Pissed Off Ferret

“Let’s go to Cancun, “she said. “It’s a free trip, it will be fun, margaritas, beach, and sun,” she said. “We’ll never have to see this fucker again,” she said. Oh, promises, promises, promises. And will you take a look at where I am now. Actually, I really don’t even know where the hell I am. I haven’t found any readable signs and no one speaks my language. But I do know that I am absolutely alone now. This was supposed to be the last time that I ever saw that sweaty, foul smelling, ferret kicking maniac. Little did I know that it was all a trick to leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere. Now I’ve got the sun beating down on my back, I feel like I’m overheating with all this fur, and don’t even ask about the smell. I haven’t eaten anything descent in three days; my stomach feels like it’s shrinking with every step I take. My coat is all knotted up; my tail covered in feces. And just an hour ago I almost got eaten by a group of rabid Chihuahuas. So now it’s just me; fearless ferret against the world. Who knew they would come here and resuscitate their dead, rotting love and forget all about me? They were never in love, they hated each other! They would have ripped each other to shreds if it weren’t for me. I am so incredibly pissed. I offered comfort to this lady when she would pathetically cry over that whorish devil of a man. I even allowed her to dress me up in the most ridiculous dresses, paint my nails hot pink, and tie bows on my tail, when she knows that I am a male ferret! She even gets drunk and carries me around and shoves me in her friend’s faces, but did I ever object to any of that demeaning treatment? NEVER! And now she wants to abandon me forever for that loser? What a two faced bitch. That’s the last time I be anyone’s lap ferret. Never again. I hope their happy when they get back to their stuff and see that it is completely ravaged. Ripped up purses with shredded straps and torn, urine soaked traveler’s checks and pesos. Passports exchanged to the cleaning lady for my escape and her promise to not ever come back to the room. I hope the stench of my horribly rotting crap turns their colons to mush and makes then defecate for days like I did. And what was the moral of my story? First of all, never trust anyone, no matter how much you truly believe they have your best interests in mind. And as for their moral? Never, ever, turn your back on a ferret. Or else, you know what, you’ll find yourself stranded in a foreign country, no papers, no money, and no cute, adorable ferret to lay your head on and cry. She just lost the best thing she ever had.

Love Letter

So this is something that I know you could care less about. It's been so long since we last agreed to be friends, but then somehow ended up going our seperate ways. Though I absolutlely feel like I am in the best possible place I could be at in my life, I can't help but always have you on my mind. It just seems like you are always there. The worst part of it is that I still have you as a constant character in my dreams. Then I wake up and realize that you are no longer a character in my real life. That tends to hurt sometimes when I realize that you have a new life that no longer includes me. I am a mere referrence to your past, a footnote. But I have realized the importance of that. I've changed you, or at least I would like to think that I did. And you in turn have given me a better attitude about life and how not to make mistakes. I feel like I am betraying so many people and so much of myself when I write this, so from now on, I'll try not to think about this subject anymore. It's so hard to deny this part of my life because it shaped me into the person that I am today, but there is also a part of me that is so desperate to not let go. God I'm pathetic.

Worst Work Day-Everyday

Of course it's a day like any other day. A miserable, horrible day, where I see the same faces, attached to the same bodies with the smallest brains on the planet. God I hate this ploace. Of course I can hear them now, "oh, well, if she doesn't like it here anymore, why doesn't she just leave?" Oh and I wish my decision was that easy. It's the money versus the eight hours of misery. Good money versus opinionated cliques. Good money versus 50-year-olds with grade school mentalities. An eye for an eye every single day. So now, I keep my distance. I'm here solely for money. But it wasn't always like this. I did actually use to like my job. But now there's too much favoritism. Too many people who know this person, or "oh my kids grew up with her kids," or "that's my daughter." And I am the outsider. I'm glad not to be associated with anyone here. Glad that I didn't come from the same neighborhoods or families. And so glad that everyone doesn't know all of my business.
Every so often, I'll get those cranky old people who can't wait more than thirty seconds for service. And I don't need to hear anyone's opnions right now, just do your part of the job and things would run so much smoother. But something so simple could never be that easy. At least not here. But thank god for these guests and their money, I mean their smiles, and optimistic attitudes about everything. Makes the time go by faster. Makes me forget about the people I'd like to mow over in the parking lot. One day I'll probably leave, walk out and never come back. Hopefully it will be because of an economic crisis, and not because my will was broken down to that point.

Where I'm From

I've climbed all of those mountains.
I would ride my bike out to the farthest reaches of my tiny town and would climb through the sandstone canyons. And if I couldn't ride there, I would ask my dad if he could drive me out there and we could both climb. I know all the best ways to get up. I know the hardest routes to climb. I know the trails down or the smoothest spots to slide down on. That's where we took lunch, built our play homes, spent our play money. Even venturing to the top of the arched rocks to look across the small town. Wind threatening to blow you down, hundreds of feet to the soft, thick, red sand below. There was a stone bridge left in the wilderness, a bridge I never crossed but always sat on as I watched the sun go down between the trees.

Dialogue Between two Lovers

Amanda sat in the dark room as the rain beat heavily against the window. It was three o'clock in the afternoon and Robert was not home yet.
"Oh, Robert, not home yet?" she said as she stared blankly into the closet.
"Did you get caught in the rain, couldn't find a ride home and decided not to walk?"
A crash of lightning shook Amanda as she wrapped the blankets around her shoulders. Just then she heard the lock unlatch and heard the front door open. The rain got slightly louder, then bang, the door closed. Robert walked into the room, threw down his keys and his wet trench coat and let out an annoyed sigh.
"Yes, I'm awake, " says Amanda, "and, no, I didn't clean today."
"Well, I can see that, Amanda, so when exactlty are you going to get out of bed?" asked Robert.
"Never. I'm never, ever, ever, ever going to leave this bed, not untill you apologize," Amanda cried.
"Apologize? Apologize for what?" said Robert.
Amanda could feel her heart breaking again.
"Splenda was a good cat!"Amanda says sniffling.
"She was, but she ran away," Robert huffed.
"You locked her out! Someone took her or she's dead!" screamed Amanda.
"You don't know that," said Robert.
"It's been raining for an entire week! She probably drowned in a sewer by now!"
Robert sighs again and says, "Well if she did then she's in a better place."
Amanda rips off her covers and throws a pillow at Robert's head and then yells, "Oh, and this is just a joke to you, well it's not funny! You didn't love that cat the way I did, that cat was my baby!"
Amanda threw her face into her pillows and began to sob uncontrollably as she yelled Splenda's name.
Robert looked at the ceiling, scratched his head, and looked at his watch.
"Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't know she wasn't in the house, okay?"

Writing about place

I had been looking forward to this day for a whole semester. My background had been checked and my shot records updated. The only hurdle I had left to conquer was the perplexing maze of hallways that weren't conveniently connected by a central corridor. Most of the walls are white. Some have huge windows that display large patios clustered with plants, fountains, and benches. The air inside is sterile, crisp, and cold. I find my way to the 600 wing of the hospital and the charge nurse there wants to know exactly why I'm there. "I'm a FACES student," I say with a quivering voice as the charge nurse inspects my badge. "Oh, right, FACES, what exactly does that stand for again?" I don't recall exactly what I mumbled, because I never really knew what it stood for. Without hesitation she reached for a phone and paged a nurse. Once my nurse arrived, I was introduced and shuffled off to a room towards the end of the hall. We passed several other nurses, all writing in thick binders on the tops of fold out desks connected to the wall. My nurse stopped me short of a room and told me she needed help changing a wound dressing. She handed me gloves and said, "this man is very sick." In the dimly lit room stood a family. The old man lay in the crisp white linens wheezing loudly, trying to pull air into his lungs. My nurse begins to unravel his face from the enormous amount of gauze. One by one the bandages come off. I fight with the latex gloves on my hands as i try to open a package of gauze. A mixture of ointment and puss loft in the air as we pass used gauze and new gauze back and forth. People are crying in the background, and all I can think about is sunscreen.