Justin Fong Cruz
Bio
Justin Fong Cruz is a freelance artist based in Winter Park, Florida, and is currently attending FCC.
Stories (19)
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Madalynn
I loved the sound of car accidents, don't ask me why, but something in its unsettled breath of metal, glass, and impact made me feel an awakening of higher purpose, like I was in on the joke, far off, a spectator of omnipotence, of obsolescence. I met Madalynn when our cars crashed on that rainy day down by the pond. The accident itself was slower than I remembered, not ephemeral at all because something stayed with me as all that glass sprinkled upon my face like a beautiful wonder of timelessness, some memory of her face flickered for a distended amount of time, right next to me, even though she was a few feet away, in her own fucked up car, going through her own panic of things. My head flashed with quick and bright colors, and I did not even feel any pain. Nothing major had happened, it was just a big mess. It was her fault too, the accident. She did not stop when it was her turn to stop and I was, at the time, reaching for a CD, my mind in other rebuttals. Then it was all over. I found myself outside, sitting on the grass with a face full of glass and distortions. I felt the loose sun entering the little red holes in my face, sizzlingly. It had been a nice day a second ago, cooler even.
By Justin Fong Cruz5 years ago in Fiction
The Dharma Concerto
Dharma: an aspect of truth or reality. All dharmas are forms of emptiness. T. was all eyes, wild and vivid like there was something complex and mysterious just beyond those tiny blue eyes of hers! Lured each and every one of us to her like little druggie moths to a flame. We were like her favorite collection! We were the nonsensical entertainments of youth! Every day, we would joust for her. Anything that could win us attention, or special winnings with her. She had known us since childhood, and together, we made many amicable aspirations: whether in recording music or recording the destruction of our formidable minds. She loved each and every one of our muddy personalities, lifestyles, moods, and attitudes with fierce, amorous love! And we would have basically done anything for her. Death and all. We could decompose our very energies and soul! We were totally fucking doomed off the rip.
By Justin Fong Cruz5 years ago in Fiction
Dangerous Spiders
1. The first thing I notice as Amy Quills leads me to her giant house is the benevolence, like welcoming me to another world, here in this galaxy of crystal mirror windows, glass lamps of stars, splendid sculptures, and plutocratic architecture. She shies away from me, "Oh it's not that big a deal!" Oh, but it is, Amy. It's like nothing I have come to expect. A modern castle—some sort of secret cult, I know, is lurking past those iron-wrought gates, past the hedges of thick and untrustworthy greenery. The forest feels like it is closing in, but she just leads me on. Up the marble stairs, the command of the doorbell. A radiant chime, lasting longer than usual. "I should have worn a suit," I say. She gives me a sharp look, rolling her eyes.
By Justin Fong Cruz5 years ago in Fiction
The Night of Long Shadows
Everything that ever happened to them happened only in the house. They were young enough to focus on the simple magic of the house, the deep shadows within the house, the secret rooms, the strange sounds that crept up through the floorboards. They watched as the light flickered, distending, pushing them into a haunting, thought-like sequence that was unknown, yet unavoidable. Their untainted fears had started from some imagination, from a lucid memory of fiction and fear. Their parents told them stories at night, and then they dreamed intensely, starting from where the stories had left off, now exchanged for the bright and weird lands of their sleep. It was hard to tell a dream from the real thing to them.
By Justin Fong Cruz5 years ago in Fiction
The Ride
Even as the city spoke to them in seductive and festive whispers, Sam and Becky were still bored, stuck in the middle of the carnival stream of lights and excitement. The airy hoard ignored them for the better parts of drunken convalescences and glitter. Sam and Becky did not have a cent to their names. They walked along the streets, staring at the industrial whorls around them. The warm rush of exhaustion and absolution passed by. Sam kicked an empty can that landed on the road. It was instantly flattened by cars and flung right back in their direction.
By Justin Fong Cruz5 years ago in Fiction
STAR GONE
The last thing that hung in the red little town was a weird insect-like voice that hugged and bugged the closed doors with a dramatic push, and the roads bumbled with vivacity, and everything was tossed up and wild. Then, in the distance you see a car coming, and it keeps its thundering for a long while before coming to a stop at Mission Bay. He entered Mission Bay, filled with white technology and giant flowers that hung in huge vases on the rock walls. Then, you see people come inside the building, talking quietly, all about the same thing, that they only had seventy hours before the meteorites hit their bay, which belonged on a moon, a time in the future. Emerald Captain ordered important messages to the star elites, and everyone obeyed him and does his or her specific jobs. He hired Cake Williams to lead the team past the star grass, which was a term that was known in the red little town to be a space in time where the matter they will pass becomes smaller than they were, and lasting a lot longer. It was known that while passing through space grass, one tends to lose himself in the infinite bored momentum of a feeling of forever that was only stuck for a few years in real-time on the moon. Cake Williams ordered his first assistant, a young Jupiter kid with great big eyes and wearing the color blue, his name was Bleek, to search the long lights up ahead for the pilot's wrongfulness in a stretch in time. "Keep a close watch, Bleek," Cake Williams said. Then the meteorites came and blew everything up, and a lot of people died, and then there was only a few left in the population in town, and there were about forty or so left, including Cake Williams and two of Bleek's seeds. Bleek died soon later in a short mission past the first wave of the space grass. The mission was labeled a stupid mission, a term that was known in the town. The mission talks about the sleeping self passing under the space grass, rather than above, and thus, mirror a small enough piece of time as to render his or herself safe while passing through the grass. But Bleek never made it back out, and Cake Williams was most struck by this tragedy. Then more meteorites came and took out seven more men. They passed through the space grass for fifty thousand years. "When will this ever end." No one dares answer back, not even the dogs. The red star blows red dust into the air and you can feel a small red metal thing drilling into the back of your neck. You will feel this sensation for fifty years, then fifty years more, always repeating. The town never left the space grass, and only three survived the bending's end. Cake Williams was one of the three survivors of the "Thousand-Year Sleep" which was a term that was only known to the three survivors including himself.
By Justin Fong Cruz5 years ago in Fiction
Mud Baths
The heat ate their bodies slowly, between trees and swamps, as mosquitoes converged in the sticky wrap of the oxygen. They looked upon the dead waters, hoping something more would become of their lives. Lisa and John always shared the same cigarettes, the same bottles of alcohol, daydreaming and distending. Nothing was accomplished. The cicadas screamed their ephemeral cries, like some sort of unique haunting above them. Sometimes Lisa and John would read down by the river. Languid pages blinked in the dry wind. Or they would just look at one another, in silent language.
By Justin Fong Cruz5 years ago in Fiction
