Character conflict intro

As the sun peeled into our bedroom, I felt the unfamiliar movements underneath my tightened skin. The crisp white sheets I preferred looked blue underneath its glare. I looked up at the clock on the armoire and noticed it was five am, the time when witches ran for cover and the angels assumed their defending position. Growing up with an over religious mother I’d learn to rise with the sun and pray to the silent God. My mother would stand over my sister and me teaching us how to act in public, amongst friends and strangers, at restaurants, socials to make sure we knew proper etiquette. She would place her right gloved hand on the middle of my back and with her left hand, pressed my shoulders down, “When you walk, stand or sit down, push your chest out and drop your shoulders” she would say in the sweetest voice. My mother walked as straight as a board. She walked as if she were a puppet on a string being led by a straight cord from her head to her toes down the middle of her back. I remember she smelled like sweet peaches when her thick air floated through our house. Mom slept in rollers and make-up. Before bed time, she would say while tying here dark hair in pink rollers, “The good Lord will not call me home and find me unprepared.” I never understood what she meant when she said things like, “Clean hands and a pure heart, got to have a flawless face and groomed hair” but figured she meant well. I pictured her standing at heaven’s golden gates harps twinkling praises and giant angels awaiting Sister Mom. The good Lord waiting for her while she primped and puckered her shiny lips. Mom never wore any color on her lips, she said if God wanted her to have red, pink or purple lips he would have painted them at birth and since he didn’t, all she needed was to have them shiny so people wouldn’t think she was a chapped lip heathen. I watched my mother take care of my father as if he were her king. I tried to be like her and do for Craig all that I knew how to do, but it didn’t seem to work.

3-to-5

Does it take three to five years
No, just three – five mil-lion
And a rod of strong
And a back to hold on
To when I feel like letting go
When every decision tells me no
When time won’t give me a dime
And my breath is quick but dry
When I’m against the wall
Ready to fall
And give up on all
The promises from before
Stole and lied to my naked soul

Does it take three to five years to get me
No, just three to five minutes and a apple tree
Whose seeds will continue to grow
As I show
Them the path of life
Untangled the cords of the fantasy wife

_____________________________________________
Just want to hit-replay
And give the love the husband says
Is all he really needs
To be alive
Not a fine woman with big hips by his side
But the one whose eyes told no lies
The one whose kitchen was fully stocked
And made sure he had clean white socks
Not the drama queen that lives in the mirror
So full of herself couldn’t plan for tomorrow
But the one whose faith overcame times of sorrow
The one whose voice warmed his soul and spilled pure love from a treasure worth gold
In waiting she remained content
Prayed for his soul with knees bent
No it does not take three to five years
But blood, sweat and tears
And a pocket full of pills
Purple please

Here's a brief snippet of some work we've done. This piece of fiction demonstrates the kind of work that will be displayed. Enjoy

The click clack of her heels down the bare floor middle aisle broke the silent candlelit air. It was first Sunday which meant communion and visitors. The regular members knew upon entering to light a white candle to offer atonement for the sins of the day or month since their last communion. Heads nodded and eyes closed as a silent request for forgiveness started the service. The flickers of the tiny flames surrounding the rear of the sanctuary, made the large building look majestic. Her red too-tight suit because she only wears it when she comes to church, which was at the last year’s Easter service, parted the crowd like the Red Sea. Her Winnie the Pooh baby bag scratched against her wide child bearing hips, everyone noticed but pretended not to by quickly turning away. When latecomers arrived, everyone took notice and instantly condemned them. “Look at her walking in here late, must have been out drinking last night... Well if it ain’t Mr. Bojangles strutting in that suit his dead mama got for him, knowing good well he was with that tramp last night,” stirred in the mouths of the always watching ushers seated at the back of the church. They were defined sinners because of their tardiness, a trait unassociated with the members and self- proclaimed ‘good Christians.’ When Ms. Sheila walked in late, everyone took note and imagined her doing some evil act that delayed her arrival. “Hmmm, she walks in her late and wearing red looking like a hooker” one of the ushers said as she wafted by. Ms. Sheila looked left and right at the faultfinding audience, catching sight of a vacancy near Karen up front on the second row.