Honesty With a Sharp-Tipped Pen


I know this blog is just starting out and it’s rather small right now, but I’d love any responses at all.

To all the writers out there, write something honest. Whether it’s a back and forth conversation, write something that is just oozing with an intense honesty.

There is nothing to writing, all you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed, Mr. Hemingway said. So let’s bleed all over this page.

Here is my piece,

(Scene opens with Kurt and James – two best friends celebrating a twenty-first birthday. They are at a quarry ledge and James begins venting thinking Kurt is asleep.)

“You have no idea what’s coming man,” James said.

Kurt made no reply. He had dozed off for a moment but woke up without opening his eyes at James’ comment.

“You never realized,” James continued seeming to be content with talking to himself. “All these years I’ve only ever been your friend because I thought I could help you. You know I still remember the first time I truly noticed you were broken. It was halfway through the school year in sixth grade in Ms. Hagg’s class. What a fitting name, old miserable hag. You only spoke when you absolutely had to. I remember you in Kindergarten and first grade, you were wild and crazy. Just like a kid that age should be. When you came back to school from that Christmas break, you looked like a hollowed out version of who you’d once been. You turned into the smart kid cliché: shut-in genius who avoided contact with everyone. One day, I think it was in February, you missed a homework assignment. Old Hagg made a big deal about it, not to get you in trouble, but just dramatized the fact that genius-boy finally made a small mistake. The class was having a good laugh just before you jumped from your seat and attacked her. Fuck man, for being a small boy, you clawed her face up real good.

“You were suspended for two weeks and when you came back you were put in a different class. It feels weird saying this all aloud after all these years of wanting to, and you’re not even awake to hear it.”

Kurt listened intently trying to not show that he was awake, but the panic attack that was approaching was making it increasingly difficult.

What is it Jimmy? What do you want to know? Kurt thought.

As if he had said it out loud, James answered.

“Who are you?” James asked. “How can I ask this and have known you for so many years? I don’t know a damn thing about you. All you do is talk about nonsense and stupid things, regardless that I find a lot of it funny, it hurts Kurt. It fucking hurts me. I remember one day, actually it was your seventeenth birthday. You began to tell me about something from your past. You never talk about your past. I don’t know if you ever knew, but I took notice, and I remember. You said ‘I once had a friend named Lacey.’ As soon as you said her name, you had a terrible, just awful look on your face. The blood had left your cheeks and you lost your breath. I didn’t press it.  It scares me because I know that bad things happen. I know how resilient people are to overcome challenges, even children. To think about what could have ruined you so… It’s not your fault that you are the way you are.

“Day after day, I live my life and try to make the best of things which is easy and hard enough, but I see you. I see you. I see you there in that classroom more than a decade ago, and now. When I close my eyes, I see you, ten, fifteen, thirty years from now, and I see the same person in an older body.

“This year, I’m gonna be getting my degree, and go off doing God knows what, but I sure as hell won’t be staying in this shitty town. Who’s gonna be there for you Kurt? Who’s gonna listen to your rants? When there’s no one for you, what are you going to do? Are you going to take a gun into a building and start shooting? Or will you just hang yourself?”

So there it is! Write your own in the comment section

6 thoughts on “Honesty With a Sharp-Tipped Pen

  1. “I love ginger,” she said.
    Cutting it up and throwing it into a cup, adding boiling water to it. “Sweet and hot”
    Stirring it gently, mixing the sweet with the sour, diluting the biting, spicy taste –
    throwing the content of the cup in his face
    “But I hate fucking red heads!”

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