Something I like to Think I'm Good at

    I really love to write; creatively that is. I've been working on  a creative writing certificate through my university, and as I've been considering which graduate schools to apply for, I've also been looking into their creative writing programs.

    I wanted to post a little sample of my writings, and more will come in the future. However, for now, this is it:

These are some characters I've been fleshing out. so I wanted to do a quick scene with them.

“Your father should have given you a power name.”

He was talking loud, but I was only half listening to him as I pressed the phone closer to my ear. The plastic blue earpiece sat awkwardly on my skin; it stuck to me with a faint wetness that reminded me that numerous other people had used it before me. It was sticky. It was disgusting. However, I held it close to. It was my only lifeline to him.

The Plexiglas that separated me from Uncle Nic was cracked, and covered in blurry grease marks that resembled fingerprints. They marred his face, and it made me uneasy even though nothing was truly different about him. I wanted to clean it; I wanted to see him better. I wanted him to be the same. My fingers ran down the length on the metal wire that disappeared into a hole drilled into the concrete wall. Everything was cold and sterile, even the metal folding chair I sat in, my legs gawkily gathered into the seat, close to my body. He had laughed in the past when I curled up like this, but now he wasn’t laughing. He was just happy to see me.

“Don’t get me wrong, Gannon. He gave you a nice name, but if you were my boy, you would have been named more carefully.” Gannon was my grandfather’s name, and picking it was a cop out, Uncle Nic had once said. My father lacked imagination.

When I told him that I had been accepted into one of the colleges I applied to, his eyes lit up more than my father’s had. “Which one?”

“Columbia…”

“That’s great!”

I nodded and pressed the phone closer, the plastic now biting deep into my skin as I waited to hear my uncle speak again. He smiled wide, and nodded approvingly as he leaned closer to the glass, holding the phone loosely in his left hand. I knew what was coming next.

“What did your father say?”

“Nothing.”

He looked confused, but the smile remained. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

After that, we sat in silence. Uncle Nic looked serious for once, and I could feel him studying me as my fingers tightened around the phone just waiting. His smile was gone and his gray eyes scanned my face. I could feel my heart beating. I wanted to say something, but I just listened.

“If you were my son, I would have named you Dmitri. Dmitri Vargas is a power name.”

“I like it.”

 His smile returned. “That’s because it’s a power name.”