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TITLE (EDIT)
Fake Reality |
DESCRIPTION
Covers the thoughts and influences of a gold digger at the moment when she commits suicide.
[1,034 words] |
AUTHOR
Erin D. Traynum |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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.
[December 1999] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
AirN1979@aol.com |
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]
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Fake Reality
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 can’t even do that right. They might jump off a building from the fourth floor and only cause their bones to break. They’ll 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 I’m doing. I’ve been planning my death for years. Since I was about eight years old. I’ve 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 “I love you so much, don’t do it” and all the rest of that crap that she says. The crap that I could easily surrender to.
I want to cry saying that. I’m so mad at myself. I’m too sensitive. I think that God made a mistake putting me here. I’m too weak. Not strong enough to stick up for myself, or tell everybody what I’m thinking, but I don’t care anymore. Cause it’s all about to be over.
I wonder who’s gonna be at my funeral. I know Mom will. I wonder how much she’s gonna cry- if she cries. Mom might cry her ass off trying to look like such a caring mother. In reality she’ll probably be happy I’m not here enduring anymore suffering like her. Maybe she’ll be happy about my death since she won’t have me to worry about anymore.
I want to be cremated, but I don’t know if Mom will do what I want done. I’ve 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, “Then I won’t be able to come and visit your grave.” She’s so selfish. Can’t even give me what I want when I’m dead.
I’m 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. She’s fake too. Always trying to be like someone else. She doesn’t know what it’s 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. That’s 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 isn’t 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 I’m like her. Cause I’m selfish with everything that I have. Except the pussy. Can’t be selfish with pussy or you won’t 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 didn’t want to pay him any attention. He was too smart. You’re supposed to stay away from the smart men. If they showed any restraint against the woman’s weapon, they were not what you are supposed to have. They are someone else’s- 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 wasn’t 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 I’m not, told me to call him when I could be a real woman. I cried over him, the only person I’ve ever shed tears for.
I decided to liberate myself from the fakeness. The only thing inside of me that isn’t fake is the suicide thoughts. Liberate myself from the fakeness, that’s what I was going to do, and here I am, watching blood flow from a perfect cut on my wrist.
I see a brightness that’s blinding me. People are all around, after looking at me they leave. Guess I’m 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. I’ll 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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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 1999 Erin D. Traynum |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
December 1999 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2268
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