Today I'll change things and tell you what has been going on.
I have been posting bits of stories with no real ending and will add to them I have time. I hope they make you curious as to where they are going. Just drop me a note and let me know.
I'm the owner of Wicked Kitty Studio, which means I'm wearing more hats; than I can fit on my head. Nick needs to be focusing on creating, and I'm handling the business end. Currently we have prints for sale at http://wickedkittystudio.com I hope you'll check them out. They are only $10.00 plus $5.00 shipping. If outside the U.S., contact us for the shipping fee. We will be adding more prints and feel free to ask if there is one you would like not currently for sale. Nick would be happy to accommodate your request.
Besides that I still have two jobs, and two kids to boot. Not only is my life challenging, but busy. I will continue to write when able and you will see continuation of one of my stories I've posted before.
I hope you all have a great weekend.
Smiles :)
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Lucy Hall stood quivering in her dirty white nightgown. Rigid she stood, pressing herself against the oak china cabinet, that was devoid of dishes after her mother had broken all of them earlier. Her dirty, tiny arms held her sister behind her back, sheltering her.
Tears trailing down her dirty face leaving tracks as they fell silently, and her red hair tangled and knotted. Blood dripped, and then dried on her forehead from her mother yanking on her hair--just an hour ago. Lucy is scared and doesn’t know what to do. She only knew one thing. She would protect her sister at any cost.
Her mother tore down the white lace curtains days ago revealing the empty bay window, but today she cut the plush, beige sofa and love seat, broke the oak table and chairs, piling them in the center of the room, as if she planned to start a fire later.
It had been this way from the time their Father left. Lucy couldn’t understand why he left them alone with her. He made empty promises he didn’t keep.
Lucy stared at the kitty-cat clock directly across from her, watching its eyes moving back and forth as it ticked. Her heart beating in time with the minute hand as it clicked another second.
Exactly at noon someone pounded on the door.
“Open up it’s the police,” the loud voice shouted through the door, just before they kicked it in, slamming it open. Everything that happened afterward was a blur.
Tears trailing down her dirty face leaving tracks as they fell silently, and her red hair tangled and knotted. Blood dripped, and then dried on her forehead from her mother yanking on her hair--just an hour ago. Lucy is scared and doesn’t know what to do. She only knew one thing. She would protect her sister at any cost.
Her mother tore down the white lace curtains days ago revealing the empty bay window, but today she cut the plush, beige sofa and love seat, broke the oak table and chairs, piling them in the center of the room, as if she planned to start a fire later.
It had been this way from the time their Father left. Lucy couldn’t understand why he left them alone with her. He made empty promises he didn’t keep.
Lucy stared at the kitty-cat clock directly across from her, watching its eyes moving back and forth as it ticked. Her heart beating in time with the minute hand as it clicked another second.
Exactly at noon someone pounded on the door.
“Open up it’s the police,” the loud voice shouted through the door, just before they kicked it in, slamming it open. Everything that happened afterward was a blur.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Life with the madman, mayhem and children bent on destruction (chapter two)
This has been the longest meal I have ever cooked, as I have much to ponder. How exactly will I turn the mad whole again?
I'm starting to feel nervous every time one of them comes near. I know I shouldn't. I could have created them for all I know. One day they were fine, and the next they seem to be consumed with plaid shirts, blue jeans, and dirty bare feet. Country music drifts up from the basement studio and begins to penetrate my fragile mind.
I know what they are trying to do. They are trying to break me! Well hell no I won't go, not willingly. I will fight them and see this through to the end.
Hearing the children's giggles has me on edge and without knowing why. I left the house to seek the solitude only the morning doves could give me. As I look across the lawn, I saw twenty dead birds spread out before me.
My youngest son giggled as I saw him retreat inside with a slingshot in hand. While his sister gave me the look. You know the one where your heart leaps a little before causing an ache to spread down your chest. Dread, maybe that's it.
Walking into the backyard, I my beloved chopping wood still. What in the world is happening? I left and jumped into my gold Honda Accord and drove into town only to discover there is no escape. Every man looked the same, red plaid shirts and dirty blue jeans. The children too had the same blood shot eyes and drab clothing.
Running into a nearby county store, I tripped on a wooden crate skinning my knee, and if you thought things weren't strange enough; they became even worst. Inside were ten men looking the same as my own precious man at home. Turning I tried to leave only to realize the door was blocked by thirteen snarling children.
I was trapped!
I'm starting to feel nervous every time one of them comes near. I know I shouldn't. I could have created them for all I know. One day they were fine, and the next they seem to be consumed with plaid shirts, blue jeans, and dirty bare feet. Country music drifts up from the basement studio and begins to penetrate my fragile mind.
I know what they are trying to do. They are trying to break me! Well hell no I won't go, not willingly. I will fight them and see this through to the end.
Hearing the children's giggles has me on edge and without knowing why. I left the house to seek the solitude only the morning doves could give me. As I look across the lawn, I saw twenty dead birds spread out before me.
My youngest son giggled as I saw him retreat inside with a slingshot in hand. While his sister gave me the look. You know the one where your heart leaps a little before causing an ache to spread down your chest. Dread, maybe that's it.
Walking into the backyard, I my beloved chopping wood still. What in the world is happening? I left and jumped into my gold Honda Accord and drove into town only to discover there is no escape. Every man looked the same, red plaid shirts and dirty blue jeans. The children too had the same blood shot eyes and drab clothing.
Running into a nearby county store, I tripped on a wooden crate skinning my knee, and if you thought things weren't strange enough; they became even worst. Inside were ten men looking the same as my own precious man at home. Turning I tried to leave only to realize the door was blocked by thirteen snarling children.
I was trapped!
Friday, July 23, 2010
Life with the madman, mayhem and children bent on destruction
I don't remember the exact day I realized he was mad. I only remember the cool, soft breeze across my cheek one Autumn day, as I watched him chopping wood out back. It wasn't so much that he was chopping wood; something he rarely did, but more of how he was completing the task.
Raising the axe over his shoulder and swinging it violently forward, splitting the log in two. The glint from the sunshine nearly blinded me as it reflected off of the blade. Taking yet another log and repeated the process, grunting as he did so.
He looked rougher than I think I have ever seen him and he wore dirty, torn blue jeans, and a red plaid shirt, something I never knew he owned. His long dark curly hair appeared disheveled, and he reminded me of Charles Manson with the scraggly brown and gray beard, that he had grown of late.
He only turned glancing at me only once with bulging blue eyes. They were bloodshot and seemed to pierce through me, and I retreated back towards the house, for safety. Who knew what he could capable of in this state.
Watching from a distance, he continued to chop wood as if we needed it, we did not. We had no fireplace or wood stove in which to burn wood. So why was he so bent on continuing? It was as if he were taking out his frustrations. There were plenty of things to be frustrated about, as he was way behind in painting his latest creation, and that had been before he accepted yet another assignment.
I could hear him screaming from the basement studio nightly. It scared the children at first before they quickly recovered and began to tear the house apart day after day. I tried my best to pick up after them, but it began to be a tiring and hopeless task.
Their appearance changed, and they began to look untidy and unkept, and their hair were as disheveled as his now. Their eyes bulging and bloodshot, as if something had taken over their very souls. They also wore dirty blue jeans and red plaid shirts, and you could see dirty feet peeked out from the bottom of their jeans. From where did these clothes suddenly appear?
It soon became apparent to me that not only was he mad, but them, as well. I searched for a way out as I cooked them dinner one night. If not for me, who would maintain order once again. If this needed to work, I needed to hurry before it was too late.
Raising the axe over his shoulder and swinging it violently forward, splitting the log in two. The glint from the sunshine nearly blinded me as it reflected off of the blade. Taking yet another log and repeated the process, grunting as he did so.
He looked rougher than I think I have ever seen him and he wore dirty, torn blue jeans, and a red plaid shirt, something I never knew he owned. His long dark curly hair appeared disheveled, and he reminded me of Charles Manson with the scraggly brown and gray beard, that he had grown of late.
He only turned glancing at me only once with bulging blue eyes. They were bloodshot and seemed to pierce through me, and I retreated back towards the house, for safety. Who knew what he could capable of in this state.
Watching from a distance, he continued to chop wood as if we needed it, we did not. We had no fireplace or wood stove in which to burn wood. So why was he so bent on continuing? It was as if he were taking out his frustrations. There were plenty of things to be frustrated about, as he was way behind in painting his latest creation, and that had been before he accepted yet another assignment.
I could hear him screaming from the basement studio nightly. It scared the children at first before they quickly recovered and began to tear the house apart day after day. I tried my best to pick up after them, but it began to be a tiring and hopeless task.
Their appearance changed, and they began to look untidy and unkept, and their hair were as disheveled as his now. Their eyes bulging and bloodshot, as if something had taken over their very souls. They also wore dirty blue jeans and red plaid shirts, and you could see dirty feet peeked out from the bottom of their jeans. From where did these clothes suddenly appear?
It soon became apparent to me that not only was he mad, but them, as well. I searched for a way out as I cooked them dinner one night. If not for me, who would maintain order once again. If this needed to work, I needed to hurry before it was too late.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Fresh hatch
Nightmares can sometimes find you when you're awake. This is a true account told to me. Names have been withheld to protect their identify. I have never heard an account as good as this, and I had to retell it.
Real fear is hidden deep within all of us lying dormant until an event so horrific it rips out of you.
We all have sung the song the itsy bitsy spider as children. Placing our hands up, and walking the invisible spider up the imaginary water spout, before washing him back down. Harmless right.
Awaking one day my friend started getting dressed for work. She glanced at the walls and saw there were spiders crawling up the walls, and glancing up at the ceiling she saw they were everywhere. Tiny white spiders, hundreds of them, walking on the ceiling in clusters. All walking together, appearing as marauding soldiers ready to take over the abode, ready to claim it for themselves.
Freaking out she killed as many as they could, but was unable to reach the ones on the ceiling. Imagining in horror how they probably had crawled all over her while she slept. She wasn't able to figure out where they were coming from, but she had to leave her apartment so as not to be late for work, and when she returned home in the morning...
It was a hundred times worst. They were everywhere throughout her apartment. In the kitchen, on her toaster, and her kitten was freaking out. Apparently not a notorious spider killer like mine.
I told her the best bet was to bomb the place. Which she did after gathering up some items, and booking a hotel room for two days, with her kitten in tow. She came home the next day, and pushed her hand across her counter pushing hundreds of dead spiders to the floor. She used eight bug bombs in two days to rid her of the pestilence. Her landlord refused to pay her back for the hotel room. Telling her it was her choice to do that, but what would you do?
The lady at the store told her white spiders were, fresh hatches. So I ask you, how would you of handled it?
Just telling this tale makes my head itch. Nick claims after I told him the story and left, a spider webbed down in front of his computer as if to say. (You're next)
Real fear is hidden deep within all of us lying dormant until an event so horrific it rips out of you.
We all have sung the song the itsy bitsy spider as children. Placing our hands up, and walking the invisible spider up the imaginary water spout, before washing him back down. Harmless right.
Awaking one day my friend started getting dressed for work. She glanced at the walls and saw there were spiders crawling up the walls, and glancing up at the ceiling she saw they were everywhere. Tiny white spiders, hundreds of them, walking on the ceiling in clusters. All walking together, appearing as marauding soldiers ready to take over the abode, ready to claim it for themselves.
Freaking out she killed as many as they could, but was unable to reach the ones on the ceiling. Imagining in horror how they probably had crawled all over her while she slept. She wasn't able to figure out where they were coming from, but she had to leave her apartment so as not to be late for work, and when she returned home in the morning...
It was a hundred times worst. They were everywhere throughout her apartment. In the kitchen, on her toaster, and her kitten was freaking out. Apparently not a notorious spider killer like mine.
I told her the best bet was to bomb the place. Which she did after gathering up some items, and booking a hotel room for two days, with her kitten in tow. She came home the next day, and pushed her hand across her counter pushing hundreds of dead spiders to the floor. She used eight bug bombs in two days to rid her of the pestilence. Her landlord refused to pay her back for the hotel room. Telling her it was her choice to do that, but what would you do?
The lady at the store told her white spiders were, fresh hatches. So I ask you, how would you of handled it?
Just telling this tale makes my head itch. Nick claims after I told him the story and left, a spider webbed down in front of his computer as if to say. (You're next)
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Happy 4Th of July, for us Americans, another holiday to use as an excuse for getting together with family members. Yes, that means the annoying ones too, as it's an expected part of the ritual.
I have been part of many families throughout the years. Some more colorful than others, but all good in their own way. As far as my own family, it has been years since I was invited anywhere. I'm working the entire weekend, but the pay is excellent, and we're having a pot luck tonight!
I can't remember one holiday get together with my last ex's family where there wasn't someone bitching, moaning, or complaining. This one doesn't like that ones girlfriend, and they spend the entire day talking about someone, when they are not in the same room. I'm happy to say I'm glad that is the past.
My holidays are never terribly special because I work most of them. I try to make time with my kids when I get the chance. I have a vacation in a few weeks and plan on going somewhere special.
As for me, I remember my Dad always took us up north to go camping, and fishing. The same place I take my kids to every year, but I'm not one for sleeping in a tent. I much prefer a mattress under my back. I'm not getting any younger.
I hope you all enjoy the holiday, or your vacation this summer. Tolerate the insanity and enjoy your life to the fullest. I know I'm enjoying mine.
I have been part of many families throughout the years. Some more colorful than others, but all good in their own way. As far as my own family, it has been years since I was invited anywhere. I'm working the entire weekend, but the pay is excellent, and we're having a pot luck tonight!
I can't remember one holiday get together with my last ex's family where there wasn't someone bitching, moaning, or complaining. This one doesn't like that ones girlfriend, and they spend the entire day talking about someone, when they are not in the same room. I'm happy to say I'm glad that is the past.
My holidays are never terribly special because I work most of them. I try to make time with my kids when I get the chance. I have a vacation in a few weeks and plan on going somewhere special.
As for me, I remember my Dad always took us up north to go camping, and fishing. The same place I take my kids to every year, but I'm not one for sleeping in a tent. I much prefer a mattress under my back. I'm not getting any younger.
I hope you all enjoy the holiday, or your vacation this summer. Tolerate the insanity and enjoy your life to the fullest. I know I'm enjoying mine.
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