Mr. John G

Mr. John G- final

This is a poem I wrote back in high school for a Writer’s Craft course. It’s loosely inspired by Christopher Nolan’s “Memento”. The trick is to read it as a clock from noon to midnight. The meaning of the first verse changes the second time around.


An Apocalyptic Vision

The sun was extinguished in an instant like a candle caught in heavy rain. Billions worldwide looked upward as the night swallowed the sky whole at 3 in the afternoon. A collective confusion fell upon the world, but only a few really panicked.  At first.

Reason consoled most people’s fear: it was a solar eclipse, they thought, or some other natural phenomenon they knew little about that some scientist could easily explain away. But what explanation could be offered for the birds that flocked to the ground, the beasts that ran headlong off the cliffs, the fish that swam to shore?

The people of the world tended to their business, their day to day routines, trying their best to ignore the curtain of darkness. From far enough above, their cars seemed to move along like lines of ants; but instead of being at the beck and call of a Queen, they enslaved themselves to dead Kings on paper. The world of man continued as a machine: the cogs spinning, the wheels turning, the smoke blinding.

But if anyone stopped to look just a little closer, they might have noticed the absent stars in this artificial night, or the faint outline of two massive closed eyes that replaced the sun and the moon in the sky. They might have been able to see it coming: the ominous face that loomed over the world and destroyed it all with a look.

The Crossroads

The Crossroads

The scars drawn on his face depicted his ferocity; they were complimented by a sword worn with use, ready to unsheathe in case an opponent thought anything less of this proud and rugged warrior. He walked down a long winding road until he arrived at a greying monk lost in meditation, sitting upon a rock that split the path in two. It was near nightfall and the man was headed for a garden that legends said had ignored the sway of centuries by the magic of a marvelous fountain’s special water. These waters granted immunity to time- the gift of immortality- to all that bathed in it. The garden had come to be called by different names in the many legends that spoke of it: The Garden of Life, the Garden of Time Forgotten, but most knew it as The Hourless Sanctuary.

The crossroads divided the path evenly: one travelled left and the other right, but both travelled forward. Even had it not been getting dark, they would seem identical to even the well-versed traveller. Upon realizing that he had arrived at an impasse, the warrior stopped to ask the monk which of the two roads to take. Continue reading “The Crossroads”




Summary: A modern take on Pandora’s Box with elements of romance and horror.

All around me the crowd seemed in a trance, enslaved by the heavy bass and the sporadic light.Their winding bodies moved like a tangled mess of flailing limbs, drowning in the stench of alcohol, cologne and blissful ignorance. The music was loud and repetitive, like a cicada buzzing in my ears. My vision see-sawed as an empty bottle slept in my hand, and a couple— or probably not— had their tongues down each others’ throats just a few feet away from me.

Here I was standing, my heart feeling like someone took it and wrung it dry of happiness. Imagine having a girl in your life, or a guy—whatever your prefer— someone you thought was special. I don’t mean hallmark card special or give them extra class time to write a test special. I mean fucking special— in the ways they made you feel.

Now imagine they turn to you one day and tell you they just couldn’t do it anymore. The thing about special is it makes everything else special; and then, when it’s gone, it all turns dull. Not dull like a pencil that needs sharpening, or dull like that kid who still needs extra class time to write a test. Dull, like no amount of alcohol or scantly dressed women could make the world whole again.
Continue reading “Pandora”