Tag: Blog

Cello, My Love for Thee

Her music sang of a forlorn life that was regrettably her own. She lived in a fantasy twisted by the ambition of one she trusted, long dead. Amongst the upturned gazes, a heartfelt wish was given to the wind for the cellist to be freed.

Alexander J HernandezLeave a comment

I fell in love with the cello in my junior year of high school. It was during a senior’s final solo with a piano accompaniment. Before then, the cello was just another string instrument overshadowed by the violin, in terms of performance. Granted, my exposure to expressive players was limited to teenagers struggling to be expressive, period.

I don’t remember her name, the cellist. It wouldn’t be hard to figure it out. But I don’t want to know. I fell in love with her playing, in that moment cemented years ago.

I knew her in the way most do in high school, recognized the face. She was elegant, her style of play exciting. She was so expressive, with eyes shut, she moved to the memorized music, or perhaps the music moved to her. The slits of her red satin dress fell to the sides of shapely legs, framing the cello in a artist’s embrace.

Seconds into the performance, my imagination began to form the idea of a story. The story’s setting solidified by the rhythm of bow and string. Her skill served as not only the turnkey to creativity, but her physical movement, the constant shift between tension and release as her shoulders leaned into each bar, gave the story a theme for which my own emotions at the time could filter through.

I will admit, that the beginning of the story could have been mistaken for a Evanescence music video; somewhere between My Immortal and Wake Me Up Inside. Thankfully it came into a life of its own.

The same cellist performed the very same piece, upon the balcony of a tower that overlooked a gothic city bathed in the light of a full moon. Her music carried far into night, drawing the downtrotend from their wells of thought. Behind her, the lord of the estate on which the tower stood, marveled at his prize.

Her music sang of a forlorn life that was regrettably her own. She lived in a fantasy twisted by the ambition of one she trusted, long dead. Amongst the upturned gazes, a heartfelt wish was given to the wind for the cellist to be freed.

As the performance came to an end, the cellist held the final note, giving it time to settle with the waiting silence. That final act, allowed the performance to slip free from the degradation of time.

I was dating a musician at the time; specifically a violinist (cliche, I know). I bring this up, because after the cellist’s performance, her and I exchanged a look. In her blue eyes, she fought to keep the rise of jealousy from showing.  
Due to my inexperience, after we left the event and shared our thoughts, I was too blunt in my admission of the cellist’s allure. The viper of jealous had won. It loomed in the shadows of the face she gave. She admitted, with a tinge of bitterness, that the performance was exceptional for a cellist.

If at the end of the world, the cellist music was played, I’d welcome the chance to hear it once more.

As an aside, someone I deeply care for recently picked up the cello. They were kind enough to send me a clip of them playing happy birthday, for well, my birthday. I’m sure they aren’t aware of just how genuinely happy the gift made me. It brought back a cherished memory at a most needed time.

The range of a cello paints the most vivid of worlds in my imagination, despite its intended purpose in service to its more shrill sister. The cello can lull me into the allusive sanctuary of sleep, just as easily as it can stoke the fading flame in my soul. I love the cello, for it is the instrument of Creation.

Update 2: Post Move

Alexander J HernandezLeave a comment

Hello again. Been longer than a minute this time, huh? Well, I could say it’s taking time to get settled in. But, that would be an easy excuse.

In truth, I am bouncing between stories. All the while being in a state of mind where I am pointlessly weighing the worth in moving.

I left a job I actually enjoyed going to, where the people I came to work with were welcoming. This came after months of being unemployed. But, more importantly I had left behind a real chance at a romantic relationship. That is what gnarls at me.

I saw a light in their dark eyes, and it felt like home.

Yet, the decision to move had already been made.

I will forever hate the timing of life. It challenges us, hiding a trap under ever opportunity. Making us decide between such choices that either way leaves a rift of regret.

Anyway, I finally don’t have to sleep on a couch. So, I should be able to get a solid night’s rest. At least, one can hope.

I hope these pictures I’ve taken buy your patience for a little while longer.

If you want more of a consistent update by me, I suggest following me on ye olde Instagram @hernalexj.

Till next time.

Update 1

Alexander J HernandezLeave a comment

Been a minute, hasn’t it. Sorry for that. I’ve been busy getting ready for a big move across country. And, I have been saying a lot of goodbyes.

That’s not much of an excuse, I know. Which is why I’ve been working on some longer posts during the free moments I’m granted. Those will be posted once I’m settled in my new home.

Or, I’ll feel a sudden urge to post a poem or two in the meantime. Who knows.

So, till then… here’s a picture of my cat!

Math Class

Not even the teacher had the desceny to watch the hurt well in my eyes as they brushed off my question.

Alexander J HernandezLeave a comment

My young years were spent in the area of Chicago known as: Back of the Yards. Until the fifth grade, I had gone to the Catholic school a block away. Half way through that year, my mother moved us out to a predominatley white suburb with the intention of providing a better life for me.

I was an angry kid. I didn’t blame my mom, but she was on the receiving end of the emotions dredged up by the sudden impact of being unwelcome. I was angry that, becuase of the color of my skin and where I had come from, I was seen as an outsider, not worth interacting with. I suddenly became less than.

The cruel hand of discrimination slapped me hardest while on the first day in my new math class. Not to fault a Catholic school education (too much), but, before moving I had just been taught the fascinating world of multiplication. While, my suburban public school counterparts were just finishing up division.

<Insert fluttering eyes gif>

I was amongst strangers, further alienated by the bare introduction the teacher had made: “Class, we have a new student.” They gestured to me with one hand. Their shoulders didn’t even turn. As if, my presence was expected to only be temporary. I was given a place by the door. On the edge of the selectively attentive students.

“Let’s continue,” they went on, and the brief attention given to me was swept away. Like the dust that gathers in neglected corners.

Besides a lack in decency, the teacher was good at their job. Despite the gap in my experience with these new and beautifully alien concepts, I was able to grasp the fundamental idea in the remaining 40 minutes of class.

They had reviewed previous material only once. It was at the request of another student. I tried to jump on this break in their monologue with a question of my own. My raised hand had gone ignored, though.

So, I patiently kept it raised till the teacher’s eyes accidentally found me. “Yes?” Is how they gave acknowledgement.

It suddenly felt wrong to ask. But, I didn’t let the moment go. I asked if they could explain the inverse relationship between multiplication and this thing called division. Granted, I phrased it differently in my ignorant youth, stumbling over my words, for they too were being judged.

My request garnered a few giggles and some snickers, but too few looked at me. As if I would stain them with a single glance. Not even the teacher had the decency to watch the hurt well in my eyes as they brushed off my question, telling me to see them after class to discuss my lacking education.

Though, like the rest of the children, they quickly left once the bell rang.

So, the below is a short poem of my response to that moment.

The best intentions put me in that room. But, spite and resentment kept me there. I’d make the turned faces see, despite how hard they tried. I’d shatter their guided lives by the color of my skin, strutting across the glass surface of their privilege.

I don’t blame my fellow students for how they treated me at first. Rasicms and the act of discrimination is something taught. I blame the teacher for not setting a better example. Instead, they had set a tone for my remaining time in that grammar school.

I would like to add that eventually I had made friends with some of those students. Though, it was much later that I found a place of welcome and acceptance. Eh, such is life.

Till next time.

One Sentence Poems

Each of these were in their own separate poem. But, in writing them I noticed that they could be reduced to one significant sentence.

Alexander J HernandezLeave a comment

Each of these were in their own separate poem. But, in writing them I noticed that they could be reduced to one significant sentence.

Vote on which one you’d like to read the full poem it was a part of.

I was told I have a way with words,
In truth, they have their way with me.

You said you loved me,
Even after you no longer did.

My thoughts of you are beautiful distractions.

The kind of person that gives more than they receive on their birthday.

Trying to find meaning, when it’s all meaninglessness.

I wish I could forget the look in your eyes.

On: Loneliness, The Abyss

Having spent much time submerged, the dulling sensation now provides a slight comfort. Wallowing there lessens the sting of Life’s cuts. Giving time to build back up the will to try again.

Alexander J HernandezLeave a comment

Continuing with the topic of loneliness and my representation of it (I’m going to need to write something positive after this), we come to…

The Abyss


At times I feel as if I were in a abyss. To describe this sense, imagine a hollow cylinder with no apparent bottom, it simply goes on into infinite darkness. And, it has a radius barely wider than the span of your arms. There is a kind of ceiling or opened portal at the relative top. Now, imagine a representation of your mind lowered into this cylinder, kept perfectly in line with its center, so you are unable to reach out and touch its surface.

Let’s begin with having your avatar’s head above the open portal. Gazing around you can see others positioned just like you. They are far away enough to where conversation is difficult, but possible with shouting.

A thought comes along. Perhaps in response to a life event; such as the death of a loved one, or the rejection of a once perceived friend. A part of you knows that you’ll have to get over it at some point. But, the weight of the experience causes the thought to push you down into the cylinder. Now your nose is in line with the opening. A dulling sensation begins to take hold in your feet. You ignore it.


Next, you find yourself alone at a social event. You came with people, but have been left while they socialize with others. As time goes on, you find yourself unable to enter any of the micro group’s conversations. Each attempt is rebutted, and you are politely shunned. Those you came with have made the night their own. While yours is held in the cold embrace of uncertainty.


You think to leave, but hesitate out of the desire to prove them wrong. This indecision has you caught between emotions. Until eventually you can stomach the public isolation no more and leave.


Your steps away add weight to the thought pressing down upon you. You panic as the rest of you passes beneath the portal. The sensation that began as a simple dulling, has become a chilling grip that claws its way up your body.


If you are lucky, or strong willed enough, you are able to lessen the burden and slowly rise back up through the portal. But, for those that know no such reprieve, further they sink.


Gradually the cylinder opens to a vast, radiating darkness. Looking about, you can barely see others like you. Though, this far down, no matter how hard you scream, no sound is made. Loneliness is to be consumed by this abyss. To have your emotions made numb, and your strength bled from you.


The way out, I have found, is to let go of the dense thoughts. It is not easy, and I fear for what I may lose by doing so. But, in accepting what has happened, I allow myself the possibility of something new. The chance not to be rejected, or undervalued.


The abyss is one we create. In actuality, we are the ones giving weight to our thoughts. A realization hard found in the moments of pain. Nonetheless, our resolve is measured by the abyss.


Having spent much time submerged, the dulling sensation now provides a slight comfort. Wallowing there lessens the sting of Life’s cuts. Giving time to build back up the will to try again.


It is okay to feel the way that you do, but do not hold onto the thoughts that weigh you down.


End Note


A family member recently asked me about the negative aspects to my posts. Before beginning this circumvention of a typical publication process, I decided to be the kind of writer that is honest in their work. Choosing not to wear the writing as a mask. Rather, have it be an expression of my thoughts.


As someone that is dealing with depression, and working through the emotions brought about by it, acknowledging this aspect of myself by way of writing is a means to unburden the worry and anxiety. I’ve carried them for so long, my mind could use the break.


By chance, if you the reader relate to what is typed and need someone to listen, I am willing to do that. I want their to be a connection between you and I. You’ve taken the time to read, and I will gladly give the time to listen.


The representations of loneliness may seem exaggerated, but it is an emotion I’ve felt for a long time, reinforced by years of experiences. In the beginning it was trivial, but no longer. It has followed me into a quarter of a century.


It is as if a seed has grown to become a looming willow, blocking the light from reaching me. Caught in it’s shadow, I can see others cast in the light’s warmth, just beyond my outstretched arms. I’ve become entangled amongst the roots. Forced to work hard at freeing myself, spurred on by the brief rays of sun that are allowed in through the shifting branches.


I envy you, those able to freely move, those easily embraced by the light.


End End Note


Well that got artsy fartsy. Guess I’m still working up to the coming post On: Me. Forgive me, I am still new at expressing myself publicly.


Typing this has left me feeling drained. That, or the fact I’ve only had bread, rice and coffee today is doing me in (half joking, I also ate a few apples); a choice mostly made out of convenience… I’ll eat better tomorrow, promise.


P.s. like the previous post, this is a summarized version of the concept. Its true form is better explored in stories.


Any way…


Till next time.

On: Loneliness, Adrift at Sea

It is the the loneliness that has you adrift at sea. The loneliness that weighs you down in the abyss. The loneliness that strips you of your form, becoming a shadow on the wall; a thing that others merely glance over as they search for something they deem worthy of acknowledgement.

Alexander J HernandezLeave a comment

I am lonely… and will try to convey the ways I represent that in my writing and to myself. No, this is not solely referring to the kind of loneliness that has one searching the internet for free porn at odd hours of the day.

It is the the loneliness that has you adrift at sea. The loneliness that weighs you down in the abyss. The loneliness that strips you of your form, becoming a shadow on the wall; a thing that others merely glance over as they search for something they deem worthy of acknowledgement.

For context, this post was originally intended to be finished and made live last week. On my birthday. But, in typing, connections were made to other posts that I’ll finish at a later date. So, I became wrapped up in starting those while the will to was fresh. In order to have these released in a somewhat timely manner, it’s been broken up into three parts. The first being…

Adrift at sea

Imagine being in an endless sea. For the moment, the waves are calm. Hands cling to a piece of floating debris. You are alone. Nothing is in sight to urge you to swim towards. So, you just drift.

Eventually, someone comes into view, revealed by a lowering wave. You begin to swim towards them, calling out as you go. Nearing them, you can tell they’ve been swimming for a while. They take notice, and seem surprised by your enthusiasm.

When you’re both together, introductions are made. Your individual pieces of debris overlap, lending support to both. For a time you are together.

A moment comes when they decide to leave. They push away as waves rise up between you. You watch them drift until they are out of sight. And, you are alone again.

Some time passes; clouds build over head. Not long after it begins to rain, do you hear voices just out of sight. Afraid to face this storm alone, you desperately swim on.

Cresting a swelling wave, you catch a glimpse of two, four, five people gathered together. You call out for help as your body begins to tighten from the strain. Fearing they may ignore you, you force your legs and arms to go on. Pummeled by a breaking wave, you think it the end that awaits beneath.

Hands pull you up and drag you in close. Hardly a word is spoken between you and the group. But, they have lent you their support. It is how all of you ride out the storm.

Once it breaks and the sky clears way to a proud sun, introductions are made. After some time, though, the group separates. Two go off on their own, and two leave as a pair. Only you and one other remain. You’d think they would want to leave too, but you find yourselves drifting together.

This time is different. You are no longer alone.

That’s one happy scenario. But, seeing it play out multiple times and to different ends, does not take away the setting of being adrift at sea.

Perhaps these two stay together. Perhaps they even find a rare island that provides a reprieve from the sea. A life together built on this island. But, suppose eventually one chooses to leave. And, the other cannot bare remaining there. So, they too journey back out to sea. Because, it is at sea that they have the chance of meeting someone else.

Pulling back the perspective, you’d notice more and more people come into view. They are separated from one another by mere waves.

I feel supported when I have others. But, often this is fleeting. People come and go in our lives. The time we have together is meaningful, but when they drift away, the pain of being alone again, being left again… is overwhelming.

Endnote

There is more to say on this representation of my loneliness. But, I’d rather incorporate that into future stories. For now, this is enough, I think. Hopefully a week from now, On: Loneliness, The Abyss will be posted (fingers crossed).

Till next time.

On: Being Cool

We live in a society where people are more comfortable becoming physically intimate with one another, but run away from emotional intimacy and vulnerability.

Alexander J HernandezLeave a comment

The purpose of this is to explain my reasoning behind the short story Being Cool. So, you the reader, can see how your interpretation matched up with my intention.

Unbelievable Story

Let’s start with the elephant in the room. You may have felt that if you were in Cas’ place, you might have given Avery a chance, but sure as hell would have left as soon as they started talking about depressing shit. Thus, making this an unbelievable circumstance. And, I agree that would most likely happen for most people.

We live in a society where people are more comfortable becoming physically intimate with one another, but run away from emotional intimacy and vulnerability. I think something is wrong with that. So, the purpose of this short story became a possibility of what could happen when two people are honest with one another, and open to not immediately putting up an emotionless wall.

They, Them, Their

“Yo Alex, what’s up with Avery? Are they a man or a woman? Or conjoined twins?” Some of you may have wondered.

Originally, Cas and Avery were both going to use they, them, their gender pronouns. But, I yet to have the level of skill with writing to keep them differentiated enough in the story to avoid overlap. So, I settled on Cas self identifying as she, her, hers. With Avery keeping to the original intention.

As to why… because the gender identity of a character should not overtake the importance of personality. I wanted to write a story focused on the characters’ actions and what they chose to say to one another. By doing so, you the reader, can choose how you wish to fill in the gender identities, thus making it more accessible. Over the course of writing this, I’ve envisioned Cas and Avery being man/woman, two women, two men, non binary, transgender, and all the other colors in the spectrum.

“But Alex, Cas referred to Avery as Mr. on the bridge,” you may point out.

True. I left that in to show the importance of asking someone their prefered pronouns. If I do continue this story, Avery would have that brief, simple talk with Cas on how they prefer to be called. It is an important question, but shouldn’t be seen as a trail to ask.

Descriptives of Appearance

Referring to the previous point, I wanted to keep the two characters physically ambiguous. The look of Avery changed drastically in my mind over the course of writing Being Cool. I could say one of the images I had of Avery was of myself, but that didn’t last long and served only as a basis. The finale story has enough wiggle room where, if I did continue it, I can settle on an image later for Avery. Cas is a different story.

The final image for Cas was based on someone I once met at a club. If anyone that knows me in real life has heard me tell the story of The Pharmacists, that’s whom she is based off of. No, the pharmacist is not someone I hooked up with. Long story short, if someone tries to help you with hiccups and they say “trust me, I’m a pharmacist,” do NOT trust them.

‘But Alex, I like descriptives,’ you may be thinking.

That’s fair, so I’ll give you a little more to picture for Cas. I’m sorry, I do not remember the name of the woman Cas is based off of (even if I did I would not tell, just owning up to it). I was mildly intoxicated and she had only said it once. Also, I am using she, her, hers because her friend refered to her as such.

*Begins taking a trip down memory lane*

This woman stood just off the dance floor, under a wooden frame. Her hands were buried in her black leather jacket. Stoic blue eyes looked on, trying to seem uninterested. At 5’5” you might miss her, but as it neared 2am, the place began to empty. She was growing impatient, seeming to have not gotten the attention she was hoping for.

Hard to believe when they paired their jacket with a white tank top, black pencil skirt, black stockings, and black boots. That’s right, boots. And her hair, a pixie cut, was accentuated by a two tone shade; light blonde draped over a darker undercut. Quite the formidable foe in the game of attraction.

“Damn Alex, did you even bother talking to her?” You may judge.

Yes, I did. And, she had the kind of voice you could easily listen to in conversation. Alright, that’s all you’re getting from me on this. Moving on.

Sex Scene

Yes, I wrote the scene of Cas and Avery having sex. And, I chose to cut it out. Hence, the [Error data not found]. I did so because the scene describes genitalia, and that would have locked me into a sex for Avery. Which, referring back to the previous previous point, I didn’t want for this story.  

Will I ever publish it? Maybe.

Depressing Stuff

I gave some aspects of my life to Avery and Cas (more so Avery). That was done in hopes of taking an emotion I have and seeing what it can become. While I appreciate you reading my writing, a large part of it is for myself.

This is a topic I’ll get more into in another On: Series post. Such as the bridge.

Being Cool

I named it as such because the very first notion of this story was supposed to be on how I think the aesthetic of smoking is cool (incredibly bad for your health, though). Then it became a red herring of sorts. Since, the focus shifted to being authentic.

Picture of Me

Yes, that’s really me. I mean, my beard has grown a bit more over the past couple days. But, for this type of post it seems it should be more personal. So, I included it. If I look sad, it’s because I got a cold. #ChicagoWeather.

If you find my face offensive, sorry (?). Just scroll past it.

END

Okay, that’s it for now. Please feel free to let me know what you think. Whether it be about Being Cool or this post, a question I might not have answered, or just to say you don’t like my face.

Till next time.

P.S. I probably forgot some things I wanted to bring up. So, this may be edited at a later date. Meh.

Being Cool

“The thing about being cool, is that it’s all in the authenticity. Don’t try to be someone you’re not. It’s not cool to be uncomfortable with yourself.”

Alexander J HernandezLeave a comment

Enezey’s on a Friday night normally plays the part of a lounge over a bar. But, around midterms and finals at the surrounding universities, it becomes lively with many a youth learning the detrimental skill of drinking their problems away. The regulars typically don’t mind the change of pace. Especially now, when it contrasts the current winter night awaiting them on their trip home.

Avery thumbs the straw in their whiskey ginger casually, while their attention, and that of a few others, is drawn to a rather rambunctious group near the pool table as they begin to call for shots.

It’s a diverse group, each a painful reminder of how foolish youth can be. There is one Avery cannot help but relate to.

Off to the side, a young woman stands, awkwardly trying to be cool. They look the part with short hair, a leather jacket, and black pencil skirt. But what they lack is the air of cool. Their body language gives it away. They are trying too hard to be the idea of cool.

Avery cannot help but smirk every time this young woman tries to catch the eye of a certain full figured groupee. She comes close, but fails to act on the brief moment of connection.

Avery returns to their drink as this young woman resumes her facade of stoicism.

“Hey Ave, your glass is nearly empty. Want another?” Lola asks.

“Nah, I’m good. Close me out, please.” Avery downs the rest of their drink and rests the glass back on the bar. Fingers linger on the cool rim, as they reminisce on their own failed attempts at being cool.

Lola hands the bill and a pen over, returning Avery’s card. “What’s that smile for?” She asks.

“Just remembering. Thanks.” Avery signs and pockets their card. As they stand to put on their coat, they call back to Lola. “Mind if I bum a cig off you? For the road.” The request is paired with the gesture of bumping their right thumb and index finger up into their left palm.

“Sure.” Lola hands over a cigarette.

“Thank ya kindly,” Avery replies in a mock southern drawl as they turn to leave.

Coincidentally, the pool table section is near the exit, and the trying to be cool woman is now  standing near the door. Avery cannot help but give some advice.

As they walk towards the door, Avery makes eye contact with this young woman, in the way of acknowledgment. She takes notice and curiously watches them approach.

Stopping beside her, but without turn to face them, Avery says “The thing about being cool, is that it’s all in the authenticity. Don’t try to be someone you’re not. It’s not cool to be uncomfortable with yourself.”

Avery turns to nod in the direction of the interest she has. “Be yourself, not who you think she wants you to be.”

The young woman breaks eye contact to scoff, and begins to say “You don’t—”.

Her words fall short when looking back to find experienced eyes looking into her own; as if they truly saw her.

“Good luck,” Avery adds before continuing to the door and leaving Enezey’s.

—
Through the door of our present, do we seal away our past, making it possible to continue forward. Should the door remain open, we’ll be pulled forever back.
—

Chicago’s winter is a blanket of cold that forcefully drapes itself upon you. Breathe too deeply, and it’s sharp edge threatens to fill your lungs. But, Avery does not mind the familiar embrace. It feels as if it were about to snow; the clouds overhead swell in anticipation. It would be the first true blizzard of the season. Avery takes comfort in knowing that they should have enough time to get where they’re going.

It’s a short walk, one that gives just enough time to take in how the City’s night is going. Avery isn’t the only one sensing the coming snowfall. People are hurriedly leaving their watering holes for the warmth of home. Sometimes in pairs, but Avery notices a lot of individuals calling for a ride. Love does not seem to be in the air tonight, for many.

Besides the occasional passing car, the night is quiet. Only a single siren is heard, far off in the distance, in the time it takes for Avery to reach their bridge. They refer to it as theirs simply because of how many times they have found themself crossing it; going on eight years.

It’s become a habit, coming by every so often, to lean against the railing and watch the rippling water. This is where they intend to smoke.

Pulling a lighter from their pocket, Avery laments on forgetting to pick up a pack before heading to Enezey’s. They’ll have to make this one last.

Holding the cig between their index and middle fingers, they click the flame to life, taking a quick pull before the young ember could be snuffed out by the canal’s own breathe.

‘Why am I still alive?’ Avery asks themself.

Right to it, then? Responds their inner voice.

‘I shouldn’t be alive.’

Ready to act on those words?

Taking another pull on the cigarette, Avery’s eyes fixate on the lapping waves breaking on the eroding canal walls. “No,” they say aloud.

Then, we are to lament on the past again?

‘It’s what I’m good at, apparently.’

After so many years, you are still here, on this same damn bridge. And, just like the first time, you could jump and no one would be able to save you in time.

‘Still a tempting thought.’

Then why not?

‘Because I’m meant to suffer a little longer, it would seem.’ Avery goes for another pull, but realizes it had gone cold. Relighting their only cig, they continue with their train of thought.

For one without a purpose, we’ve lasted quite a while.

‘Some small consultation.’

Someone’s watching.

—
My presence in this abyss grows heavy with the faces of those now gone.
—

Avery turns their head to see the young woman from before standing a few paces away. She is alone, and leaning heavily to one side. If they had to guess, it would be that she had answered the call for shots. Perhaps in a last ditch effort to work up the courage.

“Ah Ms. Cool. It seems you had no success.”

“Oh, Mr. Cool was it?” the young woman teases.

“That’s okay, next time. Unfortunately, it has become harder to just be ourselves. And, it’s Avery.” Another pull is taken.

“Cas. I’m starting to think myself isn’t good enough anymore.” Cas replies with an intoxicated sigh and false smile.

“Well Cas, I’m doing a bit of thinking myself. Care to join me?” Avery pulls the cigarette from their lips, in an offering gesture.

“No thank you. I don’t smoke.” Cas replies, coming to stand next to Avery. “But, I’ll join you.”

“Good for you. Actually, I rarely smoke,” Avery admits. Cas’ shoulder lightly rests against them.

“Bullshit. You were sucking on that thing like it would save your life,” Cas mocks.

“I do it for the aesthetic. And, how long were you watching me?” Avery asks with an accompanying raised eyebrow.

“Maybe you just like fiddling something with your mouth.” Cas jokes, ignoring their question.

“What if I enjoy fiddling something with my mouth?” Avery asks suggestively.

Cas toys with the idea, but does not answer. Yet, her hand searches for Avery’s.

“Hey, you think you could catch me if I jumped?” Avery suddenly asks.

Cas’ eyes widen in surprise and they step closer.

“Relax, I’m only speaking hypothetically.” Avery’s chuckle stops when they notice Cas had actually gripped their coat and arm.

“That isn’t funny,” Cas scolds. She hesitates letting go, but eventually does after Avery gives a reassuring nod.

“You’re right, my apologies. You really would try to catch me…” Avery’s gaze returns to the canal’s shimmering waves.

“The real you is good enough. It’s their fault for not seeing that,” Avery replies to Cas’ earlier statement.

“But, I want to be noticed,” Cas softly replies. “Why did you notice me?”

After a moment of thought, Avery simply answers “Because everyone deserves to be seen. Especially those that are use to not being noticed.”

Snow begins to fall, and Avery finishes their cigarette with a final pull.

“Time for me to head home.” Avery turns to leave, but pauses when they notice Cas’ fingers had found theirs.

Leaning in, Avery lightly kisses Cas. “Would you like to come over?” They ask.

“Yes,” Cas answers before returning the kiss.

—
Meeting someone new, invites the possibility of disappoint.
—

“Would you like a drink?” Avery asks as they place bottle of red wine on the kitchen counter.

“No, I’m alright,” Cas replies.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to have a glass.” Avery pours themself one and takes a brief drink.

Hovering the glass by their lips in their left hand, Avery walks closer to Cas, motioning for her to back up against a dividing counter.

“Hold this for me,” Avery says as they hand off the glass. While, their right hand begins to trace a line up from Cas’ waist, brushing lightly across her chest and collar, up a flushed neck, where fingers gently curl around the base of Cas’ head. Tilting slightly to the side, Avery leans in and begins kissing the side of Cas’ neck.

Flustered, Cas carefully places the glass of remaining wine safely further down on the dividing counter. Her attention is divided between Avery’s driven lips and now free and wandering left hand. Firm fingers rise up Cas’ thigh before curving in.

Following a gasp at the sudden sensation, Avery centers both hands on Cas’ lower back as they lock eyes.

“Mind if go down on you?” Avery eagerly asks as their hands curve down over Cas’ ass.

“Fuck yes! Eh I mean, I don’t mind,” Cas breathlessly corrects.

A playful smirk forms on Avery’s yearning lips as they lift Cas onto the dividing counter. Her hands rest on Avery’s head as they begin to kiss their way down.

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—
Yet, the risk of disappoint does not outweigh the experience of intimacy.
—

Unable to sleep, Avery carefully slides out from under Cas’ spooning arm and leg. They replace their absence by pulling the blanket further over Cas. Before leaving their room, they gently brush a strand of hair from her face. Surprised by their own gesture.

Getting attached already? Their inner thought questions.

Ignoring that, Avery continues to the living room where they had set up a sort of blanket bundle in anticipation of watching the coming snowfall through their balconies sliding door. Plopping down on the stacked cushions, they drape their favorite blanket about them.

Are we to continue our earlier conversation?

‘No, I don’t have any cigarettes on me.’ Avery thinks.

And so as time slips into the early hours of morning, Avery sits in comfort while their mind plays a reel of painful memories. It is as if the snow became the faces of those that were once a part of Avery’s life, drifting down to become a collection of regret made manifest.

“Here you are,” Cas calls from the doorway of Avery’s room before walking over.

“You found me,” Avery answers, smiling up at Cas. “Sit with me.” They spread the blanket about them open and gesture for her to sit between their legs.

“Okay, but it’s my turn to be the big spoon. Lean forward.” Clumsily, yet charmingly so, Cas slides down Avery’s back, pulling the thick blanket over them both.

Cas’ arms invite Avery to lean back by enveloping them, coming to rest across their chest and waist.

Avery’s eyes track the falling snow through the sliding door, as they begin to resume their solemn thoughts. Until, Cas breaks the silence with a question.  

Bringing her cheek to rest on Avery’s head, Cas asks “Besides when trying to pick someone up, why else do you smoke?”

Deciding to be honest, Avery answers “I normally smoke when I find myself debating suicide.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas replies while holding Avery closer.

“Don’t be, I’m glad you came along when you did. And, for this,” Avery says as they overlap Cas’ arms with their own.

“And the bridge…” Cas begins to say.

“My career started out in downtown, at a job that quickly became depressing. Most late nights had me passing over that bridge. Eventually, I started taking my time crossing it. At first it was something like a glance at the water, but eventually it became several minutes of just watching the canal,” Avery explains.

Cas’ hand begins to idly pass across Avery’s chest, unsure of what to say. Her fingers find a scar below their right collar. “How’d you get this?” She asks in an attempt to change the subject.

“I got that one some time ago.” Their voice drops as they continue, “there was a woman calling for help one night. It was an attempted mugging. But, the woman wasn’t giving in. I tried to help… but things didn’t go well.” Avery falls silent.

The extended pause makes it clear that Avery doesn’t want to say anything more on it. Having found herself in another difficult conversation, Cas let’s the silence continue. Gradually, she begins to notice many scars dotting Avery’s body. They all appear to be faint, only carrying a hint of their history.

“Sorry to have taken you from your friends,” Avery suddenly apologises. They bring up one of Cas’ hands to kiss her palm.

“Don’t be, they were more concerned about getting smashed anyways.” Cas leans in to kiss Avery. “Besides, you’re the only one to pay me any attention,” she adds.

Avery recognizes the faint smile and the sadness it covers. “Cas, thank you for tonight.”

“Don’t thank me,” she counters with a light laugh.

“So, you didn’t have any finals to get smashed over?” Avery asks, surprised by their own desire to learn more about her.

“Hmm?” Cas asks.

“Around this time, it’s common to see students drinking.”

“Oh! I guess it is a bit obvious.” Again, she laughs. It’s becoming a sound that Avery enjoys. “Some of my friends are going for their masters. I’m all done with that. But, they invited out.”

“So, how do you normally spend your day?” Avery asks, but thinking ‘When not picking up strangers on a bridge’.

“I’m an assistant programs director,” Cas answers. Though, it is not said confidently.

“Do you enjoy it?” Avery asks.

“I did, I do. The job has just changed quite a bit from when it started.” Cas’ answer mirrors Avery’s.

“Hmm I understand,” Avery says.

“It seems you understand a lot of things…” Avery feels Cas’ breath on their neck.

Glancing back, Avery sees that Cas has fallen asleep. They lightly kiss her cheek, before settling in to sleep as well.

‘Is it wrong for me to hope again?’ Avery thinks.

No, it never is.

Where I’m At

Seems about time to elaborate on what I’ve been losing my mind over (besides poetry). Eight stories (wow it really has become eight) of varying length hold the majority of my attention. This grew from a notion of starting with three, then five, to where it is now.

Alexander J HernandezLeave a comment

Hi, it’s been a little over month since I officially started this. And, I’ve rewritten this post many a time. Each attempt was made before a significant change in the progress of my writing.

-Good enough segway-

Seems about time to elaborate on what I’ve been losing my mind over (besides poetry). Eight stories (wow it really has become eight) of varying length hold the majority of my attention. This grew from a notion of starting with three, then five, to where it is now.

I enjoy world building, and am constantly thinking of ways to expand on a story. This tends to lead to an explosion of creation, followed by my mind wandering to a completely new story. Hence why I have so many open projects (sarcastic tee hee).

But! For the purposes of this website, I’ll (really) try focusing my attention on two ‘universes’: a futuristic science fiction setting, where in humanity has encountered a plethora of differing alien races, causing humanity to question their role on the galactic stage. And, an alternate history fantasy that has the post WW2 world drastically changed by gateways linking our dimension to that of a magical reality.

Because of my terrible tendency with not only remembering names, but also coming up with them, I’ve generically named them as follows:

Stories set in a futuristic science fiction are Space 1, 2, 3 and side story A. Side story A has recently been expanded on, at the cost of many a sleepless night.

*There will be many side stories to follow as the universe is given more detail.

Stories set in an alternate history fantasy are A Witch and a Blood Demon, and Grimoire of the Moon.

*The Halloween spirit had taken hold.

And the latest new addition to this never ending creative adventure is so far being called On Being Cool.

ALSO, a guilty pleasure short story set in the Star Wars universe. I periodically return to this story when I need a break.

Seriously, I’ve been trying to post this since October 25th.

-Deep sigh-

Since I don’t know how to end this post, I’ll share a (not) happy observation I had while being out and about at 2am+.

A few weeks ago I found myself passing through the same street of downtown Chicago three times, way past any sane notion of a bed time. Just before entering the red line station at Lake, I paused at a well lit alleyway.

At the entrance was a man, whom I presumed to be homeless, sitting upon his pile of limited possession, asleep. The scene of it held my attention and seemed perfect for my alleyway project, so I took a picture before continuing on. This was a Thursday night into early Friday morning.

The following Friday night into Saturday morning, I found myself in that same circumstance. Only this time there wasn’t the man, just a few of the possessions he seemed to have left behind. So, I went on my way.

Due to poor decisions I no longer clearly remember, there I was again. Trying to catch a red line train back up north to my apartment, on a Saturday night into Sunday morning. Remembering the man and his belongings I lingered at the entrance to the well lit alleyway.

There was no man, nor any thing that once belonged to him. It was like he was never even there. Three days and the only proof of his existence in those moments and place in time, were cleared away. I didn’t sleep well that night.

The image featured is of that well lit alleyway, but at a different time and with soon to be forgotten others.

For the next post, I’ll try to have a short story finished in time.

Till then,
Alexander