Zoe Brigley Thompson

I attended the Zoe Brigley Thompson reading and I hope that made be a better human being as promised. Joking aside, I really enjoyed listening to this Celtic tradition poet whose poems were different from anything I had ever read before. I had never heard of Mrs. Thompson going into the night, but I was pleasantly surprised with her poems as well as her explanation behind the poems. The range of her poems was very wide, with some concerning the Welsh outside of my own understanding, but I still liked the images and ideas that she presented. She spent a lot of time talking about a painter that she was inspired from as well as her time in the Bronte compound. I couldn't help but compare this artist two the fiction and non-fiction readings I had gone to this year. I definitely felt like I was able to gain the most from this reading to help me in my work. Mrs. Thompson really cared about her work, and her heritage, in a way that was obvious to all who attended and it really helped make the night enjoyable. I didn't expected I would have enjoyed this reading as much as I did, and I'm thankful I gave Zoe and her work a chance.

Tick Tock

Right after my mum died I could no longer see people as individuals, but rather as timers about to run out. Grandma: age-75, weight-145 pounds, height-5 feet, type II diabetes, diverticulitis, lives alone. Two years max, and even that felt too generous. Next would be my great Aunts Mary Jane and Lisa. I don’t have any statistics on them but I can only assume they have about five years left until they finished circling the drain. I set these timers up for everyone I cared about in order to prepare myself for what I knew to be the inevitable. The thing is, it’s been 10 years and none of them died yet. Not that I’m disappointed, but when you spend that long preparing yourself for something, it is disheartening.
The classroom is full of eager students armed with laptops,voice recorders,3-ring binders, 5-subject notebooks and enough pens to build a fort. I sit in the back of the auditorium with a blank piece of college ruled paper covering my desk. Anytime I’m bored in class and I’ve already enjoyed a quick nap I like to play a game where I figure out what I’d do if someone ran into the room with a gun. Obviously I depends on what entrance they take but from where I’m seated I’m equally screwed either way. I never sit in the front since a gunman is most likely to run to center stage to demand attention. Never sit next between two fat people. One fat person makes a great possible shield but two just keep you in place like thumbtacks on a board. Well, next class I’ll pick a better seat but today I’m just going to sit back and get a little break from receptor-mediated endocytosis and head back to my dreams of being a real doctor as my head is pulled down onto my plain white shirt.

*****

My ears are ringing now and it’s just the worst feeling. I hate alarm clocks for that exact reason. Silent, or vibrating alarm clocks, are the way of the future and I’m already on board. I look around awkwardly push someone’s head off my shoulder. Jesus, if you’re going to sleep in class atleast do it right. As soon as pull my hand back I immediately notice that it’s covered in blood. I jump up and yell out as 100 students and one angry looking woman stare right at me.

“Sit the fuck down. You worthless piece of shit,” said the woman brandishing a .22 handgun. I tried and sit down a good amount of blood has pooled on my chair and I only own one pair of jeans. I look in awe at the same faces looking back at me and reach the uncomfortable conclusion that I feel nothing. Suicide by cop is when someone who is suicidal provokes a police officer into shooting them. The term suicide by maniac woman with a gun is not a term that will fit on my obituary. All the while I’m amusing myself and barely can hear the words being fired out of this deranged woman’s mouth.
“Do you need someone to talk to? I yell from the back of classroom.
“Are you trying to be funny? I said fucking no one talks,” the woman replied.
I pulled my phone out from my pocket and quickly checked my reflection off the screen. I had about a minute left. I slowly rose up and started to feel the beginning of something real. I bolted for the back door and before I come press in the medal handle I felt the worst pain. It was hard to describe, but it was pretty disheartening.