Wasn’t me…Then who?

“Janise Marie Zayas, with a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature,” the announcer waved me forward, handing me a tiny slip of paper that basically read I had finished my degree. It was an acknowledgement of a real degree on the way in certified mail, ready to frame and admire on a wall. I walked forward, a huge smile on my face and the sound of my family cheering in the background.

It was the moment I had waited for since I was 8 and I had promised myself I’d go to college and I would graduate. Back then it had been a dream partially sculpted by my parents and partly from books and TV showing off how fun college was supposed to be. Don’t get me wrong, it was a blast. It flew by in the blink of an eye and then it was over.

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Chase

Derek felt his legs beginning to ache as he sprinted past another large redwood. The tops of the tree branches groaned and leaned against the growing wind. Dark clouds shifted across the dimming sunlight, sending shadows playing ahead of Derek’s feet. His pace was hard to keep but he had no choice.

A scream drifted in on the wind to his right. Mid-stride he changed direction, his feet slipping slightly in the undergrowth. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let this son of a bitch get away, not again. Four days of little sleep and chasing leads had finally led Derek here to one of the Redwood State parks just outside Eureka, California.

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Can you spell that for me?

Name Nobre Nome Ainm Název

Name Nobre Nome Ainm Název

Way back, in the 7th grade, when I was 12, I started at a new middle school in a new neighborhood with zero friends. I had already completed 6th grade in a middle school setting so I wasn’t frightened by the change like many of the kids at this new school were. Their advantage however, lay in the fact that many of them had gone to Elementary school together and knew one another.

In my first class of the day the teacher was busy calling out names and pointing to seats so we’d know where we would be forced to plant ourselves day after day when we filed in for that particular class. Being that my last name starts with a Z I was used to being placed in the back so I made my way in that general direction and waited to be called last.

The other part of the routine that I was more than familiar with was the teacher inevitably butchering my name. Honestly it’s not that hard. See my name is spelled Janise and it’s pronounced jah-niece but many people tend to say jan-niss or even duh-niece. Yeah, that’s right, they would actually make a D sound when it’s clearly a J in the beginning of my name. Once I even had a substitute say (with much conviction) jan-is-ee.

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Scratches

Looks can be deceiving. Even with only five years of experience so far under her belt, Casey had learned that much as a coroner. Whether you were talking about the latest person on her table or the small town she was currently stuck in, deception was possible everywhere. Lately the old saying had been playing in her head more than usual. A string of murders at the edges of the town were keeping everyone busy and especially wary.

With a decidedly unladylike grunt, Casey pulled apart the latest victim’s ribcage. “Man! Even with a thorough cut you just didn’t want to give up that fuhh…fricken,” she trailed off mumbling to herself quietly. From a safe distance her tablet was busy recording her every word so she did her best to hold off on the cursing. This town was small but it was big on the one thing Casey couldn’t stand- religion. Continue reading

Write it out

I hate it. I absolutely hate being upset with someone who doesn’t know what they did. It drives me even crazier that they don’t know too! Then there’s the spiral from being upset at that someone to being mad that I’m mad at all. There’s a sort of blinding frustration that creeps up on me as I make my way through the stages of this craziness.

Thankfully I can say this doesn’t happen to me often. I’ve always taken the approach of letting things roll off my back but not all things…not ALL things. It’s happening again now, for the last few weeks. Scratch that, it’s been happening for months. Although I guess I wouldn’t say ‘happening’ as much as building.

This morning, at maybe 4 a.m., I woke to the sound of my roommate getting ready for work. I listened to the light switch flip, the bathroom door opening, the shower starting up and I just fumed. Not at my roommate though. Poor girl gets enough of my insanity on nearly a daily basis.

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My Rock

Life had once been defined by linears and absolutes. The most basic of these absolute lessons is one that many kids learn at a young age. You’re born, you live, you die. What many people fail to explain is that this chain of events repeats itself over and over throughout your life and sometimes not even in the right order.

If she tried hard enough Jenny could probably recall at least a dozen moments when she felt as though she had become a new person.

Born again would be the expression but she hated that. Made her sound like some religious nut that’d just as quickly also reclaim her virginity. That ship had sailed long ago. Shaking her head she rubbed her eyes and tried to push these thoughts out.

They weren’t helping. The hardest of the repetitive absolutes was here again: death. It didn’t matter the type of death, this absolute was always hard. Continue reading