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Looking At Me
Suspension of Disbelief
Aunt Rose's Revenge
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Protect and Serve
The Last Tenant
Into the Knight
Salugi at Starbucks
The Parent Hunt
The Last Laugh
The Red Eagle
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Rules of Civil Procedure
Do Unto Others
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Strike Force - The Reckoning
Sniper Hunt, A Collection
Some days you're the pigeon...
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Covers the thoughts and influences of a gold digger at the moment when she commits suicide.
Erin D. Traynum
Erin is a person obsessed with writing. She has finally come to enjoy the passion that has been with her since she wrote her first poem at the age of four. Recently she began to write fiction. These are my first tries at short stories and fiction, I used to write poetry but for some reason I don't feel very poetic anymore, but I decided to put some of my past poetic works here also.
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (8)
A Night Of Love Making (Poetry) Just a poem. [35 words]
Conformity (Poetry) About the pressures that I feel toward conforming to society and its views. [102 words]
I Look Quickly Away (Poetry) A poem that I wrote when I first kissed my current boyfriend. [115 words]
Life's Course (Poetry) Just about the pressure of living. [260 words]
My Unavoidable Hell (Poetry) Can't really explain, would appreciate any feedback that you would like to give. [89 words]
Plight, A Collection (Poetry) Plight - The description of how I lost the gift of poetry. [138 words] The Hunt - Anger and consequently the violence of a young mother at her husband for not living up to his responsibilities shows t... [379 words]
The Attack Of Love (Poetry) (For Kantrell Who Gave Me The Title) The experience of living and fulfilling the purpose of life - love. [88 words]
Through The Window (Short Stories) This story is about a nine year old girl who is being sexually abused. [1,211 words]
Erin D. Traynum
The blood is beginning to make a puddle on the floor. I look at it, and am awe struck that my body holds so much of it. I look at my wrist, at the hole that the blood is running away from.
Unlike other people who have tried to kill themselves, I know many different ways to do it. You can take a syringe and inject air into your bloodstream to stop your heart. While at the swimming you can inhale deeply after you dive into the pool. You can take a combination of common medications that would kill you. Of course you can do the three commonly used methods: jumping off a building, shooting yourself, or cutting your wrists.
Some people canít even do that right. They might jump off a building from the fourth floor and only cause their bones to break. Theyíll shoot themselves in the wrong places instead of putting the gun inside of their mouth. They never cut the wrists in the right direction- vertical instead of horizontal, to completely sever the veins.
I know what Iím doing. Iíve been planning my death for years. Since I was about eight years old. Iíve always been to scared to do it. Always ashamed that I think such things. I wonder what my mom would have said back then if I had told her. It would probably have been something like ďI love you so much, donít do itĒ and all the rest of that crap that she says. The crap that I could easily surrender to.
I want to cry saying that. Iím so mad at myself. Iím too sensitive. I think that God made a mistake putting me here. Iím too weak. Not strong enough to stick up for myself, or tell everybody what Iím thinking, but I donít care anymore. Cause itís all about to be over.
I wonder whoís gonna be at my funeral. I know Mom will. I wonder how much sheís gonna cry- if she cries. Mom might cry her ass off trying to look like such a caring mother. In reality sheíll probably be happy Iím not here enduring anymore suffering like her. Maybe sheíll be happy about my death since she wonít have me to worry about anymore.
I want to be cremated, but I donít know if Mom will do what I want done. Iíve told her plenty of times to cremate me when I die and throw my ashes in the wind so I can travel the world and be free. She always looks at me strange and says, ďThen I wonít be able to come and visit your grave.Ē Sheís so selfish. Canít even give me what I want when Iím dead.
Iím starting to feel weaker now. I can hear my heartbeat slowing down. I can feel it coming. Let me lay down so I can rest. I feel tired.
Mom is so selfish. One of the most selfish people I know. Sheís fake too. Always trying to be like someone else. She doesnít know what itís like to be yourself. She only knows how to act tough or how to try to look cool by smoking weed and drinking vodka. Maybe if she had been real we both would have been different. Maybe if she had waited for a few years before having me she would have been ready to show me what it was like to be me. Show me what it was like to be a real person instead of a fake one.
Marry for money. Thatís one thing I learned from her. Men are only for money and sex and helping to raise the kids that you get from the sex you have with them. Trapping men financially will help you get their money. Put the bills in their name. Make him co-sign for everything. When he isnít looking take his checks from his wallet, cause men are forgetful about their money. Especially when you flash your ass in their face and give them the only thing they ever think about.
I used to think she was so cool. She had everything she wanted. She knew how to get anything because she was so smart. I wanted to be just like her. Unfortunately, I am.
Levi left me because Iím like her. Cause Iím selfish with everything that I have. Except the pussy. Canít be selfish with pussy or you wonít get the things you want.
He was real. Knew himself and everything. Knew what he wanted in life, what kind of person he wanted to be with, where he was going to end up. At first I didnít want to pay him any attention. He was too smart. Youíre supposed to stay away from the smart men. If they showed any restraint against the womanís weapon, they were not what you are supposed to have. They are someone elseís- the stupid woman who only thinks about love.
I let my fakeness slip away when I met him. When I first saw him, something came over me. Maybe it was love, cause it wasnít lust, maybe it was just him- the way he smiled and moved, the way his spirit called out to me.
He made me see how hard it is to be fake. He told me I should stop being someone Iím not, told me to call him when I could be a real woman. I cried over him, the only person Iíve ever shed tears for.
I decided to liberate myself from the fakeness. The only thing inside of me that isnít fake is the suicide thoughts. Liberate myself from the fakeness, thatís what I was going to do, and here I am, watching blood flow from a perfect cut on my wrist.
I see a brightness thatís blinding me. People are all around, after looking at me they leave. Guess Iím not good enough for them. Got to sit here by myself, learn to be me, to be real.
I close my eyes and search for it, relaxing my body inside the brightness. Iíll probably be here for a while. I hear it takes a lifetime to learn who you really are. I have all the time I need.
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"It really reads like a suicide note. Erin either has the great ability of giving her characters a voice, or she's suicidal. I hopes its the previous, I'd like to read more of her work." -- Tim.
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© 1999 Erin D. Traynum
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