Max Flynn

charloft, 100 words -who are you?

deplusenplus — Wed, 24 Oct 2012 14:34:42 GMT

"What did dad give you?”

Having drinks with your sister, you think she looks just the same. What is it about your family that they all look just the same? Time doesn’t touch them the same way time touches everyone else. Maybe it’s just the way we keep our memories. Maybe it’s something else.

You watch her eyes glitter and your mind trips over heredity. Height, intelligence, coloring. What did your father give you?

“… that I can do anything,” she replies with a half smile and you know there’s more, “to anyone, anytime, without anyone else being the wiser.”

note: sister, Moira, borrowed - with much love.

charloft, 100 words -win

deplusenplus — Thu, 20 Sep 2012 13:17:31 GMT

This is not his house, this was her house, even though he’s the one that brought you here more than her.

Your father would dress you in hard shoes, creased pants, starched shirt. He would set you in the narrow wooden pew that his broad back and body would seem to consume and then sit in silence and still, forever it felt like in your little boy mind.

He wanted this to be his, which is why you think he stayed with her.

Light a candle for her.

Pray for bringing a new soul into the world that is bright.

charloft -represents your independent spirit or something you have gained independence from

deplusenplus — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 19:29:40 GMT

Both ...

charloft, 100 words -stubborn

deplusenplus — Thu, 28 Jun 2012 13:05:33 GMT

[A 14 year old Max]

He hates his birthday.

You hate his birthday.

Shuffling into the kitchen, he’s not shaved, he’s not dressed, he’s not anything. He’s been in bed for a few days in that dark, dark room. It’s early and not yet dawn. You’ve just gotten home and he’s sort of managing to get up.

He doesn’t even like cake.

You wonder, who the fuck doesn’t like cake?

You think he hates his birthday because he hates himself.

You hate him.

And you don’t feel like dealing with him so you say something that should send him back to bed. “Happy Birthday, Dad.”

charloft, 100 words -something or someone mysterious

deplusenplus — Thu, 17 May 2012 19:14:22 GMT

She makes that walk of shame all the way home.
Rumpled, tired. Slow walking. The sun is just starting to kiss the sky, but she knows that you’re asleep and will likely stay that way until the sun starts to dip with the turn of midday. Plenty of time to slip into bed with you and absorb your scent.

Barely making a dip in the mattress, she curls up beside you just in time that when you reach out your hand, she’s there. You stroke her lithe lines and she stretches like liquid beneath your touch. All is well.

*
Max’s cat, Dot

charloft -wednesday

deplusenplus — Wed, 16 May 2012 14:38:59 GMT

Go to the Flickr Last 7 Days page, and hit reload until you find a picture a) that has blue as a dominant color and b) that you like. Then write a response to it from your character's point-of-view/pertaining to your character.

*

Your mother told you that he painted your walls blue.
Before he even knew you, before he even knew of you – he had plans for you and you were wanted. In a house of white walls, he painted your walls blue.

Your sister told you that he hated blue.
Like ice or winter or cold. He hated them. And she told you that he wanted what he hated and hated what he had.

charloft, 100 words -tell us about a triumph, and about a failure

deplusenplus — Tue, 15 May 2012 14:54:52 GMT

You were 15 the first time you ever landed a punch to your old man. Even though he was big and gray with weight on all that height, he was fast. Even with his knees. That he could come to stand near you and not ever make a sound amazed you.

He called you stupid. His way of pushing you to be more clever, to think beyond the immediate. With his DNA you thought way too fucking much. Felt good to punch him. Felt awful for him to get that rise from you, for him to get you at all.

charloft, munday -mothers, ooc

deplusenplus — Mon, 14 May 2012 19:17:03 GMT

1. Is your character's mother alive, or deceased? If alive, what kind of health / shape is she in? If not, how did she die?
*Max’s mother is deceased. Multiple myeloma.
This is significant because when he’s less than rational about things, he blames his father. His mother rotted from her insides from staying with his father.
She passed when he was a senior in high school.

2. Was she married, or a single parent? A young or older woman when she gave birth to your character? How many children does she have?
*Married. Just Max.

3. What sort of mother was she to your character when they were small? How did the relationship change as your char grew up?
*A loving, protective, happy mother. In stark contrast to the bounce of his father.

4. Was there ever / could there ever be a time when your character and mom were more like friends than parent and child?
*She died when he was young, and she was always mindful to be his mother and not be his friend. Max needed a parent.

5. If your character has children (or plans to), how did their mother's parenting style influence the character's own? (can be positive or negative influence)
*He would like to have children. He and his fiancé would like to have children. His mother’s parenting style would be relevant to his style.

6. Did mom have any sayings, quirks, or rules that still influence the character's thoughts or behavior? (you'll put your eye out with that crossbow!, don't wear white before labor day, etc.)
*Not so much that he remembers, but when he left home he did take a jar of marbles that was once hers from when she was small.

7. What role (if any) does your character's mother play in his or her story?
*Her muse predates his, so her story and RP interactions shape his character.

8. Does your relationship with your own mother influence how you write your character's relationship with his or her mother? Why or why not?
*No. I rarely write what is mine in story. I borrow from other people’s lives.

charloft -five rules you live by and one that you have broken

deplusenplus — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 19:44:57 GMT

1. Double knot your shoes
2. If you want to knock someone out, punch them in the throat
3. Never go to bed angry
4. Pay it forward
5. Never let them see you sweat

1. Respect your father

charloft, 100 words -weapon

deplusenplus — Thu, 12 Apr 2012 13:54:52 GMT

When you’re small, you have a view of the world that everyone has a life like your world. You imagine houses like yours, bedrooms like yours, mothers likes yours, sisters like yours. You imagine everyone likes their pancakes with mini chocolate chips and that everyone’s dad carries a knife.

You held it once, when he wasn’t aware. Not that he often left it out of his possession. Sometimes though, he would lose track of his possessions, he would lose track of everything for days. That knife, the heft, the hone, the metal. Not his weapon.

His silences were his weapon.

charloft, 100 words -communication

deplusenplus — Thu, 15 Mar 2012 21:31:41 GMT

You knew that she was in love with you by the way she always let you into her bed. Time of day, time of night, time of anything, without a word she would open to you. She was open to you.

You overstayed. You had the money to go a few weeks before you managed to not turn your car around at the town’s line just to go back to her. Just one more night.

You knew that she was in love with you by the way she made love to you even though she knew that you were leaving.

charloft, 100 words -the last time someone told you NO.

deplusenplus — Fri, 09 Mar 2012 15:18:54 GMT

“I want to go see her.”

Your father’s looming in the doorway, blocking your path. “No.”

“Get the fuck out of my way.” Something in you twists. Something desperate. You check him with your forearms to his chest. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t even shift his weight … your mom, she was so pale.

“No, Max.”

“Dad … get the fuck …” You check him again. Feel sick, short of breath. You need to get in. You need to …

“Max, she’s gone, Max.” He’s grappling for you and you’re wrestling with him.

“I need …” Your voice breaks. “… her.”

charloft, 100 words -prayer

deplusenplus — Thu, 23 Feb 2012 23:22:52 GMT

[a young teenage max]

-

It’s the first time you realize that you’re as tall as your father. He steps into you with his often menace, you are eye to eye. “You don’t have a prayer, boy.” His voice is a low growl as he uses his size to get you to step away, except he doesn’t have so much size on you anymore.

“I don’t think you believe in that, Dad,” your voice the same as his. You are the same as him.

“You don’t think I believe in God?” his eyes narrow in his temper.

“No, I think you think you are God.”

charloft, 100 words -got lucky

deplusenplus — Sun, 19 Feb 2012 14:55:19 GMT

“Mr. DiAmmazzi,” the national park officer directs my father’s attention away from me and to him. I’m just fifteen, slouched low in the chair.

“Dr.” my father corrects.

“Dr. DiAmmazzi,” the officer growls, “we believe your son started that fire on the beach. As you know, fires are prohibited on the beach.”

“You believe he did?” my father slowly smiles, towering over the officer, forcing the man to get his back up. “That does not sound the same as knowing.”

Slightly high, I'm reminded that getting caught or not caught is not about luck with my father, it’s about skill.

charloft -friday morning routine

deplusenplus — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 14:33:08 GMT

5:00am: kiss the girl, kiss the dog, kiss the cat. leave them all in bed.

5:05am: brush teeth, wash face, pull on tshirt, sweatshirt and jeans. cap on head to solve hair.

5:15am: stare into fridge, too early to eat. grab a soda and an apple. discover muffins on the counter, grab those as well.

5:20am: kiss the girl, kiss the dog, kiss the cat. leave them all in bed.

5:25am: coat, gloves, boots, out the door and into the truck where Ethan is waiting to take us to shift.

6:00am: welcome to the day.

charloft, 100 words -guilty pleasures

deplusenplus — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 15:49:38 GMT

I am not guilty about my pleasures.

Today, St. Peter's Cream Stout. Dark, lusciousness. Chocolatey goodness. With a bitter coffee finish that washes away the sweet creamy deliciousness of the begin. I’m talking about a frighteningly good dark beer that is the dessert to my day when I’ve eaten all the chocolate cake. I order just the one and take it at the exact right pace to enjoy every sip. So fucking unbelievably good.

Okay, so I feel a little guilty about ordering a beer with cream in the name. Like I’m a little kid and having a cream soda.

charloft, 100 words -two to tango

deplusenplus — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 21:43:40 GMT

“There’s no fucking way.”

“This was your idea. Give me your hands.”

“You’re going to hurt me.”

“Stop being a baby, give me your hands. And put your feet with my feet.”

“I’m telling you there’s no fucking way.”

“Your feet. With my feet.”

“I’m not going to be able to get up after this.”

“Then I’ll carry you.”

“You can’t carry me.”

“We’ve been over this. Feet with my feet. Now push up with your feet to make the A.”

“Seriously. This is going to break me.”

“What doesn’t break you makes for better sex. Your idea Max …”

*
[partner yoga double boat]

meme -20 questions

deplusenplus — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 17:13:22 GMT

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?
What time is it?

2. Pick a word that rhymes with DOOR?
More

3. Favorite meal?
Spaghetti and meatballs

4. What is your favorite ring tone on your phone?
Silent

5. Do you label yourself?
Hah. Nope.

6. Name the brand of the shoes you’re currently wearing?
Converse

7. Bright or Dark Room?
What the fuck? Not dark.

8. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Eating

9. What did your last text message you received on your cell say?
Got milk

10. What is your earliest memory?
My mother bandaging my hand

11. What do you wear to bed at night?
Murphy

12. Does anything hurt on your body right now?
My back

13. Have you been burned by love?
Nope

14. Ever done recreational drugs?
Yes and yes … and yes

15. What was the last thing you said to someone?
Later

16. Your full name?
Max Flynn Di Ammazzi

17. Do you speak your mind?
All the fucking time

18. Would you move for the person you loved?
Yep. In a heartbeat.

19. Are you touchy feely?
What?

20. Casual sex or relationship?
Past … present

charloft, 100 words -pragmatist or idealist?

deplusenplus — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 15:37:12 GMT

“9-1-1 center, what is the location of the emergency?”

…

“The house is on fire, the house just caught fire. Oh dear God, not everyone’s out …”

“The call is in, stay on the line. How many people are inside, do you know?”

“Three. Three. Three people live there.”

“Oh my God, I can see the fire. It’s everywhere.”

“Let me confirm the address you gave me.”

“Oh dear God, they’re inside.” Sobbing.

“Stay on the line ma’am, the call is in …”

…

Philosophy can go fuck itself. This is how I started my day. Response time, 6 minutes.

charloft, 100 words -The distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success

deplusenplus — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 21:41:01 GMT

“Mr. and Mrs. Di Ammazzi?” The second grade teacher welcomes them in. Dr. and Dr., actually. Maddie gives Bobby’s hand a squeeze, keeping him from giving the correction almost reflexively. The teacher is leafing through test results, “as you know, Max is extremely bright.” She smiles and gestures for them to sit in the tiny chairs. Bobby shakes her off, choosing to lean against the far wall. His eyes take in the classroom, the teacher, his son’s desk, everything.

“He’s going to be a challenge to keep engaged,” the teacher starts …

… “or he’s going to be trouble.” Bobby finishes.

charloft, 100 words -falsehoods we maintain

deplusenplus — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 13:45:28 GMT

“I’m getting married.”

“You’re what?”

Square your shoulders, don’t get defensive. He’s just your father. “Married.”

Still, he’s bigger than you and looking down at you like he always often does. You have that picture where he was lifting you up high above his head and smiling at you. Where did that go? That picture … “You’re getting married?”

“Yeah, Dad.”

He’s quiet and withdrawn. Eyebrows come together, “you’re from me. What could possibly love you?” Almost as if he’s asking that all genuine, like what could ever love him.

Fuck him. He doesn’t matter. You’re fucking fine without him.

charloft -summer or winter?

deplusenplus — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 22:40:58 GMT

You’re lucky you work a shift job. Twenty four on at a time makes it so you can sleep the day and that don’t matter none. This time of year, you sleep the day because you can’t seem to do otherwise. The days are so fucking short that making time with them seems a chore. This month, every year, this week. A few more days and things will turn, day light will start to get longer. Getting out of bed won’t feel so impossible.

charloft, 100 words -fool's errand

deplusenplus — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 18:02:20 GMT

It’s not like he lives in Fort Knox. His fears have never been conventional ones. Papers on the doorstep, dark inside the place. Try the knob. Let myself on in.

It’s like a tomb.

Meticulous in its dark depths. No light anywhere, I let my eyes adjust as I make my way through. Find him in the bedroom, a mountain in bed under sheets and blankets. No sound. That means he’s not sleeping. He’s just lying. Big breathing.

“Dad,” he hears me. Sort of. He always hears me. Blood is blood. “Dad,” nothing. I get nothing.

Happy Birthday to me.

charloft -simplicity is nature's first step

deplusenplus — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 18:52:40 GMT

Your father is covered in scars.
When you were small you asked your mother about them. The jagged lines on his chest and up his arms and across what seemed like everywhere on his skin. It’s not as if he ever went without a shirt, with sleeves, but sometimes when he was off mind, you would catch a glimpse of him. You asked where they were from, and she told you with white simplicity that they were from hurt.

Standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror, you look at your chest and run your hand up the inside of your arm. Same height, same eyes, same feet, same hands, same everything. Same mind? You understand now the meaning of those scars and you understand that they were from the same hurt that rotted your mother’s bones.

charloft, 100 words - favorite conflict resolution method

deplusenplus — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 21:09:12 GMT

The day after we buried my mother, I left.

I didn’t even know I was leaving. I just got in my car for a drive and someplace in Nevada I realized I wasn’t going back.

I guess it’d been about 6 months since leaving when I was in a car wreck. The man driving the truck was drunk, he came through the intersection without even so much as making the tires skid. Stopped my heart.

Death calls my dad. He was there just to see me wake up. And then it was another 6 months before I saw him again.