Not only am I terribly wordy on the subway, I also fail at reducing confusion.

This post looks insanely long on my phone so if you had the patience to sit through it all, without skipping a single word, I applaud you. Some day I shall reward you generously.

Creative Writing

You And Me

I’ll hear your stories

I’ll keep your secrets

Will you be here for me?

When a wave crashes

When the world turns

Where will we finally be?

Creative Writing

Strangers Again

Is this the very end

I will never forget when

You used to be my friend

Now we’re strangers again

Creative Writing

Do It, Please

Do it, please.

Ingrained in his memory like a tattoo were those three words. No matter how hard Marcus tried to forget the past, those words kept resurfacing. Questions plagued him ever since that dreadful day he went to friend’s house. Even worse, his heart ached at the answers he received.

A shiver went down his spine. In spite of the suffocating heat, he closed the bedroom window. The tree leaves caught his attention. They danced in the breeze from side to side almost mockingly. Even a part of nature had the power to remind him of the day his world came crashing down, crushing him with its weight.

Stepping out for the first time in nearly a month, Marcus realized he missed the outdoors. His eyes immediately fixed upon a patch of grass near the oak tree. To an average person, the slight discrepancy in the grass was unnoticeable. However, Marcus—of all people—noticed the difference. After all, he disturbed the tiny area.

Like Marcus had three weeks before, he knelt down and dug. Dirt and grass coated his fingernails when he finished. That was the least of his worries. Inside the hole, a few feet in the ground, was an unloaded gun.


The phone call made him drop the gaming controller and bolt outside. After driving eight miles, he parked his dad’s truck on her driveway. Normally Megan came out to greet him.

She hadn’t locked the front door, giving him an open invitation to step inside.

“Meg?” he called out. “Where are you?”

The house remained silent for so long that Marcus had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Just as he was about to turn around to go back the way he came from, she finally spoke.

“I’m upstairs.”

Taking the steps two at a time, Marcus reached her bedroom in record timing.

Once again, he didn’t knock.

“Hey, are you OK?”

Megan shook her head. She bowed her head as if to collect her thoughts. “Mark, I want you to do something for me.”

Crossing the room in two quick strides, he stood within arm’s reach of his best friend.

“Sure, anything.”

Her right arm twitched. Until now, Marcus hadn’t noticed her hands were behind her back. He stepped forward with his arms stretched out like he wanted to embrace her.

Swiftly, she brandished the object from behind her.

He froze in place. “Why are you holding a gun?” He hated that his voice seemed to have gone up an octave.

“It’s my dad’s.” She offered a slight smile, which looked more like a smirk. “He’s a gun enthusiast.”

“Right. You told me that once. But you haven’t answered my question. I asked why you have a gun, not who it belongs to or where you got it from.”

“My dad doesn’t know.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Doesn’t know what?”

“Many things.” She tossed the gun in the air as if testing its weight. “That I stole the gun from his cabinet downstairs. That I hate him. That I want to die.”

For once, Marcus was rendered speechless.

“It’s okay Mark.” Meg lowered her head, her brown hair falling to cover part of her face. “I only want you to help me.”

He swallowed.

She raised her left arm, brushing his cheek with a finger. “I’ll miss looking into your green eyes.” Meg extended her right arm, the one holding the gun. “Do it. Help kill me.”

Mark shook his head. “Are you crazy? I’m not going to kill you, Meg. This is stupid.”

She closed her eyes. “If you’re my friend, you would do this. For me.”

He snorted. “Some friend you are. Do you want to send me to prison for—”

“No one will find out,” she interjected, opening her eyes. “Tell the police I killed myself.”

“Then why don’t you?” He nearly screamed the last word.

Judging by her reaction, Marcus realized he hit a nerve.

“I’m too scared,” she muttered. “I’m a coward. I’ve been waiting for six years to find the courage to end my life. To kill myself. But I’ve never been able to.”

Meg fell to her knees, just as the tears started trickling down her face. “Do it. Put me out of my misery.”

He knelt down, grabbing her free hand and squeezing it. “Meg, you can get help. Things will get better, I promise.”

Before he could blink, she pointed the muzzle of the gun at his forehead. “If you don’t kill me, I’ll kill you. And then I’ll kill myself.” Pausing, she added, “I have nothing to lose.”

Biting down on his bottom lip, he drew blood. “You wouldn’t do it. You wouldn’t kill me. I’m your best friend.” Marcus desperately wanted to believe his own words even though they sounded forced.

“Try me.” There were no more tears in her eyes. The tears were replaced by a cold, blank emptiness. He felt like he was staring into a black abyss.

“I’m going to count to five. If you don’t take the gun out of my hand, point it at me, and press the trigger before I finish, I’ll pull the trigger.”

His whole body trembled at the thought of taking somebody’s life. Worse, this somebody wasn’t a stranger but his best friend.


“I love you.”


“I’m sorry.”


He grabbed the gun out of her hand, pointed it at Meg’s head, and slowly stood up.

She remained on the ground, kneeling in front of him.

His arm visibly shook. “Do you have any final words?”

Her dark eyes met his. “Do it, please.”

He pressed the trigger. The shot vibrated against the walls of her bedroom. Marcus couldn’t bear to watch the life leave Meg’s body. Marcus turned to face the wall and pointed the pistol at himself. Without hesitating, he pressed the trigger again. But this time nothing happened. He dismantled the gun and found she had only loaded it with one bullet.