Endless Silver Ocean
A poem/short story collection with novella
Release Date: Ebook- May 22nd, 2021
New Adult (17+) Disclaimers before the stories for more mature audiences. The rest are 13+ (young adult) acceptable.
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Official Blurb:
After my dreams of becoming a teacher were finally a reality, life had thrown me into the powerful current of adulthood. Marriage was the norm Transferring jobs occurred. New adventures were thrown at me. Family and friends came and went from my life. All of it affected me, shaped me, tossed me around like a little boatin a raging storm. Then, I was diagnosed with lupus, changing how I lived in addition to what I lived. Life became more precious to me, but at the same time, I felt it pushed me under.
Welcome to your late twenties and early thirties. Life doesn’t go as planned, but you have to sail on toward the horizon. In this collection, I explore more mature themes, dealing with trying to hold on to your happy youth while wading through the darkness that is always there, such as confusion, loneliness, stress, violence, and even death. Still, despite these topics, I look for the lighthouse, the beacon of hope to continue on, all through poems, short stories, children stories (about my cat and grandma), and other literary works. With the power of writing and creativity fueling me, I was able to stay afloat in light.
Exclusive to this collection also is my new adult novella, Dreaming For You, following the story of Frankie Ragner, a former teenage Hollywood heartthrob that wants to better himself by being a producer, despite his addictions that have been forced upon him since youth. His only salvation when he sinks into his transgressions is his dreams, a lovely maiden visiting him in different forms when he’s at his worst. She gives him everything he desires, but she’s only a dream too good to be real. Still, if someone gives you such a vision, shouldn’t you chase it?
Endless Silver Ocean has tales for the young and young at heart, mature and impactful reading, all through poems and stories that I wrote from personal struggles, this work the most revealing about who I am as a person. Even when waves are choppy and cruel, I look to my words, my stars, to conquer this endless silver ocean.
Readings:
Sneak Peeks:
The Noises of my Soul
Bang! The fear hits me hard.
Boom! Emotions break my core.
Buzz! The chaos in my ears.
Cackle! The fire in my belly.
Clap! The thunder of strength.
Crash! The damage inside projects.
Drip! The waves of insanity churn.
Growl! The inner beast calls.
Hush! The silencing darkness forms.
Murmur! The doubts haunt my mind.
Rumble! My hunger to live sounds.
Sizzle! Heat blazes under my skin.
Thump! Beats my rapid heart.
Tick-Tock! Vanishes my sacred time.
Whisper! The winds pull my being.
Zoom! The stars blind me in dust.
These are the noises.
The noises of my soul.
********************
Here is the beginning of my short story, “There has to be a Reason.” It’s rated about 13+ and deals with the topic of bullying, using my personal experience.
There has to be a Reason:
At fourteen, I stared at my reddened hand that was pressed on the tile, the crowd passing me by, uncaring or unaware of the event that just occurred, the thoughts racing in a maiden’s skull.
There has to be a reason for this…right?
How many times had I recited this mantra that kept me going on the roughest of days? Sometimes, it was the only thing that sealed the rain that wanted to burst like a cracked dam from my eyes.
For as long as I can remember, I have always been a shy child, a rule follower, an adult pleaser due to growing up in a loving and over-protective home. I was a person who smiled all the time, showing everyone the light I saw every day in the world. Dependable. Creative. Honest. Kind. Helpful. The goody-two-shoes. Perhaps I was naïve, too trusting. The poison in the world, the toxins of society, never reached my heart as quickly as my peers. When they matured, I was skipping along in my sparkly pink jeans, collecting stuffed animals, and still passing out cards to my teachers on holidays.
Once you hit double digits, these traits become brands that mark you with a bulls-eye. After a while, the whispers, the glares, the lack of being included, made me become timid to the point that I was afraid to speak. It did not help that I also had a baby voice, was sorely lacking phonics skills, and had natural shyness.
However, I refused to change who I was. I would hide, look at the ground like it was my source of life, distract myself, but never stopped what I loved because of these youthful lashings, no matter how scarring. My grandma told me life is a precious gift you only get once and to enjoy every minute of it your way. That was how I chose to live.
Sadly, when something is not understood, it gets shoved away.
The words, the taunts, haunted me, lingered on my skin like mist. I refused to show weakness, walking away instead. I locked my hurt to keep that grin plastered on my face for my loved ones, the damage pumping through my bloodstream, into my cells, slowly chipping, eroding what confidence I had into nothingness.
Then, middle school hit and I truly knew what it was like to suffocate from isolation.
I truly knew what it was like to be bullied.
It was mainly one girl who loathed me since elementary school for a childish reason, the rage clear as day on her face. She was popular, pretty and athletic. I did not understand the hate. Then, I worked on a project with her best friend. That released the hounds and I was too scared, my voice locked like it had been for years, unable to cry “wolf.”
First Chapter of Exclusive novella: “Dreaming for You!”
Dreaming For You:
CHAPTER #1:
The colors were too loud. The swirling vortex that formed from the ceiling tied my stomach in knots. Storm clouds hazed my failing sight, the noises of the world moaning, sending chills into me that rotted my bones.
Man, I might have overdone it this time.
Yet, I think that every time this happens and then that tagalong dread is dragged right behind it; will this be the time?
I wasn’t sure what was keeping me upright. Or maybe I was sideways. I couldn’t tell since the world around me was pitch and the one above was too many hues at once, the two clashing profoundly, the bitterest of enemies. And I was the unstable battlefield.
Ha. That was the understatement of the century.
I think I still had limbs. I wanted to make a fist to slam to see if the slick object flattening one side of my face was indeed the floor, but alas, I just felt strain. Or maybe it was the ghost of what it felt like to make a fist. I could have been a ghost, every cell of me.
Who would know?
The only thing I knew that connected me to the living for the moment was the pounding in my ears and the recoiling of my stomach. God, it hurt. I could feel vomit rolling in there like a wavy sea.
Welp, that was stupid of me. The imagery I used did not calm it down. I tried to recall what actions made up breathing, hoping it would subside. I had to hold out until I either passed out…
Or my savior came to visit.
Yet, this was one of those bad times. Even my divine goddess had limits, no matter how perfect I saw her. The heaviness of everything was sinking in, sucking out my soul. I tried to retain some of the weight so I could come back. But, as my mind started to shift from this world of insanity, I wondered if I really would return.
I inhaled a hard breath, a cough shaking my rib cage. Alert, I opened my eyes, but the universe I was concealed in was muggy, and I was not fully coherent. My eyelids fluttered, not wanting to work, but once they recognized the sun high in the sky was an illusion, one they knew all too well, they eagerly obeyed. Every part of me was yearning to see her.
“That was a rough ride back there, huh?”
That voice…it washed me over with healing warmth and set me on pins and needles from childish excitement. With an effort that I wasn’t proud of, I pulled myself into a sitting position and stared behind me, awaiting her approach. The field we were always transported to had tall blades of grass today, the color reminding me of palm branches. They swayed in the dance of her steps, the breeze swirling around the sky blue sundress she always wore. Her hand held her long, radiant hair in place. She was a vision of purity, a painting come to life.
I wasn’t worthy to be near her. But the smile she always graced me with told me in her mind, she thought overwise. Our eyes met; hers were as blue as the heavens during a perfect day. The clouds parted for the beams of light to hit her and like always, I was in awe. I didn’t know why she came to see me, but I was sure glad of it.
Delicately, she sat down next to me in our own little field. We stared in silence at the endless wonder of nature, a pocket of God’s creation only we could enter. The air was full of contentment, but I was still slightly on edge. She never judged me or put my choices down, but I always felt like I was going to disappoint her. It crushed me.
She started the conversation, like always. My voice was locked tight from guilt and only she had the key to unlock the gates. “Did your boss come down to visit today?”
I shook my head, the urge to spill my guts raging inside. “No, but she will tomorrow. Just the thought of it made me nervous and I wanted to calm down. I felt good at first, like I could handle it, but…yeah…” I curled my knees into myself, the material of my black jeans rough on my skin. I hadn’t even changed.
The air was quiet for a minute, the clouds forming into charming shapes, a feast for the eyes. “I wish I knew how to fix your problem with your boss, but we’ve discussed it before. And that’s a path you’ll have to tread on your own.” Her eyes were brimming with sorrow. I knew she’d take care of it for me if she could and that squeezed at my heart.
I shook my head hard, making it throb. “No. You’re absolutely right. I’m just happy you’re willing to help me.”
Her lovely hand lightly touched my forearm, forcing me to raise my head up from the pity party I was about to throw. “It’s not your fault.” The voice she used was so kind and patient, gentle and truthful.
I snorted, trying not to get choked up. “Yeah, but you’re the only one who would see it that way,” I confirmed, the stunning realm we were embedded in dulling in color slightly at my hard-hitting words.
She simply nodded, saddened, but understanding. This wasn’t our first rodeo with this situation, although I wish this wasn’t the only way I could see her. I didn’t do all this shit in order to see her, but knowing she’d be there, waiting for me, made it bearable.
Her hand pulled away from my shirt gingerly. I felt cold without her touch, but she then rammed her elbow into my side, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Did you eat your roast beef, mustard, and extra green peppers sandwich today like always?”
A cheeky grin appeared on my face as I clearly and proudly stated. “You know I did. I don’t know why it bothers you so much.” I chuckled.
She wrinkled her nose and made a disgusted face. “Because peppers are awful!” And I was sent into a fit of laughter and ready to defend the one vegetable I enjoyed.
The changing tides of our conversation brought forth a gentleness that made the embers of my episode die down. We talked about nothing and everything, normal things and incredible spectacles, fun facts and crazy theories. Time didn’t exist, but it vanished on me all too soon. As the projected sun sunk down into Mother Earth, exposing the shaking darkness behind, I felt my body get tingly, my limbs numb. I knew this feeling and I didn’t like it. I was getting pulled back.
As my vision crossed, I tried to focus on her face, the one I knew better than my own but I could never get enough of. Like each time we had to depart, I asked her the same final question, my lips buzzing. “What do I call you?” It came out breathy, my tone and desperate nature ringing too loudly.
And like always, she stroked her soft hand down my cheek, my skin on fire from her touch. “Whatever you like.”
With that, I was dragged by my ankles into a pit of grays and navy blues, zooming past realities and dreams, ripples responding all around me. The heaviness was back, but I felt weightless, between the truth and the fantasy of it all. It was a treacherous ride, but in a snap, it was over and a muffled sound entered my ears.
I was a fish, trapped behind glass, knowing I was hearing noises, but not sure where the source was or how to stop it. My brain decided to give me the idea to open my eyes to try to find it. Oh, that might work. It was more laborious than it should have been, but I was able to see after a few attempts, an off-white surface spinning above me. A thin stream of light cascaded over my white t-shirt. Groaning, I propped myself up to see it was from a broken line of a shade attached to a window. My window.
I was back in my apartment where all this started. And it was now morning.
The noise still yelled at me. I grunted back at it, all my muscles aching, protesting to wake up. My mind was still doing donuts. Donuts. Guess I should eat, although my stomach didn’t seem eager to try. I moved a smidgen more to sit upright, holding my head in the process. My neck wasn’t doing a good job supporting it. As I slapped my legs in frustration at whatever that blasted noise still was, I planted my feet on my wooden floor and felt off-balance. It took a few seconds too long to register that I should investigate. Ah. I had one boot on and the other had been kicked to the bottom of the bed.
My legs felt like lead as I stood, hobbling unevenly over to the beeping sound: my alarm on my cell. 7:38, it read. It took me 8 minutes to get out of bed. Lord, that’s embarrassing. “Shut the fuck up,” I mumbled at it.
Once it was off, I exhaled loudly and ran my fingers through my tousled hair. At least it was clean. Or, at least, it felt like it. Taking a shower before I decompressed was not a smart plan and I knew it would take me a while to come down, enough to appear like a socially acceptable human.
I wandered to my closet and got out my work attire: nice, button-up shirt, pressed jeans, and a leather jacket, all in black. I wasn’t goth or emo (my face is still too preppy looking for most to think that). I personally think black is a professional-looking color. So, when I have to go semi-formal to work, this is what they get. I feel the most me in it. However, if I have to dress in a suit, I am all for something sharp with a little color. I have a navy one I style and care for.
The kitchen was my next beacon. I was able to put a piece of toast in the toaster, a task that should be praised in my state, and grab myself a treat: a screwdriver. The sound of the bottle opening filled my body with relief and watching it pour into the glass brightened my mood. I took a swig for extra fun and then stood at the counter, eating my five-star breakfast as I scanned my phone for the meetings I had scheduled for the day and what our objective was on our project. The words were blurred and bouncing in the air, but I got the gist.
When I was finished, I felt more like myself, but a deep longing filled me. I gripped the counter hard, staring at nothing, wishing I could rip a hole in the space-time continuum to summon her to me. But, that would never be. She only came to save me. I hated that I needed someone to save me, but I felt in my gut I wouldn’t have survived without her protecting me. Sometimes, I became so lost, she was trapped behind a wall of smoke, crying and trying to reach me.
At least I got the form where I think she looks the most beautiful last night, although she is breathtaking no matter what form she takes. It meant I hadn’t screwed up as bad as I first thought. When she came to me in that darling blue dress, so peaceful and kind, I could tell her anything and even simple words became a symphony.
I call this the best friend form.
I snorted, feeling more composed and clear-minded. Time to get out of fantasies for now and face the impending reality. I might not handle my life well, but I still had to live it. I placed the bottle back in my fancy liquor cabinet, organized and stocked with nectar from around the globe, their brother wine and shot glasses gleaming from their pristine cleaning two days ago. I wished I could straighten up the rest of me like I do my vices. Guess that’s why I needed a girl whose name I didn’t know to always be there for a loser like me.
Get it together, man! I wanted to shout at myself, but I settled for a smack in the face. I brushed my hair and changed, popping a breath mint in my mouth (I always brush my teeth in the office bathroom once I arrive at work), and grabbing my messenger bag with my notes, camera, devices, food and drinks, phone, and keys. Lastly, as ritual dictated, I pulled out the small brown leather bag I kept in a hidden zippered pocket, shaking it to hear the joyous contents inside. I hugged it to my chest and then placed it back in its secret place.
It was an anchor for a ship I was stuck on, but I knew an anxiety far greater would consume me if I lost it. Throwing my shades in my jacket pocket, I clicked my heels and yelled farewell to no one in particular, venturing out into the manmade jungle. Another day in the bustling, dog-eat-dog city that was my home: Los Angeles.
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