By: Jensen Bodholdt
I look at her,
she looks at me,
both of us,
too blind to see.
We cannot hide,
we cannot run,
the blinding light,
we're chasing the sun.
Where will we go,
I cannot say,
all I know -
we cannot stay.
The darkness,
it's closing in,
both of us,
hiding from sin.
I hold her hand,
and she holds mine,
and we hold our breath,
as we cross the line.
Simply broken,
it is no lie,
hand in hand,
ready to fly.
Published on booksie.com.
https://www.booksie.com/580260-resist
Tuesday, June 12, 2018
Tuesday, June 5, 2018
The Smiling Man
By: Jensen Bodholdt
"Spare change please?" a tattered old man begged on the corner of the city sidewalk. It was nearing Mid-January in the city, during those times the cold weather was unbearable. He was wrapped up in a ratted blue blanket overtop a thin winter coat that had more holes than stuffing. In his ungloved hand, he held out a moldy coffee cup. His fingernails were stained dark and his knuckles were turning white from the bitter wind that whipped through the city. It was obvious that he was freezing and on the brink of frostbite, his stature gave this away. Although, his expression gave off a different feature. His eyes were bright and focused, his eyebrows were arched in a hopeful position, and he wore a small smile on his face. Never once did this expression falter.
A young mother and her child walked past him. The little girl attached to her hip, tugged on the hem of her mother's shirt to get her attention. When the woman saw the man, she quickly pulled her daughter closer to her and picked up her pace, giving the man a disgusted look as they passed by. Even then, his smile did not fade.
"Thank you anyways," he called after the woman and her child. Throughout the day, a few people, here and there, would drop a small amount of change in his cup. He thanked everyone who passed by, whether they spared change or not. He remained in this state of gratitude the whole time.
When the evening came and gone and the street lights began to turn on, the man stood up from his claimed spot and stretched his legs. He then counted his earnings and dropped them into a small burlap sack that he stored in the inside pocket of his coat. He neatly packed up all of his belongings and started to trek down the darkest alleyway. There was an abandoned building a few yards from the corner he sat on. A broken down awning was attached to the building. The old man took shelter beneath and soon drifted off to sleep. Even in his most unconscious state, he remained smiling.
The next morning, the old man began his daily routine all over again. He walked to the nearest cafe and bought a small, burnt muffin. He ate his muffin on his way back to the corner that he sat on the day before. And thus, his day began. The man did this every day, no matter rain, nor shine, nor sleet, nor snow. He would sit in this spot all day, and never once, did he frown.
One day, in mid-spring, the man was sitting in his usual spot, with his usual cup, and his usual expression. The streets were wet from an early morning rain shower. His hair was stuck to his forehead and his dingy clothes clung to his body, still soaking wet from the rain. A young woman was walking by. She saw the smiling man sitting on the cold, wet sidewalk and began to frown. She walked closer to him and squatted nearby.
"Why are you smiling?" she asked him, her tone was a mixture of sorrow and confusion, with a hint of curiosity. The old man looked at her and his smile grew larger.
"I've sat here, every day, for the last ten years. People walk by, sometimes they drop some coins in my cup, sometimes they walk right on by without taking notice. Never once, have I been asked that question," he took a deep breath and looked her in the eye, "I smile because I am alive."
"But you have no home, no money, no decent change of clothes. That's not something to be happy about," she replied. He gave a small chuckle.
The man placed his hand on top of her hand and replied, "Material things, like jobs and houses, they don't bring true happiness. True happiness comes from within. I am happy because I am grateful. I am happy because I am strong. I am happy because I know who I am."
"And how do you find that happiness?" the young woman asked, almost hopeful.
"You just have to look inside."
"Spare change please?" a tattered old man begged on the corner of the city sidewalk. It was nearing Mid-January in the city, during those times the cold weather was unbearable. He was wrapped up in a ratted blue blanket overtop a thin winter coat that had more holes than stuffing. In his ungloved hand, he held out a moldy coffee cup. His fingernails were stained dark and his knuckles were turning white from the bitter wind that whipped through the city. It was obvious that he was freezing and on the brink of frostbite, his stature gave this away. Although, his expression gave off a different feature. His eyes were bright and focused, his eyebrows were arched in a hopeful position, and he wore a small smile on his face. Never once did this expression falter.
A young mother and her child walked past him. The little girl attached to her hip, tugged on the hem of her mother's shirt to get her attention. When the woman saw the man, she quickly pulled her daughter closer to her and picked up her pace, giving the man a disgusted look as they passed by. Even then, his smile did not fade.
"Thank you anyways," he called after the woman and her child. Throughout the day, a few people, here and there, would drop a small amount of change in his cup. He thanked everyone who passed by, whether they spared change or not. He remained in this state of gratitude the whole time.
When the evening came and gone and the street lights began to turn on, the man stood up from his claimed spot and stretched his legs. He then counted his earnings and dropped them into a small burlap sack that he stored in the inside pocket of his coat. He neatly packed up all of his belongings and started to trek down the darkest alleyway. There was an abandoned building a few yards from the corner he sat on. A broken down awning was attached to the building. The old man took shelter beneath and soon drifted off to sleep. Even in his most unconscious state, he remained smiling.
The next morning, the old man began his daily routine all over again. He walked to the nearest cafe and bought a small, burnt muffin. He ate his muffin on his way back to the corner that he sat on the day before. And thus, his day began. The man did this every day, no matter rain, nor shine, nor sleet, nor snow. He would sit in this spot all day, and never once, did he frown.
One day, in mid-spring, the man was sitting in his usual spot, with his usual cup, and his usual expression. The streets were wet from an early morning rain shower. His hair was stuck to his forehead and his dingy clothes clung to his body, still soaking wet from the rain. A young woman was walking by. She saw the smiling man sitting on the cold, wet sidewalk and began to frown. She walked closer to him and squatted nearby.
"Why are you smiling?" she asked him, her tone was a mixture of sorrow and confusion, with a hint of curiosity. The old man looked at her and his smile grew larger.
"I've sat here, every day, for the last ten years. People walk by, sometimes they drop some coins in my cup, sometimes they walk right on by without taking notice. Never once, have I been asked that question," he took a deep breath and looked her in the eye, "I smile because I am alive."
"But you have no home, no money, no decent change of clothes. That's not something to be happy about," she replied. He gave a small chuckle.
The man placed his hand on top of her hand and replied, "Material things, like jobs and houses, they don't bring true happiness. True happiness comes from within. I am happy because I am grateful. I am happy because I am strong. I am happy because I know who I am."
"And how do you find that happiness?" the young woman asked, almost hopeful.
"You just have to look inside."
Saturday, June 2, 2018
"I Was Free"
Warning: This short story contains physical abuse, please read at your discretion.
By: Jensen Bodholdt
By: Jensen Bodholdt
The thrashing of the waves could be heard in the distance. My nose burned from the salt that lingered in the air from the sea. The hot sun was beaming straight down on my face. I could feel a warm breeze on my bare arms, wrapping me in a warm embrace. My faded bruises were shining in the sunlight. I closed my eyes and let the warmth enter my entire body. I felt like I was floating on a cloud, but the only thing I could think of was that I was free from him.
His rough hands closed around my neck. I could feel everything. My lungs were pumping so hard just to get some air. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like my rib cage was about to collapse. He let go and let me drop to the floor. He hit my face again. The pain was shooting through my cheeks. He pushed me down more. Now I was laying flat on the ground. He pulled me to my back and pinned me down. I could feel his warm breath on my neck racing with rage. I knew now that this time was serious.
He’s done this before. It wasn’t so bad those times. Sometimes he just got high and then hit me around a little bit. I had gotten used to it, it happened almost every day. I didn’t know that he would get so angry this time. I didn’t think that he would do this to me. He was so emotional but strong. I could have left him, but I loved him, and he scared me. I didn’t want to leave him, I thought he would get better. I guess I was wrong.
He stopped pushing me down, he looked into my eyes and started to tear up. He got off of me. Pulled me up onto the bed. He told me that he was sorry. He started to cry. Big wet tears were streaming down his face. He sat down in the chair. I got up and told him that it was okay. I hadn’t noticed that I was crying until then. I could start to feel the pain in my neck though. I sniffled and wiped my tears. That’s when it happened.
I never thought that he would change so much in a short amount of time. He used to be a football player for our high school. After we graduated, he started to meet up with some people. I didn’t know they did the stuff they did until the night he came home drunk. I asked him what he was doing with his friends. He didn’t answer. I kept asking him more questions. He just ignored me and slumped over to the couch and passed out.
His arm shot up and smacked me across the face. He stood up and pushed me into the table. I hit my shoulder on the corner. I could feel blood seeping through my shirt and my nose. It was warm and it had a nauseating smell to it. I couldn’t breathe that much, I must have broken a couple of ribs. A pain shot through my body. He stabbed my leg. I could see the sharp metal go through my jeans, the blood was already halfway down my leg. For a second I could only feel the blood seeping out of my body. I tried to get up, my heart was pounding, and my long blonde hair was covered with blood. He grabbed my neck and pushed me against a wall. Pushing harder each minute. I could feel my throat closing. My time was creeping away, just like all the blood from my heart. The last thing I saw was my reflection in the mirror across the room. That person stared back at me and slowly lost color in their face. My eyes fell shut and my body went limp. I knew I was going to die.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a whole different scene. It’s like I was dreaming. My eyelids were light as a feather. The blood was gone, my bruises were fading and I couldn’t feel a thing. I didn’t know what had happened at first. Was I in a dream? Was I in heaven? I stood there waiting on the beach for what seemed like forever. I was so calm and rested, I didn’t even notice her standing there. She was dressed in all white and something about her made me happy. She smiled and held out her hand. I reached over, she cupped my hand, and we were gone. I was free.
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