Here at Sacred Chickens, we are going to be publishing the stories that won our writing contest over the next couple of days, and today we have our second place winner. Be sure to check them all out and happy reading!
Second Place: "Jolene" by Ethan Willis
(Please be advised that this story contains graphic language and sexual situations)
We thought a weekend at Hilton Head would be good for our marriage. We made the four hour drive for the most part in the cold silence we were accustomed to. He drove while I looked out the window or checked my phone, occasionally telling him to slow the hell down. He would say I was a nag. I would tell him he would get us both killed. Not that a small part of me wouldn’t have minded that.
Here at Sacred Chickens, we are going to be publishing the stories that won our writing contest over the next couple of days, with the first going up today in this very post! Be sure to check them all out and happy reading!
FIRST PLACE: Coping Mechanism by Adam Padgett
Entry one, May 3, 2007
So the people in the white coats insist that I start writing down my personal experiences, thoughts, and feelings. I feel like it's stupid, but they'll probably take something away from me if I don't do this. I guess, since this is my first entry in this journal, I'll write a summary of things so far.
I think my name is Max. It's what the doctors call me. I wish I could remember my last name, but I've been in this place so long now that I forgot. I guess I'm about sixteen. All of the “experiences” they want me to write down are boring. All I do is stay in this white room and follow a schedule. I wake up when the lights come on; I bathe and take my meds. Someone comes in and teaches me about math and English and crap like that until time to eat. After I eat, the therapist comes in and we talk about junk. She's probably the one who suggested this stupid journal. After that, I just do whatever I can in this room until dinner and lights out.
That's my life as far as I remember. Same things happen every week. Nothing changes. As far as “thoughts and feelings” go, I've got nothing to write down that I haven't already told the therapist. There. I started the journal. Maybe this will be enough.