Dylann Rhea's Blog, page 2
March 26, 2015
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March 17, 2015
Finley's first Saint Patrick's Day
The upbeat rhythm of Irish folk music bounced off of every nook and cranny of the pub where Finley sat finishing off the last of his pint sized beer. The bar tender who had been serving him all night had a washable green four leaf clover tattoo on her cheek that crinkled every time she looked over and smiled at him. She was a slender girl with auburn hair that flowed passed her shoulders and green eyes that reminded him of Linette. Linette. Finley flicked his hand in the air to indicate that he needed another beer even though he had already had four. All the other bar goers were drinking because it was Saint Patrick’s Day, but Finley was drinking to forget. They were loud and obnoxious with silly green wigs and ridiculous shirts that read ‘Kiss me I’m Irish’.
“Who was she?” the bartender asked as she filled Finley’s beer to the top of his glass.
“What?” he asked over the ramblings of nearby drinkers.
“The girl you just got out of a relationship with,” she said and slid him the beer. “I’ve been working here for years. I know a break up when I see one.”
Finley took a big gulp out of his glass, although it was mostly the foamy top. “Isn’t it a busy night for you to be chatting with an ex faerie warrior?” he asked.
The bartender smiled, making her tattoo crack again, “You’re funny.”
“I’m also a wee bit drunk,” he added with a half smile.
“Hey guys!” an over intoxicated man with a red lumberjack beard yelled. He had a rounded stomach with one of the shirts Finley hated and a small leprechaun hat on top of his bold head. “This guy,” he pointed excessively to Finley, “is actually Irish! With the accent and everything!” The man roughly wrapped his arm around Finley who simply glared up at the man. “Say something funny,” he requested.
Finley, being in no mood for games, reached for the man’s hand and tossed it off his shoulder. “Piss off,” Finley mumbled to him. The flirtatious bartender tried to stay within the approximate area to keep her eye on the two men.
“You see!” the drunken man stumbled against the bar to his friend. “Now,” he slurred, “say something like….’Me pot of gold!’” Finley continued to drink his beer with the man requesting various things for him to say. He kept sipping silently and the man grew angry once he realized Finley was not going to play his game. “Hey,” he said. “Buddy, its Saint Patrick’s Day. Be a good leprechaun and do as you’re told.”
Finley placed his beer down and locked his jaw before rising from his stool. He was nowhere near the size of the drunken man, but he was also not nearly as drunk as he was. “I said,” Finley told the man as he squared him off. “Piss, the fuck, off.” The drunken man’s face was washed with a shade of red Finley had seen very often in his father. He had guessed the man was very displeased to be spoken down to by someone smaller in front of his friends. He began to send a left hook to Finley’s face but before he could even finish his cross, Finley had the man’s arm twisted behind his back and his face against the bar. It was seconds before a very large security guard had both Finley and the drunken man by their collars dragging them out of the bar.
“It was the leprechaun, I swear!” the drunk man yelled to the security. They were both tossed out onto the street just outside the bar.
“I don’t want to see either of you two in there again,” the security guy warned.
“You see what you did?” the drunk man asked. As he stumbled to get up from the cold pavement, his plumbers crack flashed everyone passing by, including Finley. “It’s a holiday man! I just wanted to have fun and get drunk!”
“You’ve accomplished the get drunk part perfectly,” Finley said. He stood up from the ground and whipped his jeans off despite them being perfectly clean.
“Hey,” the bartender’s voice distracted Finley from cleaning his clothes. “Are you okay?” she asked him.
Squinting his eyes at her, Finley paused for a brief moment, “Shouldn’t you be working?”
“You missed a spot,” she said and pointed to his pants. Finley immediately looked at where she was pointed only to find nothing there.
When he looked back up at her, she had a grin stretched across her face that made Finley smile just as much, “You’re funny.”
“I also happen to have a twenty minute break,” she told him with a slight tilt of her head.
The next thing Finley knew, he had the bartender, whose name he still had not learned, pressed up against the storage room wall. She had her legs wrapped around Finley’s waist as his lips traced hers passionately. The bartender took a second to breathe and lifted her top off to reveal an undershirt that read ‘kiss me I’m Irish’. With Finley’s heart racing, he breathed heavily and said, “I’ve always found those shirts to be charming.”
To see more Finley, check out Tormented Soul here:
http://www.amazon.com/Tormented-Soul-...
Or visit http://dylannrhea.webs.com/ for updates!
“Who was she?” the bartender asked as she filled Finley’s beer to the top of his glass.
“What?” he asked over the ramblings of nearby drinkers.
“The girl you just got out of a relationship with,” she said and slid him the beer. “I’ve been working here for years. I know a break up when I see one.”
Finley took a big gulp out of his glass, although it was mostly the foamy top. “Isn’t it a busy night for you to be chatting with an ex faerie warrior?” he asked.
The bartender smiled, making her tattoo crack again, “You’re funny.”
“I’m also a wee bit drunk,” he added with a half smile.
“Hey guys!” an over intoxicated man with a red lumberjack beard yelled. He had a rounded stomach with one of the shirts Finley hated and a small leprechaun hat on top of his bold head. “This guy,” he pointed excessively to Finley, “is actually Irish! With the accent and everything!” The man roughly wrapped his arm around Finley who simply glared up at the man. “Say something funny,” he requested.
Finley, being in no mood for games, reached for the man’s hand and tossed it off his shoulder. “Piss off,” Finley mumbled to him. The flirtatious bartender tried to stay within the approximate area to keep her eye on the two men.
“You see!” the drunken man stumbled against the bar to his friend. “Now,” he slurred, “say something like….’Me pot of gold!’” Finley continued to drink his beer with the man requesting various things for him to say. He kept sipping silently and the man grew angry once he realized Finley was not going to play his game. “Hey,” he said. “Buddy, its Saint Patrick’s Day. Be a good leprechaun and do as you’re told.”
Finley placed his beer down and locked his jaw before rising from his stool. He was nowhere near the size of the drunken man, but he was also not nearly as drunk as he was. “I said,” Finley told the man as he squared him off. “Piss, the fuck, off.” The drunken man’s face was washed with a shade of red Finley had seen very often in his father. He had guessed the man was very displeased to be spoken down to by someone smaller in front of his friends. He began to send a left hook to Finley’s face but before he could even finish his cross, Finley had the man’s arm twisted behind his back and his face against the bar. It was seconds before a very large security guard had both Finley and the drunken man by their collars dragging them out of the bar.
“It was the leprechaun, I swear!” the drunk man yelled to the security. They were both tossed out onto the street just outside the bar.
“I don’t want to see either of you two in there again,” the security guy warned.
“You see what you did?” the drunk man asked. As he stumbled to get up from the cold pavement, his plumbers crack flashed everyone passing by, including Finley. “It’s a holiday man! I just wanted to have fun and get drunk!”
“You’ve accomplished the get drunk part perfectly,” Finley said. He stood up from the ground and whipped his jeans off despite them being perfectly clean.
“Hey,” the bartender’s voice distracted Finley from cleaning his clothes. “Are you okay?” she asked him.
Squinting his eyes at her, Finley paused for a brief moment, “Shouldn’t you be working?”
“You missed a spot,” she said and pointed to his pants. Finley immediately looked at where she was pointed only to find nothing there.
When he looked back up at her, she had a grin stretched across her face that made Finley smile just as much, “You’re funny.”
“I also happen to have a twenty minute break,” she told him with a slight tilt of her head.
The next thing Finley knew, he had the bartender, whose name he still had not learned, pressed up against the storage room wall. She had her legs wrapped around Finley’s waist as his lips traced hers passionately. The bartender took a second to breathe and lifted her top off to reveal an undershirt that read ‘kiss me I’m Irish’. With Finley’s heart racing, he breathed heavily and said, “I’ve always found those shirts to be charming.”
To see more Finley, check out Tormented Soul here:
http://www.amazon.com/Tormented-Soul-...
Or visit http://dylannrhea.webs.com/ for updates!
Keeping Writing!
There are times when I think my writing is useless, it could be for days or even weeks. Then there are days like today where I decide to change things up and write a drabble that makes me giggle to myself like a little kid. It's days like today that I realize how much I love writing. that being said I will be posting a short story for anyone who has read Tormented Soul later today!
March 7, 2015
Random Poetry
I am the in between.
The space that separates happiness and sorrow.
The unusual vortex of knowing but not knowing.
The lost pieces of me that shatter into a million glass shards.
The puzzle of life.
Piecing it together until it is complete.
There are no more pieces.
No more empty spaces.
No more in between.
The space that separates happiness and sorrow.
The unusual vortex of knowing but not knowing.
The lost pieces of me that shatter into a million glass shards.
The puzzle of life.
Piecing it together until it is complete.
There are no more pieces.
No more empty spaces.
No more in between.
January 19, 2015
Giveaway
This post is really just out of curiosity, would anyone be interested in a Tormented Soul giveaway? I've been debating if readers would be interested or not. Leave a comment if it's something you would participate in!
January 14, 2015
The rest of your life
The rest of your life. That was what stuck in my head after graduating high school. We grow up being told what to do and when to do it, then comes the last year of high school and all of the sudden you are granted the ability of choosing what you want to do. Personally I never understood that. How could you expect someone to just know what they want? That idea scared me, and not because it was the rest of my life, but because I didn't have an answer. I didn't even have a clue. So naturally, I decided to take a gap year, which was nice…until it wasn't. I started to get extremely bored and had nothing to do, which is why I took two classes at a Community College. It ended up being fine, but it wasn't satisfying. I was still bored and going to school, which I hated, so I dropped out. I ended up back to square one, and that wasn’t fun. One day the weirdest thing happened. I went to a psychic for a reading (I know not many people believe in that stuff but just bare with me). The first thing she told me was that I was lost. Of course she was right, it was something I never verbalized but was true. After a bunch of other things she asked me about my creative side. When most people ask me about this I assume they mean photography since that was really the only thing I was good at. When I said this she said 'no, your writing'. At first I hadn't even thought of that because I never really talked about it. I had written a story in eight grade and \ a story after I graduated high school, but it wasn't something I took seriously. Once I left, I started asking myself, 'what would I write about?' Eventually, I came up with the Storm Trilogy. When I started to take it seriously I realized this is what I want to do for the rest of my life. My point to anyone reading this post is: I know what it's like to be lost, I know that it's frustrating and annoying. I also know that sometimes you can't listen to societies rules. As far as we know we get one life, so you need to do what makes you happy even if you don't know what that is yet. So don't give up or feel like a failure because you're not. You still have the rest of your life to figure it out.
