Comatose Scene 2

Hello everyone! This is scene two of the project I’ve been working on. Please help me by giving back constructive criticism and liking and sharing with others. This is today’s weekend story. Enjoy! 



Amy kisses me on the cheek as we lay in bed together, it
wakes me up gently, and I open my eyes to her. She smiles at me, her eyes glossy and gleaming. Her hands bundled tightly under her chin. The sheets are pulled to her neck, but she leaves the curve of her back open. She leaves it open for me, for my eyes to be hypnotize, but her body reminds me of whoredom and the betrayal she’s committed. I don’t know for certain if she has, but there’s too many signs above her, and it’s killing me. She sees my hesitant eyes, and she kisses my lips sexually and wet. Her smooth delicate skin so touchable, kissable, I want it close to me, now! I forget my worries, and I’ve weakened before her.

She says to me with a sweetened tone, “Good morning, Mr. Amazing.” Kisses me again, but my lips are reluctant to her seduction. “Are you still mad at me?” She pulls away from me. The puppy dog eyes come out, and I’ve lost.

 “Of course not.” I say it with regret because deep down I
know we haven’t brought the entirety of betrayal out. We haven’t
scratched the surface of her secrecy. She still went behind my
back, but for this morning, I let it go. Besides, I have work in
a few hours, and I don’t want to ruin the whole day. I have to
be clean and pressed like the boss likes.

   “Can I still move some of my stuff in this afternoon? I
don’t have work today, so I don’t need any help.”

 “That would be fine. You still have the key?” I ask.

She turns to her nightstand behind her, grabs her car keys, fiddles through three or four keys, and finds my house key. “Got it!” She shows it to me. Brand new and never been used. The sheets move and her breast are exposed. I stare at them like a hungry wolf drooling. “Easy tiger.” She says. “Wait until you get home tonight. Then we’ll break in the house. If you know what I mean.” I know exactly what she means. She pulls the sheets back to her neck, covers her body, and winks.

“How am I suppose to go through the day and be focused thinking about you and your body?” I attempt to pull the sheets from her. She pulls back. Plan B. I bring my lips close to hers, but she presses her finger to my lips, bites her bottom lip and says:

 “You’ll just have to be patient.” She gets out of bed, and
I’m faced with her naked figure once again. Her body is
amazingly tight, flexible by memory—I remember, but she wraps a
robe around her naked body, and my mind is begging for mercy.

 “When did you get a robe?” I say, trying to contain myself
with self control.

“I got it the other day. It was on sale. You like it?” She
asks, twisting her hips side to side.

 “I like it better on the floor. Why did you get it? You
never wore one before.”

 “To keep hungry animals in their cages.” She points at me.
She goes to the bathroom and turns the shower on.

 “Can I join you?” I shout through the stream of water,
praying for clearance.

“No, you cannot. You must be patient.” She says. “You’ll never wait for tonight. I know your game, just waiting to get me naked and vulnerable.” She’s right.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Do I love her, or am I addicted to her body? I think. Moments later, Amy turns off the water, and she comes out, this time no robe. She’s soaking wet from every crevice and inch of her body. The carpet is catching the water dripping from her, and for the first time I’m jealous of the carpet. “I have to leave now. I’m going to get some boxes filled. I have a big day ahead of me, you know.” She dries her body, grabs the clothes I hadn’t noticed before that hung on the back of the bedroom door, and begins dressing herself. Before I knew it she was gone, shower time was over, and my only wish is for a magic remote I could rewind time with and play that scene over and over and over again.

She comes near the bed, leans over it, and kisses my lips one last time. I don’t attempt to fondle her for the fear of solitary confinement. “Bye, sweetie. I’ll see you tonight.” She says and just as always, she’s gone. She gets away with everything, and leaves the evidence—the taste of her lips—on my lips.

 I can’t stay in bed all day. I have work, but no time for
anything. Amy once again left me in a trance I cannot explain. I
get out of bed and skip the shower, planning to eat breakfast
downstairs, and then I’ll head out for work. I’ll be early for
work if I drive fast enough or if traffic is surprisingly slow
today, but I have to get my coffees, and I usually take the long
way to work anyway. I head downstairs and grab a morning muffin.
I’ve been skipping morning meals too often. It’s made me shaky
throughout the day, and it hasn’t made me feel strong. I’ve been
working and living off caffeine.

 I get in my car and devour the muffin before starting the
engine. Today feels like a slow day is approaching, and Amy is
the only thing clogging my unbalanced mind. She can’t get away
with this, but she will if I don’t take control of myself. I’ll
have to make myself an eunuch if I think for a moment I’ll win
an argument with her. She has my every sexual desire and craving—and most importantly, control—at the echo of a word. I am under
her spell.

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The Cigarette Of Memory Lane

Let me know what you think of this short dramatic scene!?

A cigarette burns betwixt my fingers, but I have no ashtray to bunt the burnt ash away.  The window seal collects it and does the dirty work, giving the coffee table a night off. I inhale 7000 chemicals, but not a single one can take away the pain in my head. It only takes it to another part of me I cannot find. Maybe it takes it to my fingertips. Maybe the cigarette takes it all,  burns it all away, but I refuse to let it go. Why can’t I let it go? It’s so easy, you just forget, right?

It’s not that easy,  because she’s not that easy to forget. She can’t be understood,  she can’t be bought, well not her love anyway, she can’t be easily persuaded because she’s all woman.

She has wants and needs,  and I have a pile of ashes and burnt fingertips. The smoke in my lungs burn hot, I hold it in, but I can’t let it out for the first time. I forgotten her or misplaced her. I left her in the smoke I exhale as she leaves me.

Goodbye and farewell, I guess.

It was only two minutes after I stacked the sixth cigarette on the pyramid of cigarettes, that I realized I haven’t forgotten her completely. I’m making progress, but I forget if the cigarettes help me forget or remember. I lite another one in case it helps me forget. I’ll put it out if she shows up again. That is, of course, if I can. She’s not my only addiction, you probably realize, but nicotine is one hell of a drug.

I open the box of cigarettes to find one lonely cigarette still remaining. I smoke it to help me forget, and I placed the lighter next to it in the box and save it for tomorrow’s new day. Another day of pain in my head. Another day without her. And only a single cigarette to keep the memory of her suppressed. It’s not enough, but it’s never enough. I was never enough. I was only there to fill her days,  and help her find another and forget the last. I am but a tool.

If sunshine were hell,  I’d be laying in hell in my own bed. I don’t think I can snooze the sun.  It would be selfish for the other people ready to get up. I look to the nightstand to find my cigarettes because she’s on my mind again, but the cigarettes are still a mystery. I still think of her. I lite it and lay in bed. The nightstand goes to work for the ashes. I take a drag and hold it long. She’s off my mind, so the cigarettes do you help me forget her, but soon enough she’ll be back to torture me with our memories.

I won’t last much longer this way.

I send to communicate with her, but she doesn’t answer because she doesn’t need me yet, but she’ll call back soon enough. When she need something from me. When it’s convenient.

What do I do when the fire builds inside me?

I scream at the wall. I curse her. I promise myself that the moment she calls me I send it to voicemail. Or better yet, I’ll answer it and tell her off. I will tell her how much I hate her, and how much I want to destroy her and leave her, but the moment she calls I answer with the most sweetest voice, and she’s got me by a string. I dangle there, even though, I’m in pain… because I like the way it hurts.

I am but a tool.

Micah Herman

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Pissing in the wind

A little freestyle writing. This scene of a man thinking about the father he never had came to mind. 

“Piss in the wind if it makes you happy, Mack.” My father told me that everyday, chewing on a match, resembling a cowboy rebel, well, in my eyes he looked the part, anyway. But every cowboy has a grave site waiting on them. I always believed he went too early, but that’s one man’s opinion, and another man’s Did you hear about? I didn’t hear until long after I should’ve and even then I didn’t believe it. He was just on a long work week in my mind, and he was going to stay that way until I was 20 or so, because without proof,  my father always said, you got nothing more than air in a slingshot. You got nothing! It wasn’t until 15 years of waiting for that old cowboy that I decided he either left me all alone, or he died. And to keep his legend honorable in my mind, I settled with the possibility that he galloped on a steel horse to the bye and bye. 

It wasn’t until after coming to the fact that he was dead, I found that pissing in the wind is like making your coal mining father a cowboy. And telling everyone that he died a great man, when me and his wife, my mother, knew he was an abusive alcoholic and died one. Pissing in the wind only got you a face full of piss. Nothing more and nothing less. 

Micah Herman 

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Comatose: By Micah Herman

Hello everyone!

It’s been a while since my last post, but I’m back to write more stories and give and receive constructive criticism.

Please let me know what you think of this new piece I’ve been working on.

Chapter 1 – Scene 1

She has the nerve to look me in the face and tell me she’s done nothing wrong. She is up and then she is down, and not in an understanding sort of bipolar medical way. She’s a narcissistic psycho. An attention whore! This is who Amy is;  she will look me in the face, tell me something she’s done, and I will tell her it is wrong, because it is wrong. Then she’ll deny the whole thing ever happen. She’ll act as if I didn’t hear her say she did what she did. She’ll say she was only checking to see if what she did was wrong. A grown woman doesn’t know right from wrong! I don’t know why I stay with her-Why I suffer! Why I play in the vicious cycle of her games.

I almost know for certain there’s something going on between her and her boss, Nick. the only missing piece is me walking into his office, he bending her over the desk. I kind of hope I see it happen. It would make the breakup that much easier.I could just walk in on them fucking, and I could say we’re done! I could make her feel like shit, make her feel the pain I’ve felt all of these years, but I guess I haven’t been fortunate enough. I guess I’ll never be fortunate enough because she’s too good, and I can’t seem to catch her in the act. She leaves me dangling in the air with suspense and suspicion.

It’s hard to breakup with someone you’ve been with for years. Your high school sweetheart. Those don’t exist. No such thing, because they’re just dumb kids who know nothing about love, and get caught in a lengthy relationship they can’t escape. The thousands of love letters sent through class, just for the note to read, I love you. Ha! The fazes of crazy outfits and even crazier haircuts you had together because it was in style or cool at the time. No! It’s not easy. The only thing separating us from marriage is a ring and a piece of paper. We need something huge to break us up, because we’ve been through too much together. It’s ride or die with high school sweethearts, and Amy is exactly that.

“I’m not doing anything wrong, I haven’t done anything wrong!” She says, but I know she has. This is her dumb card she plays. Her checking game, and I know it’s all wrong. You told me that you went out with Nick.” I say. For the first time I see the guilt in her face. The paleness and flush of skin mix together, and she knows I know.

“And?” She crosses her arms like a three year old, hip cocked to the left, and she thinks she’s getting out of this argument with her attitude. She’s damn wrong again.

“And you’re just going out with other men, without me knowing?” She stares at me dumbfounded. “I just gave you the key to my apartment. We’ve been together all these years, we’ve waited to move in all these years, and when I finally give you the key, you go and do something stupid like this?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so mad! Nick is a great guy. He wouldn’t try something like your dirty mind would think, Shi.” She begins to extend her neck outward and point at her chest like she’s defending some worthless point. “He’s like a brother to me.” There she goes. She acts so naive. She acts as though no man has a sexual thought about his girl friend. That everyone is thinking candy canes and lollypops.

“Yes—He would. And, a brother! Seriously? A brother who checks out your ass, in front of me! I know who he is. I’ve known from the first day I met him. That’s what type of man he is, because if he wasn’t, then he’d ask me, the boyfriend, permission to take my girlfriend out to dinner! I don’t care ifit’s just as friends.” Her worthless point she defended crumbles before her, and she’s lost.

“I’m done with this conversation. I’m going home.” She puts her pointer finger up as though that will end this conversation. Like she cast a spell on this argument to be through.

My knuckles roll into fists, but I won’t hit her. I never could. “So what happens now?” I say, and I pray to god she says we’re over.

“Fine!” She folds her arms one over the other again and says, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Will you forgive me?” She gives me those damn puppy dog eyes. She knows they can make me do anything for her, and I say, Yes like the dumbass I am. “Bye.” She says, and just like that she leaves.

I’m left feeling like shit. Like a winning team that gets no cheer. She does this to me every time. She says she’s sorry after a huge argument, makes me forgive her, and sweeps it under the rug. But you can only hide you dirt for so long before you realize you have to throw the rug away.

I go upstairs to my bedroom, defeated by an argument I won. The room is an explosion of Amy. Her clothes are thrown over my bed! I want to burn them. Her books are on my dresser in front of my TV! I want to tear every page out. Her personal products are in my bathroom! I want to throw her toothbrush in the toiletand place it back on the sink to air dry. I can’t help but to grinned my teeth at the thought of her shit in my house. She makes me the worst man I could possibly be, she makes me feel psychotic, she is a demon, she is my hell on earth… but yet I still love her.


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What question can you ask all day long, get a different answer every time, but all the answers are correct.

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I love post apocalyptic novels. That’s my favorite style to write.

What’s your favorite genre to read/write.

Comment down below!

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Flash Fiction Story – No Planning

I just feel like free styling a story.
Let me know what you think.

It wasn’t the sun laying on my skin that kept the warmth on me. It was the wool-blanket over my head on a hot day. The wool-blanket was dark grey, too small, and frayed. It kept me warm on the nights it was cold, so I couldn’t just get rid of it. I laid in the center of the field across from the park.

People’s families were playing at the park, having fun, and enjoying the company of friends. I envied their happiness. I couldn’t be happy anymore, and I couldn’t see my family the way they saw their family. I could only see my family when they saw me. The awkward meeting when running into them on the street.

They left me here alone to rot. I sit at this park to watch them from a distance. They know I come here, and sometimes I think they come here to let me see what I’m missing.

I laid at this park every night, and I slept through the days to avoid the contact of others. I couldn’t let others see me lay here–Homeless.

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