Tag: writing

Gaming With Love

Gaming With Love

This is a short fiction story but it is dedicated to those out there who are in love and are in a long distance relationship. I have been there myself for three years before my husband (military and stationed on the east coast) and I (at the time preschool teacher and college student on the west coast) could be together for good. So until that day, continue to hold on to your love for one another and find things that you can do together even though miles apart. Can be states apart or countries apart, love knows no boundaries. Enjoy!


He sits staring at the screen, his fingers carefully tapping each key to make the character that he had created move from left to right, dodging bullets. Beside his character, a female character runs past, guns blazing and no fear in her heart. She shoots down one person dead while he makes his game character shoot another character, saving their own lives for a bit longer in the game.

Max lets out a joyous cry after the two that they are fighting fall face first into the ground, leaving behind two back packs ready for looting. In his headphones, he can hear his girlfriend, Holly, say something about finding a car so that they can get clear of that area, since they had seen other players looting the nearby homes. “Okay, yea, let’s go get a car.”

The two characters race across an open field, trying to keep low to the ground so as to not draw any attention to themselves and draw enemy fire their way. No guns shoot in their direction as they make their way into a small group of abandoned dilapidated buildings that look to be untouched. Max pushes the door open to the first building they came across and enters before Holly, who trails in behind him, keeping her gun at the ready and her view behind them so that they can’t be caught off guard by an ambush from behind.  They quickly loot the house before they move on to the next, still not running into any other players out for their blood and their loot. After they have finished looting the buildings, they head outside and move to the other side of a crumbling wall to find a few cars but they have all been destroyed already. Max and Holly run further from the wall and into the tree line once they hear a car heading towards the buildings that they had just been at. They duck behind a few trees and peer out as the car slows down and comes to a stop with four people getting out of it.

“Okay, baby, let’s take them down and take their car,” Max says into his microphone as he checks his character’s gun to make sure that it is loaded and ready to go.

Holly scoffs at his plan, “Really? Babe, there are four of them and only two of us. We can…” She sighs heavily as she watches Max rush forward, shooting towards the driver of the car. She stays hidden as the four men rush her boyfriend. “Babe!” She groans and steps out from behind the tree, shooting down two of the four before the third shoots her down and the fourth kills her boyfriend, who had been crawling on the ground.

“Man! I was so close to taking the other two down,” Max grumbles as he shoves his keyboard away from him. “Okay, yea maybe that was a bad idea but they had a car.”

“And we could have either stolen it while they were inside the houses or have gone for another one somewhere else, hun,” Holly says as she readjusts herself in her chair in front of her computer. “Okay it’s time for bed so I’ll give you call tomorrow after I get off work.”

Max stretches his arms up over his head before he flops more into his chair, “All right, babe, that sounds good to me. Maybe tomorrow we can play a different game instead of this one. Oh hey how about that new horror game that we can both play and purchased a while back?” He swings in his chair back and forth as he leans his head back against the comfortable cushion on the back of his chair and enjoys the sound of her voice.

“That sounds like fun,” Holly exclaims as she closes out of the game and readies herself to turn off her computer after she said good night. “We’ve only had that game for nearly a month waiting for us to play it.” She laughs when she hears Max mumble under his breath about this and that for not having time to play it before now. “Okay then it’s a gaming date. Love you, baby.”

Max smiles to himself, “I love you, too. Have a good day at work tomorrow, babe.” He makes a few kissing noises to her before he takes off the headphones and leaves the chat that they use in order to talk to one another during game play. He sits for a while staring at his computer screen, after he has closed the game, to where a picture of his smiling girlfriend sits, taking up the background behind his folders and things. He touches his lips with his fingertips then presses the fingertips to the lips of his girlfriend in the picture on the computer screen. “Good night, babe.” He turns the computer off and sighs heavily before he stands up, carefully making his way out from behind his desk. He grabs a black sharpie pen and walks over to where he has a calendar up on the wall beside the door. He crosses off that day on the calendar with a thick black and counts the weeks to see how many he still has left before he will get to fly out to see his girlfriend, who lives in another state. He returns the sharpie to his desk before he leaves his gaming room, turns off the lights, and heads off to his bedroom to do a few other things before he had to go to bed, since he is three hours behind his girlfriend.

The Storm

The Storm

Dark clouds roll across the sky, squashing out the happy blue to leave an angry deep gray sky above. The clouds crash together which causes huge droplets of water to fall to the earth below, pounding the ground, plant life, animals (of land, sea, and air alike), and humans without a care in the world. Lightning races across the sky several times, lighting up the nasty gray clouds in a brilliant yellow, before the boom of thunder shakes the houses below and causes cars to scream out in surprise from the sudden force of sound.

Two figures step out from their home and sit on a chair under the safety of their covered porch, the wind having picked up but not daring to spray the two with the cool rain droplets. The first, a tall woman, sits on the bouncy porch chair then pulls the second smaller figure, a little girl, onto her lap. The mother points up at the dark sky, showing her young daughter that the storm isn’t so scary if you face it head on. Thunder booms again causing her child to squeal in terror, cover her ears, and push her face into the safety of her mother’s chest.

The girl’s mother smiles down at her as she rubs her back gently, telling her again that there is nothing to fear, that the thunder is only the sounds of the sky’s stomach rumbling because it is angry with hunger. She brushes her daughter’s light blonde hair back from her little face as she hears a small giggle and points back out at the rainy world, telling her to look again. Wide yet little blueish-green eyes turn up to the sky as she twists to face away from her mother in time to see lightning as it streaks down to the ground, showing its brilliance more that just in a quick random flash of light. It allows the girl to see that it is made up of a fascinating and bright squiggly line that reaches down its bolt in order to brush the ground. Amazement soon replaces fear as she sits up in her mom’s lap, pointing out another bolt as it races down from the clump of clouds to its destination somewhere to the west of them.

They sit together for a bit longer, snuggled close, as the storm continues to rage on around them. The little girl watches bravely as the lightning soars through the sky and the rain plummets to the ground and listens without covering her ears as the thunder loudly shouts out to let everyone know that it’s still there, not striking fear in her little heart this time and not setting off the annoying car alarms. The deep gray clouds move together as one as the storm moves, pushing the rain this way and that but never towards the mother and daughter pair sitting on their porch. Each cloud lightens up as it throws bolt after bolt around as if playing some mad game of volleyball then sends it leaping down to the earth.

Finally tiring of the storm watching, the two stand, stick their hands out into the rain to allow the rain to kiss their palms a few times, and retires back into their house, the door closing out the site of the storm but not the sounds. Inside, they enjoy drinks of cold water, a few games, and other fun playtime before it is time for mom to make dinner before dad came home from work, all the while the storm begins to lesson and the sounds begin to grow quiet. The little girl peers out of the closed window feeling proud of herself for she has overcome her fears of thunderstorms.

Burning The Midnight Oil

Burning The Midnight Oil

The phrase, burning the midnight oil, has always fascinated me whenever used not because it talks about a time before electricity is being used for nightly chores, especially writing, but because of the imagery that the phrase provokes. In my head, I see a small roughly made desk with an uncomfortable chair set in front of it for the one who wishes to sit and to use it to write. Sitting in one of the corners is a glass lamp with oil sitting at the bottom and a thick wick floating in the oil and protruding up at the top with a delicate glass protectively cupping the part that would be lit first. The glass is already slightly blackened at the bottom and around the very top from being used so often. Late at night, someone will enter the room and make their way to the desk, sit down in the hard chair while they pull out a match, strike it, and light the distinguished oil lamp, the light causing shadows to bounce around the room as the person opens a drawer and pulls out paper, ink, and a quill.

It then makes me think about how far we have come from those days of literally burning candles or oil lamps for writers and others to use so that he or she can see their paper as they write letters or their future books or paperwork that hadn’t gotten done while at the office to notebooks, inked pens, and computers sitting on beautiful wooden desks with a comfortable chair and ceiling lights or lamps that sit on the desk that uses electricity in order to light the room and the screens or notebooks. No more oil lamps or burning candles, just a light bulb with electricity flowing through it in order to shine light on our projects as we work deep into the night and early mornings.

And as all of these thoughts race through my mind, I pick up my cell phone and grumble as the numbers show me that it is either late at night or super early in the morning and that I have been tossing and turning yet again. My mind begins to think of the strangest topics when I should be asleep, plaguing me so much that I can’t sleep until I either get up and fix the issue or get out of bed to do something to take my mind off of these bizarre random thoughts. Whether my mind makes me think of old sayings that provoke creative imagery like the one I had described earlier or about a new story idea, an old story idea that I have been working on, or one of the thousands of other ideas that run wild in my head. Or if my mind decides to torment me with how the day went and could have gone better or how I could have changed something that I had done or said in the past. Maybe my mind has decided to cause my sleep to travel further away from my grasp because of everyday stressors that haunts us all and seems to haunt us even more so in the wee hours of the night. Whatever the topic, many a night I have found myself wide awake beside my husband as he snores away and while my daughter sleeps peacefully in her room that sits across from ours while my mind races from one topic to the next quickly, sometimes even faster than the Flash himself.

I lay in bed, squeeze my eyes shut, and I try to quiet my mind by creating a “dream” that I would love to be apart of but only sometimes will this help me calm my mind down enough for me to be able to fall asleep and enter a dream, whether the one I forced my mind to think of while I tried to fall asleep or a different one all together. On those nights that this strategy doesn’t work, I will quietly climb out of bed, close the bedroom door so as to not disturb my husband, quickly check on our daughter, then head into the living room and turn on the light to sit on the couch to either read a book, watch something on Netflix while I work on my story (I write my stories all out in a notebook but I’ll talk about that in another post), or I will go into our office and type up one of the stories that has been waiting for a while to get into the computer. I may not have an oil lamp while I am working but I can definitely say that I am burning the midnight oil.

What are some of the ways that help you combat these late night/early morning thoughts that keep you from attaining sleep? Do you rise from bed and do other tasks to help tire yourself out? Do you burn the midnight oil?