Late Night Works

Creative Writing Pieces by Jacob Weinrich

15/13/14

Table of Contents…

Lightning 3

If I should Die Before I Wake…

5

Light 6

Closer to Home 7

Rich Man 11

Mind in Exile 12

Night of Jazz 14

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Lightning

I want to be lightning, the rain transformed.

Powerful and swift and bright

Wondrous, fearsome, beauteous in nature.

I have seen it with every bolt that has stricken the earth

Never once losing the voltaic splendor in its figure.

Mighty enough to obliterate foes into mere ash piles

Yet no closer are they to matching its ferocious speed.

Its brother lets out an almighty cry from the heavens

Warning the unsuspecting masses of its imminent arrival

Only to have already passed divine judgment.

Even without brother by its side,

One need only turn their gaze to the sky

To realize that this light is not the same

As your Father’s Light.

No, this is the light of destruction

Meant only to be admired from afar

Never to be harnessed in such magnitudes

Revered for its magnificent grace

Feared and respected by witnesses, survivors alike

As are all great forces of nature.

To only last for a second

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Yet to leave such an everlasting impact

Through the Earth’s impalement

Shaken right to its very core

Hailing from a sky, darkened in storm

Its name is Lightning, the rain transformed.

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If I Should Die Before I Wake…

If I should die before I wake,

Let me know how much I matter.

When humility has reached its humble peak,

Tell me how I haven’t lived in vain.

Lie to me but only when it feels right

Give me the truth if you think it’ll set me free.

Shed light on a soul when life becomes cruel

And show me how a tin man’s heart is still real.

Tell me a tale of adventure and romance

So my last dream in life is of that other than death.

As the sun’s golden rays begin to fade

And the moonlight sky shows brightly with stars,

Say goodnight with your sweet soothing voice.

So if I should die before I can wake,

Let me sleep soundly into the morning next day.

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Light

I am not heavy, not even the slightest bit to be honest. I am light. Anything or anyone described as myself should be easy to pick up or lift. “Light as a feather” some might even say. I am not limited to this state of being though. As light, I have been described as, while also used to describe, many things. People have referred to me as the polar opposite of darkness. I brighten everything around me and the bigger and brighter, the better. I can lead others away or out of the dark and towards me when they are lost within. Sometimes, I am said to be the force against evil, fighting away all sorts of terrible and awful things. I suppose that’s where the term “guiding light” comes from. The more and more I think about it though, it almost sounds like a biblical reference to me. Even so, it’s not that unusual for me to be associated with some form of religion, be it Catholic or Jewish or whatever faith you might practice. It means little to one with no bodily shape or figure of any sort. That aside, I have been used to describe a scenario of ease or little stress. For example, someone might say they’re in a light situation. If you don’t understand what I’m trying to say to you, try not to think about it too hard. You might end up feeling “light headed”. I apologize for my terrible humor but my point is that I am many things. I am simply a concept for you and the rest of humanity to twist to your

liking. If you really wanted, I could stand for darkness and evil. I could be used to describe all those weighty objects instead. But no, that is not what I am used for, not a single one of

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those things. I am light and I am the concept that you and everyone else created me to be.

Closer to Home

“It looks completely different than I remember it”, I uttered in awe, particularly to no one. “Hard to believe the park is buried under all that snow.” As we drove by on the iced, curved road leading in behind our subtle neighborhood, I glanced once more at the paper white objects, misshapen yet familiar still, and then the reed-lined pond, iced over even more so than the street could ever hope to be.

“Yeah, look at how nice and pretty it looks”, my mother added from the head of the van as the rest of my siblings subconsciously agreed with their oohs and ahs. I felt the same way, although I made no other attempt to express the emotion vocally. All I could do was replay the image of snow white bliss in my head as if I were an IPod stuck on repeat, playing a song that was worthy of constant repetition. The memory, in its own ironic twist, kept me warm for the remaining two minutes we had left on the car ride home, although I’m sure the van’s ac played a bigger role in keeping me nice and toasty beforehand. We were heading back home from a professional indoor soccer game at the nearby arena, being lucky enough to have our own “connections” in order to get the six of us some good tickets. Because of the arena’s location relative to where we live, we had to take the route leading right past the park. Otherwise, it’s out of sight and out of mind. However, seeing the park once more, even in its frosty

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conditions, put me in a state of reminiscence. That’s a good and memorable feeling I haven’t felt for a long time.

I can’t remember the exact day, month, or year when the Callahan Bros. Park was built. You would think that I would at least know the year, considering it was being constructed in the backyard of my own neighborhood. I suppose it was during the summer transition between my freshman and sophomore year in high school. Nevertheless, it was finished and ready to be used not only by my siblings, neighbor friends, and I, but also by the brand new, more expensive looking neighborhood that was also undergoing construction work at the time. Don’t get me wrong, the houses around me are pretty decent for a middle class family. But, after visiting some of the open houses in that new community myself, I could feel the distinct difference between middle class and upper-middle class bearing down upon my family. Regardless of the slight and meaningless difference, anyone was welcome to enjoy the park.

One of my earliest memories there is actually almost no different than any other memory I have from the park. It started out like any other summer day there: My three younger siblings and our three neighbors, triplets in fact, all gathered there in the afternoon sun. The residing playground was pretty nice and spacious, having plenty of obstacles for us all to run around whenever we played tagged. We were all an athletic bunch so it seemed like a great way to stay in shape, running around for about an hour or so and avoiding whoever was it. By the time we had finished hanging around the bright blue slides and the chained up swings, the street lights went on to shed some light on the darkening sky. Normally, we would have all been

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home by then. On that particular night however, we didn’t leave just yet. We stayed until the night sky had completely enveloped the sun, crowning the moon at its peak instead. At that point, we all headed toward a small, nearby hill, hardly worthy of being called such, and we each either took a seat or laid back and just stared at the sky. I can recall lying down, staring at a speckled sky with glittering stars that weren’t too bright but certainly not so dim that they didn’t stand out. We hadn’t been there for more than five minutes before we had to walk all the way home. Then again, there was no need for a whole five minutes anyways. It was a moment, much like all other great moments, that lasted for a lifetime.

A few years later, before and during my first semester of college I started seeing this girl with whom I had a sort of on and off relationship with. The park was also known for luring teenagers to its one sided basketball court, so, during that summer, I brought her to the park for a friendly game of basketball, trading in the subtleties of walking for the luxury and privilege of driving that came with age. While we shamed ourselves with our awful basketball skills and teased each other about it, I started to tell her how great this park was and how much time I had spent here over the summers. She shared her summer experiences with me in turn, one of which included her going to Australia for the entire break. We both had such fond memories of summer vacation and the more we shared that day, the more fun we had playing basketball and forgetting about how bad we were at it. We don’t talk to each other anymore but even with as sad as it may be, it still makes for a great memory.

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I still have a few minor recollections in between the first memory and the more recent one of course. Between my junior and senior years, I spent some of my free time getting into shape for varsity soccer. On certain mornings, I would get up and somehow convince my lazy self to go running. Using my house as the starting point, I would set a nice running pace for myself and, excluding the shortcut through a neighbor’s backyard, end up heading all the way to the park and back, making it about a one mile run. Every time I reached the park, I would always take a second for a quick breather, maybe even treat myself to the drinking fountain, if it was working of course. The last memory that comes to me conjures up a dreary gray sky in my mind. I cannot recollect the year or season and for all I really know, it could have been a dream. However, despite the monotonous overcast, it was still a somewhat fond memory involving a pleasant phone conversation with a distant friend, one that is not only dear to me, but one whom I would gladly refer to as sister, if we shared any sort of blood relation at all. My mind continues to wonder onward.

“Hey, you awake back there? Come on, let’s get inside already, it’s freezing cold outside!” My father snapped me out of the trance that had taken hold of my head. The clouded daydreams in my head dispersed while the white sky above had shown no signs in parting with its own clouds. I unbuckled my seat belt as I gathered myself for reality. I stepped out onto a misshapen, snow covered yard and shut the van door behind as I starred up into the blanketed atmosphere. There will be more to come, at least by next summer anyways. The reminiscing had only truly ended when I started the short walk home.

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Rich Man

The life of Nathan Halburn seemed so glorious to those around him. With both of his parents working as successful doctors, monetary issues were nonexistent to them. Growing up, Nathan had received all the best days, went to the better schools, and so much more. Surprisingly, he never thought much of his family’s wealth and was seemingly ignorant to it, never purposely flaunting it off to his little friends. By the time he had reached high school, his ignorance had vanished but his attitude towards the money did not. He only saw his family’s wealth as trivial and nothing more. He even carried that same mindset with him into college. He only sought to obtain his degree in engineering, eager to learn the workings of electronic devices. His parents weren’t entirely on board with his career choice but went ahead and paid for all of his tuition, books, and other materials he may have possibly wanted. He was not alright with any of this though. He denied ever needing all of the “junk and crap” that his parents gave him. They only dismissed his disapproval while calmly asserting their own distaste in their son’s career path. Nathan was outraged and distanced himself from his parents. He cared very little to contact them for the longest time. So long in fact, that he hadn’t heard from his parents for an entire year. It wasn’t until his graduation ceremony from Tech school that he finally received word from

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them. Their will was very explicit about the importance of his attendance at the funeral.

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Mind in Exile

I had that thought again. The one where I’m on a hospital bed after some terrible event has transpired, be it a car accident, getting shot by someone, or whatever else my head can come up with. I would be lying there, practically emotionless and sternly yet uncaringly staring up at the ceiling. Sometimes I’ll have one visitor, other times I might have quite a few. I believe it was my ex that came to visit me this time though, despite the fact that we haven’t talked for months. She wanted to talk and feel sorry for me about whatever predicament I had been put in here for. I didn’t care though. I didn’t want pity from her, but there was that one part of me way deep down inside that was glad to have her here to see me. I’ve been trying to kill off that part of me for quite some time. Every time I think I have escaped its tiny grasp though, there will always be something to pull me back in. That nagging thought at the back of my head returns and most of the time, it’s thanks to some lousy or cheesy dream I had of her.

I know I went off base with my original thoughts concerning the hospital visits but it was something I had to get out of my system. That is exactly what my hospital thought is in actuality; though I guess I should consider it to be more of daydream. Whenever I have something I just want to get out to somebody, something I just want to scream or lash out at them, I think of being in the hospital. I believe that whomever it may be, they might feel compassionate, indebted, or care enough to come and visit me in the hospital. I’ll just have that same glance toward the blocked off sky when they walk in. They’ll make the usual and expected small talk one makes to someone they first visit in a hospital. Then I’ll get down to it. Tell them to stop making

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small talk. Tell them to tell me why they came here in the first place while maintaining my constant upward gaze. From there it gets a little hazy, as the topic does vary from person to person. All I can say is that at some point, someone will be yelling and it will most likely be me. It’s not entirely as if I hate the person though. I just want them to actually care about my opinion and listen. Other times, it’ll be because I want to tell them something I never had the guts or courage to say before. Being stuck on a hospital bed due to some ailment just seemed like it would make a good excuse and environment to visit, to chat, and to make for a chance to get it all out it the open. But I can’t do that in reality. I cower behind judgment. I hide behind the thoughts of misunderstanding and the fear of it all going to hell. I exiled myself from my own opinions and emotions. I lie to myself in those

daydreams, prophesizing that if the worst were to happen to me, I might finally find conviction and resolution in the pain and suffering I endure.

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Night of Jazz

Out of place and out of character,

I shuffled through doors of ornate gold lining.

Quality, borrowed clothes on my back

Hide my shame and inadequacy from the world.

Men and women, generations ahead of myself,

Put my youthful soul out to pasture

While nerves build upon their own towers.

My father leads us to the balcony,

The crimson, velvet chairs looking to be filled

Like a glass that is only half full of life.

We sit, we wait, we watch.

Darkness finally came to embrace us

Just as the glass becomes full.

I stared downward and onward

With the eyes of the old all around me,

Gazing upon that which had yet to be seen by myself.

Aged in the years, he strolls onstage hurriedly,

Eager to give his viewers what they came for.

Accompanied by another elderly gentleman on bass,

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His introduction was that which we knew already

From our hardened papers in hand or on lap.

I knew nothing of his kind of work,

Yet I never closed off my mind from it.

He began his show, fingers gliding across keys

Of white and few of black.

I knew not how to play but cared no less,

Except for the music.

I listened with wonder on my ears,

Each tune this artist seemed to perfect.

It was only for the one night

And though it may never happen again,

The peace in my head was nothing but real

As the old pianist performed that jazz.

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