Emotionally Disturbed? Perhaps

After reading the blog of one of my high school English teachers, I realized that all of my stories tend to end in death.  This is how I found out about my weird obsession with prison, death, suicide, and knives.

Senior year in high school I decided to take a creative writing class.  Seeing as how much I love to read, I figured what the heck...may as well try writing some of this crap.  The first day, I remember I was chewing gum and the teacher asked me, "Are you just going to sit in my class and chew gum?" I replied "Yeah?" as if I was unsure.  He gave me the garbage can to spit my gum out.  From then on I was the master of that class...pretty fucking sweet. I don't understand how attempting to defy a teacher makes you the master, but  Except for the one girl that would get pissed if I took her seat...bitch.  I didn't realize that first day that I would come to find I was deeply emotionally disturbed...wait I'm not saying I am..but that my writing seems to say that I am.  Anyways, you know what I mean, or maybe you don't.  Either way, it doesn't matter.

I only remember a couple of the stories I wrote in that class.  After a while, the themes became redundant.  I think the top of the list was suicide.  I remember we had to write some kind of poem (one with a weird structure) and that apparently the only thing I could come up with was a girl slitting her wrists.  I'll have to find these on my old computer some day...to show you how disturbing they actually are.  Haha this post "is a tribute" to the "most disturbing stories I've ever written."  And thank you Tenacious D.  Sorry, once in a while I truly do have ADHD, and unfortunately it has gone undiagnosed for years.  Okay, back to my train of thought.  So my poem was about a girl repeatedly slitting her wrists, her subsequent death and the failure of anyone around her to save her. 

Now, onto one of my favorite stories.  I'm not exactly sure of the details about this assignment but it was something like this.  We each  had to pick an item (randomly) and write a story using it.  I think random things were written on pieces of paper and we each had to pick one...something like that.  An "orange cone" was mine.  I don't know what comes to mind when you think about an orange cone but I think it's pretty normal to think of construction/road work/construction workers.  So you'd think it'd be pretty easy to write a story involving construction.  Mine veered off from that point.  Mine went the way of a guy driving a car, and apparently either not paying attention or in order to avoid an accident swerved into guys doing roadwork.  Unfortunately for the driver of this vehicle,  (which is a funny word by the way....why not use "car", since that's what I'm talking about), he struck the orange cone which became trapped underneath his car. He then proceeded to hit and kill one of the workers.  The girlfriend of this driver arrived at the accident thinking her boyfriend was injured.  Instead, she seems him being carted away by the police.  He is sent to prison and spends his time in solitary confinement.  Now he is constantly reminded of that orange cone by the orange jumpsuit he wears everyday. 

P.S. I promise the actual stories are way better....like I said this is simply a tribute to them.  Which isn't doing a good job, in case you thought I didn't know.

And just when I thought I might be able to write a fun poem...it turned around to slaughter me like a pig farmer.  I wrote about a rock concert...pretty awesome right? Up until the girl I was writing about gets mugged at gun point.  Only I could turn such an awesome poem into something so ridiculous.  Maybe I have some built up anger and use it to harm all of my fictional characters.  In that case, if I were to ever write a book, most of the readers would probably commit suicide and then I'd be sued for negligent homicide or something like that.

On a side note...I also think a lot about amputation.  Especially when it comes to food.  You know how you bite the head off of a gingerbread man (except its not gingerbread because gingerbread doesn't taste as good as you think), and then you're like haha he has no head! Yeah, I pretty much do that with any food that resembles some sort of body.  One Christmas my non boyfriend decided to make dead Christmas cookies.  The result...lots of snowmen missing heads, gingerbread men with gunshot wounds, decapitated with blood oozing from their neck.  I'm not quite sure how to end posts yet so for now I'm sticking with "The End."  Seems to work pretty well.  Damn it! Now I ruined it.  Okay, "The End."