Tag: Creative Writing

Second Sight

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ Leave a comment

That was the last time I saw Mom’s smile. Now when she’s near, raspberry aura envelopes my retinas. It sways like a flag in the breeze, and perpetually manifests and evaporates.

Pitying glances, consoling words. They are more bitter or more sweet now, vibrating my earlobe, activating goosebumps. The doctor’s voice is the most harsh, coarse like a splinter-laden rug. His apologies to Mom or Dad are boulders jutted out a waterfall. Abrupt, brusque, insincere.

I feel their eyes land on me. It tickles, it hurts. When they speak I drown in the cinema they draw. An unending movie plays all the time in my mind. I am the camera and the protagonist. I lose myself in the plot. In the other characters.

But when I hear Mom say it’ll be okay, the burgundy wisp returns and dwindles. Kindness of alien light warms my insides.

Construction Variations #1: To ___ Is To ___

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ 1 Comment

Five Examples of the Preset Pattern’s Variations

(1.

Ah, young pupil. To fail is to improve. No artist gets it right on the first try.

(2.

To feel the frigid winds whilst dangling upside-down by bungee cord’s half-inch thread is to feel every victory and mishap, every warm tear and cold kiss, every memory rush in and out of consciousness within seconds.

(3.

Eh, whaddya gonna do? “To love is to lose” or somethin’, amiright?

(4.

To slip in my pronunciation of that single syllable for two seconds in that thirty-minute speech is basically to pee my pants in a $400 dollar blazer.

(5.

To run outside but get stung by bees anyway is to be 10, free, and alive…! Now I let the bees sting me and don’t protest.

Two Blind Men

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ 2 Comments

Hills rose above the trees in Mt. Airy. McCallum St. barreled down from Glen Echo Rd at the hill’s top to Lincoln Drive at the foot of the incline. Despite its grand size, the slope’s drop was not abrupt for passersby advancing up or marching down the hill. Road bumps acted as safety nets, warning attentive drivers there was still some road to go until a turn onto bustling Lincoln Drive.

On either side of the incline were homes two-to-three floors tall. These houses were wide, front lawns lined with daffodils and colorful flowers. The homes were rectangular, slanting on the McCallum St. hill like homes in San Francisco.

A blind, elderly man aimlessly wandered uphill. He wore a tattered navy-blue jacket, a paint splotched puce green t-shirt and faded jeans. A warmth waved on him from the face down. It was a bright, cloudless day. Normally he’d sit at peace on a bench somewhere, but a darkness preoccupied him.

He couldn’t see. His cane had been broken in half the previous night, and the half stick he had left was not making a loud enough sound to see properly. Haphazard taps clacked off the ground as he hunched over, using a tool half his arm length.

Digital clicks echoed in a car as the driver squinted at his phone, trying to finish his text telling his wife how nice the weather today was. He was so focused that he sped over the road bumps on the hill, careened to the bottom, and hit a figure walking, causing a boom of cracked bones and torn flesh as the figure rolled onto the windshield. The driver’s engine sputtered and he veered into a tree.

Death Of A Character Exercise

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr.

I squeezed Sara to my chest. She was sandpaper rough, her arms chalk-powdered. She burned to the touch. Cracks of flesh lined her body, blood runny and bubbly. Skidded tire smell pervaded the air around us. She was alive but—God, how could I even think this—she’d be better off not. Her shut eyes were twitching. Her mouth was open and her teeth were clamped shut. Everyone outside was calling her, shouting her name, but she wouldn’t respond. Her head hadn’t turned an inch left or right since I pulled her out the house. She was in shock.

I sat on the green fire hydrant on the curb, my baby sister wrapped tight in my arms. Men sprinted past us, their red helmets bouncing on their heads, carrying hoses thick as my thigh. No one looked twice at my seat. Everyone knew this one was broken for decades. The money never came to this part of the city.

Sara stirred, she reached her left arm to touch her face. The gesture looked painful.

“Don’t move so much. You’re very hot, you need to rest.”

Her touching her own skin probably ignited her nerves. Pain from the burns, cuts opening from contracting the muscles. It was so hard to breath in there, she needs to get more air in her system before she moves at all.

She let her arm fell to her side. Her body was sweltering against my knees. She needed water. Something to cool her insides. 

“Hold on Sara. Brother’s gonna save you.”

Holding her, I ran down the block. The flames engulfed the our entire house—they were still trying to get Mom and Dad from the second floor—but they were having trouble reaching rowhomes connected to ours. I had to find a house that wasn’t hit yet. Someone would lend us some water.

When she was six Sis wanted me to teach her to play ball. Of course I said no, she was too little, too short to dribble. Not to mention the ball could hit her head. She wouldn’t stop following me though, standing behind me whenever I tried to shoot. Chasing me, trying to snatch the ball. When she was seven, I let her pass it to me before it rolled down the street. She’d start guessing my shots, “made it,” “nope.” Somehow, she was mostly right.

“I gotta teach you when you get a bit older.”

“Yeah, and I’ll kick your butt.”

Two houses didn’t answer but the third opened. A woman. I explained about the commotion, the sirens, the fire. She gave me some water bottles out her fridge and ran inside. She had some things she didn’t want the fire to destroy.

We sat on her porch, Sara in my lap. I slowly tipped some water down her throat, hoping she’d be able to swallow. She did. I put my head to her chest, her heart was beating wildly.

The cuts. I needed alcohol to clean them. I rushed up to knock on the woman’s door again. My elbow bumped against Sara’s neck. She winced, hard. Tears formed in her eyes. Then she stopped. Her teeth loosened. Her head fell back. Everything around me started going fast. My heart. The men running in the street. The porch grew wide, from ten feet to ten miles. I put my head to her chest. Then I screamed.