A look at the past
My Early (Cringe Worthy) Work
By Najee Carson
Published by Najee Carson at Shakespir
Copyright 2016 Najee Carson
I’ve known for a very long time that creating stories was a great passion mine. I remember being only five years old and pretending that I had my very own TV channel with dozens of original programming and actors (my diverse ensemble of action figures). At seven years old I was creating comic books and proudly sharing them with the rest of my classmates, I even managed to sell a few, despite my artwork being rather amateurish (the stories were a work of art though). Today, I’ve stepped away from plastic actors and disproportionate stick figures and moved on to my true calling, screen writing. I’m not being lazy when I say that I really don’t have a preference when it comes to writing, but I do have a fetish for stories with HIGH STAKES. It doesn’t necessarily have to be life or death; it just has to be something that would drastically affect the characters if all doesn’t go according to plan.
Within my scripts, I try to make my characters and their situations as unique as possible, just like people are in the real world. I enjoy becoming these characters and and finding out what he/she desires or how he/she will react to a certain situation.
Becoming immortalized within entertainment history is my ultimate goal; I want nothing more than to touch people’s lives with my work and make lasting impressions that will affect multiple generations.
Only five minutes into the class and Lee was already struggling to keep his eyes open. No coffee or energy drink could help him overcome the monotone voice of Mr. Crampton. Every so often Lee would foolishly look at the clock, and each result left Lee wishing he could push some sort of fast forward button. After taking a glance around the room, he realized that even Cathleen (“Mrs. Perfect” herself) struggled to keep her head off of her desk. Contagious yawns from almost every student were soon followed by the stiff thuds of the students dropping their heads on their desk.
A Spider’s Curse
Why me? Why must I carry this burden; this curse? Why must the lives of the people I love be in constant jeopardy? I can’t even protect those people. Uncle Ben is dead. Gwen is dead. Who’s next? Why must I be Spiderman? When I look at myself I see a nerd. A nerd with brown hair, old clothes, and pale skin. Nothing extraordinary. I don’t even see a hero. I see a man who has failed many people. How am I supposed to protect an entire city if I can’t even protect the ones close to me? These muscles. These powers. These gifts. They don’t make me great. Saving lives, making sacrifices, and being a role model will make me great. These people need me and whether I like it or not I have to be there for them.
Michael’s hands trembled and his face sweated as he gazed at the prodigious house. In an attempt to remind himself of why he was doing this, he pulled out a photo of his family. Only six months after his mother had died and he already did more damage than he could repair. Why him? He just wanted to be the provider that his mother was but now his family is homeless without a dollar to their name. But that’s not his fault, it’s Allister’s. Michael’s teeth clenched and suddenly all the butterflies vacated his stomach. He tiptoed to the rear door and just as he anticipated the house was empty. The old “spare key under a fake rock” cliché worked to Michael’s pleasure; this may be more simple than he foresaw. He laughed at thought of Allister not using any of his fortune for a more elaborate security. Oh well, his lost.
Michael gaped at the eighty-two-inch television, the intricate paintings, the fine sculptures, and the glossy marble. Hell, even Allister’s ashtray looked like it was imported from France. Michael pinpointed a jewel box and began looking for anything small and expensive. He looted diamonds, emeralds, and rubies; anything he could get into his pocket. Finally, no more hunger. No more fear. No more regret. Michael can finally provide the life his siblings deserve. Suddenly he heard the rustling of keys and in an instant he ducked behind a sofa in the living room. Allister entered his home and quickly noticed the empty jewel box with all of its drawers pulled out.
“What the hell!”
The butterflies swarmed back into Michael’s stomach and he lost all control of his breathing. Allister instinctively reached under his sofa and pulled out a small revolver.
“Who’s there? Show yourself!”
Michael slowly rose up and put his hands in the air.
“Michael?” Allister laughed as he lowered his gun. “What in God’s name are you doing in my house?”
“Listen, I’ll give you back everything I stole. Just please let me get back to my sisters.”
“No, no, no. You ain’t getting off that easy. You don’t break into someone’s home and get away with.”
“Please don’t this; we can work this out.”
“Listen Mikey boy, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told you when I evicted you and those two little girls out of my property. You aren’t capable of taking care of anyone. Not even yourself. I mean look at you! Your just punk kid who claims he needs to watch after his little sitters, but is over here breaking the law.”
Michael clenched his jaw and his fist began to shake. “You don’t know me.”
“Oh, but I do. You’re not half the person your mother was, but that doesn’t matter to me.” Allister reached into his pocket for his cellphone. Without thinking Michael jumped over the sofa and tackled Allister. Michael gripped Allister’s neck, shoving his thumbs into Allister’s thorax. He watched Allister’s eyes beg for mercy. He felt his throat scavenging for air. He smelled the blood bubbling through Allister’s nose. He heard his voice cackle in pain. He tasted redemption.
Michael released his grip a watched as Allister laid there as stiff as a brick. He looted the house for cash and jewels; anything he could turn into instant cash. It should be enough for him to rent a hotel for him and his sisters for a couple of weeks, or at least until the police find him.
A Father’s Love
“Are you alone?” said the Kent.
“Listen here you sick bastard, I did everything you told me to! Now give me back my daughter!” said dad.
“Unless you want yo’ lil’ gal found dead in some ditch, I’d have to advise you to calm the hell down. Now, are you alone?” Kent responded.
“Good. And I’m guessing that there fancy briefcase is filled with all of my precious mullah, huh?”
“Every penny, you sick son-of-a-”
“Now listen here boy, I don’t din forgot or summin’, but I’m the man the man charge here not you. And I’m not takin’ all of these insults and sideways glares kindly, understand? One more and I might just keep the girl for myself. Now give me my money.
“You’re not getting anything until I see my daughter.”
“Daddy!” I exclaimed.
“Cindy! Don’t worry daddy’s here baby.”
“See she’s just as pretty as when I found her. I’m gonna hate to see you go girl, but a deals a deal. The money?” Kent said.
“Here. You better not have touched her!”
“Excuse me sir, but Ima kidnapper not a rapist. Heeeheeehee!”
“He’s telling the truth dad” I responded.
“As promised here’s your little gal”