Marilyn Mortician
Bio
We go about our lives pleasing others ignoring the words that desperately want to escape. I am a wildflower of the universe, a mother, and often described by the adjective odd. the previous influence and infect all parts of my writing.
Achievements (1)
Stories (18)
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It cost 0 cents to be Kind. Runner-Up in We Have a Dream Challenge.
We live in a world where we talk about our country's advancement, yet we are only 57 years removed from segregation. We live in a world where while the shackles of slavery have been removed yet there is a need for a Black Lives Matter movement. We live in a world where I as a white woman cannot imagine a mother's agony at having to worry every time her son left the house if he was going to be gunned down or pulled over because of the color of his skin. We live in a world where I as a high functioning autistic person am frightened and saddened by deaths like that of Elijah McClain. In a world that is often so somber, so muddied grey by despair and violence where do you find inspiration? In my opinion kindness can be a doorway to change. It can help take a person from a place of inaction to action and vice versa. Kindness isn't focused on one agenda more than another because it is a human agenda. One random word of kindness from a complete stranger during my teenage years inspired me not to kill myself. It was the inspiration that someone who didn't know me at all could be kind without feeling obligated to do so or making me feel lesser than began my dream of living a kind life.
By Marilyn Mortician4 years ago in Motivation
Autism is my favorite color
Colors or the absence of them are what help us navigate and experience the world around us. Often a part of getting to know someone is asking them about their favorite color. What if though your favorite color is beyond the norm? What if my favorite color is autism?
By Marilyn Mortician4 years ago in Motivation
Who, who are you?
I drifted quite unsure. Not certain I had ever done this before. Staring at not a void, but a piece of wall that's image had somehow shifted from an hour before. A face; no animal stares back at me from the woodgrain. Perhaps though it was my perception that had changed. Have you ever woken up and wondered had you ever woken up before? Such a strange feeling; an oddness that douses you in a wave of uncertainty. Uncertainty of not only who you are, but your surroundings as well. My skin gets goosebumps as the hair on my arms stands on its end. Frozen, I want to scream. However, nothing but silence spills from my mouth. The shape onto the wall shifts from a blur to an image all too clear. An owl glares a my every flaw and wrongdoing from the grain on the wall. I force myself to look away. Feeling stupid and overly dramatic I shudder.
By Marilyn Mortician4 years ago in Horror
Remnants of the fallen
When a tragedy happens not a nation but a world: a world connected by human relation can feel it in the very tendrils of their soul. While some treat it with indifference others feel it tug deep at their heart. either way we are a world joined together by the root of one planet. There are objects within these tragedies that have been given no thought. These are their stories.
By Marilyn Mortician4 years ago in Fiction
Descent to Madness
Nightmare and whim Bubbles of whimsy drifted around like fantasy was just within reach but nightmares were only to be found Long laid down in slumber black butterflies began weaving my dreams at nightmares seams. a quilt, no a tapestry of screams began to come to life a scene that was stitched into my mind every night. Bulimic ballerinas spinning their pirouettes china dolls picked off their porcelain. In these scenes i cannot escape in my dreams the views, the horrible news of alcoholics crawling down the street, licking the inside of every bottle they see. is it real? because that is how it feels. too constant to be a figment, yet just out of touch with reality. It is in the night i begin my plight, my descent into the realm of madness it is then I cast out the black eyed children, and rip the flesh from my skin. It is then that I awake screaming wishing, daring myself to fish out a dream A dream of fantasy and whim
By Marilyn Mortician4 years ago in Poets
