Rain's Place
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:31pm
Thread Topic: Rain's Place
-
rough draft - poem 1
My feet guide me
inside of the home,
The crash of glass and a pungent smell
greeting me.
I step over what was once a bottle of whiskey,
but which is now a scattered puzzle of shards,
luring me.
I refrain from leaning down and taking a sliver,
even though my heart
is screaming
For me to do just that.
I avoid the intense glare that is
burning a hole into the side of my face,
And I press on,
Like the obedience I am expected to exemplify.
Once alone except for the company of a
notepad,
I enter the safe haven.
It presents to me a treasure chest filled
with ideas and dreams.
In my hand, I hold the key to the chest, which I bring down
upon the notepad,
And a magical thing begins to
take place.
The feeling of freedom
overwhelms every inch of me,
And the weight being lifted from my chest
comforts me.
And I am in this pleasant state,
until a knock, knock, knock
floods the room.
The emotions that were previously
airy and welcoming like a summer's cloud,
Turn dark and evil much like
the foreboding, ominous tales
That parents used tell.
Then comes along a creak, creak, creak
and he stands right in the doorway,
His eyes glazed and his hands
revealing tremors.
My heart
skips a beat and attempts
jumping out of my chest
And I
cower like the frightful, shaky
chihuahua that I will always
be compared to.
And he hovers like the pitbull that he will
always be.
The rivers, they flow, prior to any of the pain.
And the leer that would bring
A full grown adult to his knees
Is shown right to me.
A hand raises in the air,
And I prepare for a strike,
But when one never comes, my mind, it is perplexed.
And I open my eyes, though not recalling
when I closed them,
And examine the collapsed figure in
the front of me.
I swallow my words as I come to a stand,
Now the darkness blocking his sight,
His eyes, they focus on me,
As he utters his apology,
But I,
I do not allow it.
I give a grunt and a shake
of my determined head,
Hoisting my pad and key from the desk,
And exiting through the same doorway
that symbolized nothing but bad, bad, bad.
And I bolt and I flee,
Even if just for the night,
Because I assume teaching him a lesson,
Will be the best.
And I suck in a breath of the winter's night
air,
Spotting a star and sighing in relief. -
For creative writing class
First things first, everybody lies, but I will not lie to you. What I might do, however, is stretch the truth. It will all be the same information, of course, itll just be a little more intriguing for your young minds. I didnt come all the way from Plainsboro for you to sit there like bored sheep, waiting for something to happen but never receiving anything. I guess I should mention a two simple things before I actually start telling the story of me. Im Doctor Gregory House, but Ill give you the privilege of simply calling me House. Im 55 years of age as of right now, which I guess isnt too horrible, especially when Edition IV considers middle age to be anywhere from 45-65.
Anyways, my mothers name is Blythe, and shes a great woman. I love her, and I never found anything wrong about her. My father, John, was in the Marine Corps. as an aviator. His time fighting introduced me to a multitude of cultures and languages, which I now know six of, well, five if you exclude English. Hola, Zdravstvuyte, Ola, Hailo, Nin Hao, Hello. Sure, these experiences were great, but the truth of the matter is that Ive got daddy issues. See, Ive always suspected that John wasnt my real father, and that a man named Thomas Bell was. He at least owned the same birthmark that I did. Also, in the great words of Doctor James Wilson, he looked a little bit like Sean Connery. Mmm, A DNA test confirmed that John was never actually my father, which I was fine with, because I would hope to never share any relations with a man who owned such an insane moral compass. Coincidentally, when my father passed in 2008, my mother married Thomas. I nabbed a second opportunity and performed a DNA test on him, revealing that he was not my father, either. I dont know who my actual father is, but I dont let it bug me too much. Its just a dad.
I got into the whole medicine biz when I saw how much respect a baruka in Japan received. Burakumin are basically the lowest level, social outcasts in Japan. This man could solve any case that any normal doctor couldnt. I admit, I admired him even after we left the station in that area.
Later on in life, I started C at Johns Hopkins University. I was originally going to study for a ph. D in physics, but I decided on going into medicine. I was a fantastic student and was a fingertip away from a life-changing internship, but I made a horrible decision that I refuse to disclose here. It did result in my expulsion from the school and I was not allowed to go for the internship anymore. Sad, really, but why should I care, now? Long story short, I wound up becoming the head of a diagnostics team in The Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. My formal title was, Head of Department of Diagnostic Medicine. My team consisted of Dr. Lisa Cuddy, who was my girlfriend for some time, the Dean of Medicine, Dr. Robert Chase, a surgeon, Dr. Eric Foreman, a neurologist, and Dr. Allison Cameron, an Immunologist. They all had those things about them that made them fit into the team fairly well. They were still idiots three-fourths of the time, but no one can argue that they werent good company. Sometimes, I worked with Dr. Chris Taub, a plastic surgeon, Dr. Lawrence Kutner, a sports medicine specialist, who passed away in 2009 because, well, he committed suicide. After his death, I had to take some time away from work in a psychiatric facility because I couldnt handle his suicide. -clear throat- and Dr. Remy Hadley, who we called Thirteen. They were mostly idiots, as well. -shrug- Kutner had potential, sure, but he wont ever get the chance to prove himself, unfortunately.
I had a girlfriend named Stacy Warner, who was my girlfriend when I suffered from an aneurysm in an artery of my leg, which caused my right thighs tissue to die during a peaceful game of golf. Thats why I have this thing with me. Against my approval, she allowed my doctor to put me into a medically induced coma to cut out all of my dead tissue, which I didnt ever forgive her for. -wave cane-
I have been taking Vicodin for my leg for a number of years, and it may be a lot, but its not really effecting anyone but me, so you shouldnt care.
My true best friend, Doctor James Wilson, the Head of Department of Oncology, was almost always there for me. He passed away October of 2012, due to thynoma, a cancer of the thymus, an organ in the immune system. We met when I bailed him out of jail after he smashed a mirror over some dude playing a lovey dovey song in the bar over and over and over when Wilson was in the middle of a divorce. He had three, altogether, to mention. Afterwards, we were close friends, and hes one of the only people I can say I really cared for. He was there when I needed him. Even when he began to worry, he came to see if I was alright. I couldnt thank him enough. I tried to keep him alive for as long as I could, convincing him of several treatments. I almost didnt get the chance because I was almost thrown in jail after flushing some hockey tickets down the toilet and causing plumbing and flooding issues for the hospital. When finding out that I could face a few months in prison, in which I wouldnt live to see Wilson pass away, I grew more depressed than I already was an wound up in a burning building. This was when I found everything was coming to haunt me and I didnt think I could handle it. In that building, however, as the fire raged on, I found myself getting ideas thanks to the hallucinations I was having.
Everyone thought I was dead after the fire destroyed the building. Since I knew Wilson would speak at my funeral, I was sure to text him right as he was giving his eulogy to me. We met up and he was both ecstatic and horrified at the fact that I had faked my death. Even so, we spent many hours together in the time leading up to his death. A favorite activity of ours was riding our motorcycles through several different scenic routes. Now, I do miss him, but since he made life a hell of a lot better, I decided that I should go on living, for him, because no one else deserves for me to care that much. Now that you all know my secret, I trust you not to tell myanyone I mentioned or the police. Now -stands-
I bet you a candy cane that my roll is higher than yours.
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