Creative Writing
I write essays, poems, short stories and songs. My poetry has been
published in successive issues of SATURDAY AFTERNOON, an anthology of L.A. poets.
My essays have appeared in The Foolish Times, a monthly humor magazine.
A LUCKY DAY
I wallked into the Dollar Tree store in Salinas looking for typewriter ribbon. If any place sold ribbon for my old manual typewrier it was the Dollar Tree. The clerk was kind of a jerk, looking at me funny when I inquired.
What’d’ya want that for”? he asked, oblivious to what a manual typewriter even was.
“I’m writing my life story,” I replied sardonically.
Looking down, I noticed the corner of some sort of bill.. an expired Lotto ticket? I bent to tie my shoe. It was a $100 bill. I bought the ribbon for $1 and left $99 richer.
© 2019 C.S. Badin
THE MUMMY
(honorable mention 2011 Monterey Weekly short story competition)
The Mummy needed more bandages. He was starting to unravel and the heat wasn’t helping matters. Now, bits of his putrid grey flesh were showing through in unlikely places. He shambled slowly into CHOMP and pressed the elevator button which would take him to the third floor where the nurses kept all such supplies. The “ding” of the elevator doors opened heralding the exit of Betty Lou Jenkins, who had just received plastic surgery on her face, neck and arms. Her doctor informed her she’d be bandaged up for at least three weeks. It was love at first sight.
© 2011 by C.S. Badin
FRAN FRANCIS
Today I met a woman by the name of Fran Francis. Frances Francis, if you want to get technical about it. But, really... she was born, ‘Frances’, and then ended up marrying a man whose last name was ‘Francis’ .. so from then on in she was cursed and/or blessed, depending on one’s point of view, with having the same first and last name. Well, other than the spelling of course, as her first name was spelled with an “e” and her last name was spelled with an “i”. She further explained to me, “To avoid any confusion most people just call me Fran. But whenever I have to sign any legal documents, then I have to sign it Frances Francis.” Geez, all I can say is it’s a darn good thing first name and last name weren’t spelled exactly the same, or she’d’ve gotten dizzy!
I met Fran quite by accident in the parking lot of the Monterey TRADER JOE’S as she was putting away the last of her groceries into the trunk of her car. I had an appointment to see my chiropractor up on Cass Street and I’d just missed the bus. After asking not one, not two, but three different bus drivers as to which other buses drove up Cass?, I came away with no clear answer, nor any concise timetable. So, being as I had only ten minutes to get there I decided to walk.
The thing is, my left hip didn’t feel all that good, which is why I was going to my chiropractor in the first place. Nor I didn’t find the idea of walking uphill all that distance particularly appealing. So I asked the Universe for a ride.. and that’s when I spotted Fran! Next, my mind observed all the visual cues, categorized them, and from that fine point of perception made an immediate, instinctual decision: here’s a woman putting groceries in the car so she’s leaving.. check; she’s and older lady and doesn’t look much like a real serial killer and so she’s probably safe.. check I asked to be given the perfect ride, it has now manifested and I am being guided to her .. check. So, all systems go; check, and.. action!
And, to make a short story even shorter.. Fran unwaveringly and unhesitatingly said “yes” and gave me a lift up the hill! There was no drama, no problems.. we hit it off right away. I told her I’d been praying for the right connection, and that’s when I looked over and happened to notice her little standing crucifix attached to her dashboard. As I got out of the car Fran told me she didn’t usually ever pick up strangers. I asked her why she had done so with me this time? She took a moment to think about it, looked me straight in the eye and said she’d just felt I had a good vibe. Hmmm.. maybe they oughtta rename her, ‘St. Francis.’
© 2010 by C.S. Badin
It was almost 3 o'clock in the morning when I first heard the voices. I shot straight up in bed and sat perfectly still and listened, barely breathing and straining to hear any other sounds while trying to focus and see if I could make out anything unusual in the inky blackness of my bedroom. Nothing; I heard and saw nothing.
I inhaled deeply and let out a sigh of relief. But, no sooner had I relaxed when I distinctly heard low, ominous, deeply guttural gurgling and gagging sounds. Suddenly the silhouetted figure of a man emerged from the darkest corner of my room behind my red velvet drapes. He began approaching me in slow motion, walking as if he were moving through thick honey. Raising his arms ever so slowly he deliberately showed me his outstretched hands which kept opening and clenching, opening and clenching, in preparation for what appeared to be my impending strangulation.
Simultaneously, I heard another voice--that of a woman's--screaming, screeching, hissing and howling.. all the while seeming to fly around my head circling like a flight of hungry vultures. Her cacophony of voices so high-pitched and bizarre, and so unnatural sounding, that her banshee cries temporarily diverted my attention away from the one thing I desperately needed to pay close attention to--the oncoming apparition bearing down upon me--that is, if I valued my life.
And, not being so masochistically-inclined in this lifetime as I'd been in others, I opted for a quick get-a-way and ran like hell to the safety and confines of my bathroom where I'd hung so many mirrors and crucifixes on the walls that most demons who tried to enter there were instantly burned and disintegrated into a pile of dust, right on the threshold, the moment that they saw their own reflections.
But.. I'm afraid I'm getting a little ahead of myself! So, let's start at the beginning shall we? And will you permit me to divulge the one thing about my family so special that I've never told another living soul...?
copyright 2007 by C.S. Badin
L.A. ROOMS
I live in a house on stilts
The floor boards lean back down towards earth,
The ceiling battles at odd angles to itself
Each window a curved afterspace of decision,
An announcement of diverse precision.
My table top glistens by the 'lectric light -
A golden glow emitting from chinese pink-flower'd device.
And my icons enumerate themselves to themselves
Meeting in unlikely corners -
They nod "hello" to all the barren spaces
Hoping to spark their inner flames.
Books, papers, fabrics, records -
Transfiguring of the wooden vestibules
Into an earthplane existence:
They, pretending to be inanimate
And I, pretending to be human.
Camera photos lying around
Eating up dust and making a
New and different pigment.
My library of akashic records
Multiplies each day according to
The frequency of the U.S. mail.
Devotional trinkets are stored on the tablesides
Waiting for the perfect actor to use them
In some unknown ancient ritual.
Come into my rooms and see my paintings,
Vast historians of my dreams -
They'll tell you of all the hidden meanings.
A nightmare's excursion can best be
Described by the crystal-clear light of day,
And my rafters hold innumerable visions...
©1976 by C.S. Badin
The sound of one cat purring,
The vibratory sound -
Must be equal
To the sound of two people making love.
Total contentment,
Total union,
Total joy.
The sound of one cat purring,
A healing engine of life.
When my cat purrs,
He usually is laying on my stomach,
and his motor seems to plug in -
He seems to plug right into my center
And I feel this incredible connection,
This incredible comforting and relaxing
Feeling.
The sound of one cat purring,
Like being back inside
My mother's womb.
© 1976 by C.S. Badin
Please also visit these sites:
WRITINGS:
http://storiesonthego.livejournal.com/ (very short stories)
http://thecatcorner.livejournal.com/ (humor, satire, social commentary)
© 2023 by Catherine Badin
no images or words are to be downloaded, copied, or used without permission of the artist