SHORT SERIES: The Funny Business of Suite 305 and other Tales of Infamy (Episode 2)

Short Series: Episode 2

                Morning stumbled in too quickly. The sun trickled over my face, and the warmth was so inviting. Birds sung their individual melodies outside of my window and the sky was clear and filled with the sun’s alluring rays. Almost a perfect morning. I got up, slowly stretched and yawned tiredly. The morning seemed normal enough except…my roommate, May, wasn’t in her bed. What time was it anyway? At that very thought I turned to my alarm clock; it was 9:50am! I was late, oh no! I sank back into my bed, hid under the comforter. Now, I didn’t want to face the day. The day was not perfect and luminous anymore. The bird’s melodies turned into broken notes and noise. The sky wasn’t perfect anymore, it was just plain old sky…and the I remembered last night!

                The question that came to mind was the million-dollar question: Was the bag of my roommate’s disgusting pile of waste still in the corner of the room? I dared not look over the coziness of my comforter and saw in horror that terrible Wal-Mart blue bag of gore! But I did…look over my comforter, and there it was! This Wal-Mart bag, blue from suffocation or rot or was that the natural blue that the bag was in prior to its contents? The poor bag sat on my side of the room, about 12 inches from the opening of our room door. I cringed, and there was a sound that came from my stomach, clearly it was upset! Honestly, I didn’t know what stopped me from throwing up, but the tears that welled up in my eyes, helped to hold back the wave of nausea that kept hitting my tonsils up and down like a yo-yo. Staring at that bag made me feel sorry for the poor thing. Yes, I felt sorry for the Wal-Mart bag that couldn’t throw up what was inside of it. *GAG*

                I became irritable and angry, more so enraged almost to a blasted roar about this whole situation. It was as though I was experiencing varying degrees of…grief! Here I am, waking at 10 o’clock in the morning, and where had my roommate gone? How did she not trip over her mess before she left the room? Who could possibly do such a thing and forget it hadn’t happened with the evidence in the room! I was outraged again. Reminding myself quietly, silently that I am in control of my emotions even in an unrealistic and ridiculous situation as this one. My eyes slid closed, I counted to ten and relaxed a little so that I could just focus and think. Where could she be? I knew she didn’t have classes on Tuesdays at 10…wait a minute! Today was Wednesday, right? Before I can think any further, I hurried to my calendar and it indicated that today was Wednesday! I didn’t have class on Monday, Wednesday and Friday until 2pm! Yay! Noooooooo…so, now I could relax until my roommate gets in and throw her, disgusting and repulsive bag of poop at her!

                The rest of the day went well. The library was my sanctuary for the day, and I got quite cozy in the dark corner where the fiction books were shelved. Everything went especially smoothly, after May finally removed her “dirty little secret” from the room. I told her to dispose of it in any way possible. Also, I suggested to her to go down the hall to the community bathroom and flush the thing down the toilet when no one was around to see or smell it! So that it doesn’t come back to us that we are blowing up the bathroom in those sorts and ways. She needs to take the bloody thing out of its misery and dispose of that Wal-Mart bag immediately after. Gosh, who potty trained her!

To be continued…

**All Stories in this Short Series: The Funny Business of Suite 305…is of true or actual events I encountered in my college experiences. Names have been changed and some other details as well.


Dreamscapes: Moriarty Madness

This was the weirdest dream yet, that I can recollect. Scratch that, my mind isn’t done with me yet…There are probably many more mystifyingly nightmarish dreams to haunt my memory. I had many dreams last night. After all, I slept for 14 hours and I am sure for every hour, my subconscious bared every bizarre, surreal, deviant and maybe even pleasant wish in all my lifetimes.

Well in this one dream that I was only able to recall after my deep deep slumber, was the setting of the late 1800’s perhaps. However, I can describe it as the period that people still wore long dresses and suits that I can only describe as being worn on the movie with Robert Downey, Jr. “Sherlock Holmes”. The characters in my dream had that variety of clothing from that time. Unfortunately, I was unable to see myself in the dream. I worked for the main character Dr. Lindell, a doctor that not only practiced medicine, practiced magic that was white and other. Also, Dr. Lindell was working on a spell or spells that duplicated multiple personalities, but also enabled those multiple personalities to manifest themselves in our reality to interact with people. And Interact they did.

These beings of multiplicity, so to speak, were everywhere. While I walk the streets in this 1800’s scene, I saw a man that looked just as my master, Dr. Lindell, looked in the face except, he wasn’t Dr. Lindell. This man’s eyes was the same gray blue color, but under darkened heavier brows. He did not blend in well with the background, being that his clothes were tattered and slashed. His hands were worn, sporting soot, dirt and a reddish maroon tint. The darkness of his brow also spread to his beard and his facial hair was unkempt and wild. However, the wilderness was also in his eyes as well. Studying the entirety of his body, I looked back up to his eyes again, and saw that he was looking disdainfully at me. Piercing stare, like cupid’s arrow with the effect on me of fear instead. I took a step back realizing this, relaxed a little and changed my direction to cross the street. As I crossed the street, I walked but my walk turned into a slight jog. When I reached the curb, there was another entity with Dr. Lindell’s face, except this man had a ponytail and glasses. He also stared right at me. I walked past him, pretending I had not noticed his menacing grin. Quickly, I walked a few more blocks towards the theatre and saw another entity with Dr. Lindell’s face, except this man’s face was younger, much younger than Dr. Lindell’s. HE was walking towards me and a creeping chill went from the base of my neck down to my lower back. I pivoted in a flash and crossed the street towards the theatre.

The theatre was a place of refuge for me, maybe this nightmare would end there? Well, I ran to the box-office booth and purchased one ticket to see just about anything to get my mind off of the chilling revelation; that black magic may have conjured these strange multiples. I practically ran into the theatre, not looking back. Bursting through the movie door for which  I purchased tickets, I moved swiftly to a seat somewhere in the middle of the room. The room was pitch dark, unfortunately, I had to feel may way around to find seating. I finally found a seat and sat immediately. That was close! I don’t even know that there is another person in this theatre, it was very quiet. As the minutes went on, movie goers filed in finding seats in various places in the room. Without the fear of the multiplicity gang, I sat down just reflecting on other things, such as what’s the next project to fulfill with Dr. Lindell. When am I getting paid?

The movie curtain lifted to a blank screen, then the pictures showed up on the screen in black and white of course. No captions or sound actually…yikes, but I did enjoy every minute of it, forgetting my woes. Suddenly the theatre lights come on and my eyes took some time to adjust from sitting without light all this time. Then I looked around the theatre, it was filled with people, but then I realized…that many of the movie goers wore Dr. Lindell’s face! I got up and made my way towards the exit, as fast as I could. Suddenly, it felt like I was at the bottom of the ocean, moving in that gravity flow. The faces I looked at from left to right looked back at me as I was in this helpless state. The multiples varied now. One watched me with red pupils and a mangled smile that was larger than the space of it’s face. Another man with the same face, left of me glared at me, and I looked back at him with I’m sure, horror in my face. He was bald-headed, wearing dark clothing from what I could tell. Walking closer to the exit, I looked to the right of me and there was one of the multiples closing in on me. He got up from his seat, making his way to me at a freakishly fast speed that made me yelp in fear. Noooooooo…Why me? I prayed I can reach to the exit before he got any closer…I got to the exit light and felt a hand on my shoulder. Gulp.

SHORT SERIES: The Funny Business of Suite 305 and other Tales of Infamy (Episode 1)

Short Series: Episode 1

As I opened my dorm room door, a gust of arid air swept my brow with such a gust my contact lenses tightened to my pupils. She sat there on her bed, mumbling to herself, and I began to ask her if she is all right but hesitated. Then, I changed my mind.

                “Are you feeling alright?” My Cruzan (I was from the island of St. Croix, my dialect is called ‘Cruzan’) accent was not heavy, but it slipped out hardly noticed by her ears.

                “You have no idea, you have no idea…” she kept repeating as if she was trying to convince herself to manage with whatever unspeakable horror. I could tell she was sweating badly. The neck of her shirt was soaked and her forehead shone with speckles of sweat. Her pants was soaked too, or wet, but matted down at the groin area, and she seemed fragile and timid.

                What would make someone sweat so? I disguised my ill thoughts, though I could only imagine three scenarios: a rape, a beating, a rape and a beating, or someone embarrassed her in the cafeteria. Then, I wondered if she was just psyching me out, you know…the college roommate prank. I wasn’t going to fall for it one bit, she better talk it out right now!

                I almost shouted at her, “what is it…tell me!” My voice rose a little higher, to emphasize immediacy. It had been almost two minutes now. It’s after one in the morning, and nothing good happens during that time of the night! As I stood by her bed bare-footed and in the polka-dot pajamas my mother made especially for my freshman year in college. She parted her quivering lip to speak, and I anticipated that at any moment she would blurt out what had her breaking out in sweats and quivering like a giggling Elmo. Maybe…maybe I didn’t want to know or maybe I shouldn’t know…Now, I knelt in front of her whispering, “what is it May, tell me.” Then, she expelled like I’ve never seen anyone expel before!

                “I can’t tell you! You won’t understand! I’m in a situation!”

                I egged her on, “come on, you can tell me.” I even managed to smile in her sweaty little face and my hand on her shoulder was succumbed with sweat.

                “I…I…” she slowly started. It was happening; she was finally opening up… “I…I…ummm…clogged…clogged one of the community bathroom toilets!” The words just tumbled out of her mouth.

                It was too shocking! No…you didn’t clog the bathroom toilet! That would have me sweating in places that I could never imagine too! She couldn’t  look me in the eye…and I couldn’t look her in the eye either, because I wanted to laugh in her face so damn hard. For the sake of understanding, I found myself saying, “oh, that happens to everyone,” then, I get up from where I knelt in front of her and proceeded to go to my bed. After a pause, I whispered under my breath, “once in a while.” Suddenly, she lunged at me and grabbed my arm, bringing me closer to her.

                “Wait…” she pleaded, with the full effect of all her sweat and tears that stained her face. The smell crept into my nose. Yes, she smelled bad, but I stopped inhaling anyway. Something told me to be a nice roommate and listen. Hey, what are roommates for, eh?

                “It didn’t go down, and I…I…” I knew what she was going to say, before she said it.

                “I know, I know, you ran like hell and left it in the bowl. Everyone does that when the water starts to rise…” I said with a shrug of my shoulders, but that was not the end of it…I assumed.

                “No, I put it in a Wal-Mart bag!” As she said this she pointed to a small blue Wal-Mart bag in one corner of the room. I looked in the direction she pointed to and realized that it was in my corner of the room! And then, my eyes popped! Yes, I was blazing mad! But…most of all, I was scared as hell! What the hell was going on here! One clogged toilet and the girl went clear out of her mind!

                She continued, “most people don’t stick their hands in the toilet to take it out…” she said with a pout. “At least, I washed my hands.”

                Maybe my imagination ran wild, but I could actually see her running into the room picking up any plastic bag in sight. Then, she ran back to the bathroom and didn’t even debate the sanity of the situation. Stick your hand in…ewwwww…

                I gagged in my throat, but fought the case of acid reflux that came up suddenly. My mind was screaming, “And you touched her! WASH YOUR HANDS! Better yet, take a shower, quick!”

                I turned to her, with a frown and said, “Are you crazy?” There was no response. She stared at me, which did not look good.

                Then, her bottom lip quivered again, she frowned…and all of a sudden she stood up. Niagara Falls! She began to blubber all over herself, cried while she tried to explain, “I know you couldn’t handle it, I know you wouldn’t understand!”

                I was forced to listen to this for the rest of the night. Her crying and sniffling was the lullaby that put me to sleep. Was this really happening? Would I wake up the next morning and not find that bag of poop in the same corner of my room? I’d be sick if it was there!

To be continued…

Brief Narative: Suicide Scene

He left the door open on the porch when he left and had not said where he was going to Letti. In frustration, she sighed but shook her head silently, tears still wet on her lashes. The last fight was brutal. Total assassination of what love is, or…what love should be?

From what she knew, love was many things and most things were positive and powerful. Love to her was supposed to be easy, there are bumps along the way, but they were supposed to get through them. The synonyms for love did not encapsulate rage, disappointment, abuse…in various ways. For the past four and a half years, she has battling with something…feeling stuck or stagnant, but lately the heavy prescription of smoking marijuana and drinking alcohol is just adding to the chaotic daily life that she and Chis was experiencing.

Could you imagine most days or everyday being in a state of constant crying fits, drowning sorrows in drug abuse just to make it through the day? The enemy is within the house with you…sleeping in the same bed, taking your money to buy drugs and alcohol, fighting you when you don’t give them money to gain, to maintain that high? Could you also imagine yourself being roused in the middle of the night, high when someone is trying to press themselves between your legs and invade your world, all you have left to hold onto at that time. In the midst of their constant bickering and violent fight, Chris would expect Letti to provide him the pleasures of a couple that loves and cherishes each other, but Letti refuses to give up her…but she does not always win that battle.

In constant temporary employment – unemployment situations, Chris is the stay-at-home fiancée, dropping Letti off to work then hanging out with his unemployed friends, with dreams of stars in their eyes creating music that will not see the light of day. While inventing rhythm and rhymes, smoking bags of home-grown marijuana that Chris grew in the backyard. If Letti protests she is battered with words and fists that cut like knives and brings on bawling and crying fits. DUI’s and court dates for Chris’ wreckless driving weighed on her. Days which she had to help him, while he physically fought her, detox from drinking too much alchol. This day was like no other.

Letti was faced with a few things that she had not confronted. She had been depressed throughout most of the relationship, after the “honeymoon phase” everything just crumbled. All the cracks came apart and they both fell through. Again, she is left here, alone, heartbroken, worn from finding reason why she should still be here…then the thought came through from all the horror and pain, “why don’t you just end it all…what if he saw you in the tub with your wrist slit?” Would he care, would he react and in what way? It was just too much, the constant heaviness of her heart, she would cry until she heaves, heart beat erratic…She have given up so much to be with this man, loved him despite himself. Loved him despite the doubts from friends and family that he ever was a deserving man of her affections.

In her grief, she prepared the bathtub as if she was taking a bath. Still weeping, she staggered into the kitchen to pick up a knife, it didn’t matter which one at the time, because the deed was one that was dishonorable. Her heart was so weak, her movements slow and hesitant, but she was sure of what scene she was going to leave for him out of resentment, revenge and regret. She moved into the bathroom, finally and took off her t-shirt and carefully submerged into the water that was not warm but not hot enough to burn her skin. The knife she chose for the deed laid on the top of the toilet cover, anticipating the act, one that was an impending condemnation. Letti used her right hand to reach for the knife and though she was still weeping, she began the task of tearing into the skin of her left wrist with the knife. The searing pain was what she felt from the first stab, but the pain in her heart was much more overbearing…the water began to have streaks of red, drops of blood quickly pouring from her left wrist and down her forearm, then floating in the water in a swirl. The heights of the weed she smoked 30 minutes ago still gave her a lift, so high that she didn’t notice she passed out in the tub. The heaviness began to lighten up as her body relaxed and drifted as though she was in an ocean, a bleeding ocean with her lifeforce leaking…

In the background, the screen door was opened and closed, and footsteps advanced slowly to the scene left in the bathroom tub…

**If you know someone suffering from an abusive relationship or depression, seek to help them. Depression that is left without treatment can lead to devastating events.