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Sunday, April 29, 2012

Black Velvet

 By Zaria Von Mars

I looked for a sign.

When you left, a darkness shadowed my soul and my heart began to beat upward into my esophageal cavity, causing me to taste the food I ate just minutes before. You never turned to look back, and I never expected you to. But I wanted you to. My soul sprang from my chest and reached for you. But my body was so weighted in that moment, it couldn't follow.

The next day I'd felt so lethargic... so alone. I didn't want to get out of bed.

The bottles of pills were conveniently sitting on my nightstand, beckoning me. And as certain as you left me, I left. I left my thoughts. I left my misery. I left life. Please forgive me.


My name is Velvet. Or at least it was until I overdosed. Death is a liberating experience, let me tell you. All my life I've dealt with pain. Adversity. Hate. Bigotry. Sexual objectification. Ridicule. And they tell you these things make you stronger if they don't kill you. If they met me, they wouldn't make that statement. I suppose I'm a casualty of the character-building experiment society raises us on.

Flying is nice though. I don't have wings, I just coast. I weigh nothing, so I can coast all day. The wind doesn't sweep me away, it just blows through me since I have no physical body to resist it. I feel so free. I want to do everything, go everywhere. No one can see me, so maybe I will.

And I'm going to see him first.

No, on second thought, I need time. Time to reflect on what brought me here. I'm going home.


Wow, I can't believe I'm back here. This is where I spent most of my childhood. A rickety wooden house in Mobile, Alabama. I was an only child, and my mother took very good care of me. Her name was Joanne and she was the most beautiful woman in the world, with bouncy blonde hair and big green eyes. I don't remember much about my father besides the bullet my mother placed into his head before we left Kentucky. I was 7.

Mother always saw to it that I wore the prettiest dresses and shiniest shoes. Frilly lace bobby socks and pretty ribbons atop my thick, curly, black pigtails were everyday adornments.

I never knew I was Black until I moved to Alabama. Even though my father was Black, I was too young to really understand what that meant. Mother was White. The kids at my old school were White kids, and they made no difference between myself and the other White kids. In Kentucky, I was called "pretty," and "smart," and "charming." But in Alabama, I was called "nigger."

This house has so many memories. And HOARDERS. Whoever lives here should be ashamed; the floor is covered in junk and stacks of papers! Well, wait a second... this is my old stuff! My sheet music from when I took piano lessons. My pillows, embroidered with my name on them. My dolls. This house has not been lived in since Mother died and I went to live in Atlanta with Aunt Tina.

So many things have happened. Some good, most bad, but in the end... well, I committed suicide. Can't get a more final outcome than that.

Chapter 1: Bang.

Velvet sat on the front porch while her father and mother argued in the house. It was a beautiful day but she refused to leave the porch because she feared for her mother. She didn't know her father; he had only come around twice, this being the second time, and he ignored her both times; never even said hello to her.

The words that spilled from that house were words Velvet had never heard in her life. "Bitch." "Whore." "Cunt."

She heard her mother scream. She ran into the house, fearing for her mother's life. And she saw. She saw her father on top of her mother, between her legs, holding a gun in her mouth. Her dress was torn and bloody and his pants were pulled down, and she saw his bare buttocks forcefully moving up and down.

Velvet yelled at the top of her lungs "MOMMYYYYY!!!"

He immediately jumped up and turned, walking towards Velvet, his pants around his ankles, aiming his gun at the child.

At that moment, Joanne leapt up and grabbed him from behind. They wrestled on the ground for a minute. Joanne kept saying, "Run!"

But Velvet couldn't move. She watched her mother fight for her life, tearing her nails into his flesh while he punched her over and over with his fist, then pistol-whipped her until her face was a bloody mess.

Velvet stood there, horrified. And he sat up and aimed the gun right at the child. She closed her eyes.



The police taped off the area, and Velvet's mother and father were placed in ambulance vehicles. Velvet tugged on one of the officer's jacket. "Yes, sweetheart?" he said, as he scooped her up into his arms to take her to the car.

"Where are they taking my mommy?"

"Well," the officer said, matter-of-factly, "they have to take her to the doctor to make sure she's okay, then they have to ask her some questions."

"My mommy didn't want me to get shot. My daddy was gonna shoot me and she made him stop."

The police officer fought back tears as he buckled the child into the cruiser. This is not a situation a child should ever have to face, he thought to himself.

He got into the car and drove her to the hospital.

After being interrogated by the police for hours, Joanne was free to go. She walked into the children's play area to find her daughter fast asleep. She picked her up and left the hospital, walking home... which was 2 miles away. She carried her sleeping daughter all the way home, being careful not to disturb her.

The next morning, they hopped into his car and Joanne headed south until the car ran out of gas. Her goal was Miami. She ended up in Alabama.

Chapter 2: The Tooth Fairy

You know, I never knew how we survived until my mother passed. I never knew where the money came from to raise me and to pay for our little house in Alabama. To be honest, I never even gave it thought when I was a kid.

Mom was a sweet lady. Too sweet, sometimes. And she kept a lot of things secret. But when your walls are paper thin and you hear moaning and bedsprings squeaking in the next room, you pretty much know what's going on.

Mom had company every night, and they paid her well for her "company." She placed me in ballet, piano lessons, even softball. She always wanted a good life for me.

Unfortunately, Alabama didn't want me to have the life she tried to provide, and I wasn't allowed to perform in ballet recitals because I "wasn't ready." On the first day of piano lessons, the piano teacher came over, took one look at me and walked out. And in softball practice, the girls threw my uniforms in a pile and spraypainted them until they were soaked.

Mother ended up teaching me how to read sheet music and write compositions. And mother taught me how to tap dance the way her grandfather taught her. See, my mother's grandfather did minstrel shows back in the 1920's, wearing blackface. Little did he know that a little black baby would win his heart before he died.

My mother was such a strong presence in my life that I never doubted anything she did. Even when it came to Uncle Jimmy.

Uncle Jimmy wasn't really my uncle. He was one of the men my mother kept company at night. And I met him the night I lost my first eyetooth. I went to Mother's door and Uncle Jimmy answered, naked. I was trying to talk to my mother but she was fast asleep. He introduced himself. And when I told him what happened, he told me to bury it under my pillow for the tooth fairy. I was 9, and I told him I no longer believed in that type of stuff.

Uncle Jimmy told me to wait a minute, then he sat down on the edge of the bed and dug into his pants pocket, pulling out a stack of 20 dollar bills. I remember his words like it was yesterday:

"If you're good, I'll be the tooth fairy and I'll give you all of this."

The money was more money than I'd ever seen in one place in my life. And I trusted mom, so I figured I could trust him. We went into my bedroom and he told me to put the tooth under my pillow. I bent over to lift the pillow and he came closer, lifting my nightgown, touching me, telling me to be real good for him so he can give me the money.

It was a strange feeling, like I was in a dream. He continued to touch my most private places. Then he laid me on the bed.

When I woke up the next morning, the money was under my pillow and my body and mouth were covered in dry, flaky residue. I tried to turn my body to the side but my pelvic region was sore, and my sheets had a blood stain the size of a dinnerplate.

I took the money and hid it in a pair of balled-up socks, placing the ball under my mattress. Then I showered and came downstairs for breakfast, as if nothing happened.

I don't remember the sex. I just remember the throbbing feeling afterwards. And I remember him coming to my room many times after that, sliding money under my pillow and placing his penis in my mouth for me to suck.

And over the next 8 years, so many others would come into my room. They would give me money. And I would lay there and let them do things to me with their mouths, their hands, their penises... and I just kept quiet. Mom never found out... until the 4th of July Parade. The day she died.

Stay tuned for Chapter 3: The Parade

Saturday, February 25, 2012

The Argument: Banned from SmashWords, Read it Here!

She sat on the couch biting her nails as the hours ticked away. Her husband told her he was working late, not knowing his mistress called her to tell her he would be with her.

She felt the steam on the back of her neck from her anger. Dion was cheating, and she felt completely betrayed.

He walked in the door.

"Long day at work huh?"

Shit Just Got... REAL. #BANNED.

This is an email I received from Smashwords. As a result, some of my books will be banned.

Dear Smashwords Authors, Publishers and Literary Agents,

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Prison Guard

The Puerto-Rican female guard made her rounds down the corridor. Everybody stared at her thick, voluptuous frame as she walked. Her uniform was two sizes too small, and the poor sex-starved inmates could see her camel toe very well. Her large, soft ass looked so good in those ugly pants.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Current Project... "Black Man's Song," the Introduction

This story is very long, very dramatic, and very difficult to write. It's also very necessary.

We all know Frederick Watley. He's your brother, your father, your uncle, your coworker, your friend, maybe he's YOU. This story is a love letter to all Black men in America. Please read the introduction I've posted below. I'll keep all of you updated on the progress. 

Sunday, December 25, 2011

An Excerpt from that Viv & Jackie Book... SHEESH!!!

He pulled into the parking lot, dropping Viv off. She walked in the building, wet panties and all... and she felt that vibrating sensation again, this time, it was so powerful she couldn't keep her balance. She dropped her books and held onto a wall.

A couple guys got down on their knees to help her with the books, and when they looked up at her, her hands were on her breasts and she was moaning. Viv made them so horny they forgot all about picking up her books.