Dayna Clark
Bio
I'm a bad motherwriter.
Stories (14/0)
Love, the Aliens
For everyone left on earth.... Only adults who were wearing heart shaped jewelry, tattoos or clothing with hearts and kids under two years old, were spared. My husband survived because he was wearing his lucky hearts boxers at his weekly poker game. He watched his poker buddies crumble into piles of ash. Talk about stakes being high. I guess, none of them were holding any hearts. So they got “dusted”. Instant incineration. Dusted, sounds nicer than incinerated. But same result.
By Dayna Clark3 years ago in Fiction
SEARTH
Day 3650 of SEARTH I’ve done everything to accomplish simply staying alive. But I feel like I’m done. I’m alive, but am I living? I’ve been so busy staying alive and helping other “Leftovers” survive. So busy, being a human who refuses to melt. Up until today I never questioned being a leftover. I fancied myself a tad stale and tough, but well seasoned and still useful. I've saved my share of lives. Useful. But today or yesterday, I lost my hearts. And that may be the cherry on top of this melted shit sundae we’ve been calling, survival. My own personal dealbreaker. I'm unsure if I still care to be useful.
By Dayna Clark3 years ago in Fiction
NippyFan
Back in the day, I’d party in NYC. I wasn’t gay, per se, or aware of my potential to “play for the same team.” But I most certainly partied my ass off in gay clubs. I’d even recruit friends to come with me, who had zero “tendencies” and just couldn’t understand for a second, how I did. I recently told one of my friends, “I can say what I prefer because I’ve tried both. So you might be, but don’t know it, because you haven’t tried it”. She’s been one of my besties since High School and I can honestly say, her picture should be featured under the definition of “hetereosexuality”. She’s not judgmental or funny style about it, just not about it. But, she would sometimes grace me with her partying presence and when the last song at the blackest, gayest lesbian club in New York City would drop, she’d hit that dance floor hard. A lot of my friends would just come with me because “damn, it’s fun to just dance my ass off and not worry about some guy humping on me.” My friend screamed this in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by women who surely would’ve taken her home that night, but respected her space and fun. So we all just danced. That last song that made wallflowers slide to the dance floor and bloom, was “I was born this way” by Carl Bean. Carl Bean is now an ArchBishop. And that’s levels. This is a remake, but this is the version that brought down the house every club night. Nanny’s is long gone, but I still have that anthem song in my vinyl collection.
By Dayna Clark3 years ago in Pride
Oh Dearest Gemini...
Dear Gemini, You loving, brilliant, sometimes exasperating, conflicted life of the party. As the twin sign you’re never really alone. You’re understandably at times the hero or professional troublemaker depending on the hour of the day. The world never knows from second to second, who’s gonna surface. I don’t think you even know what triggers the manifestation of your inner Thor or Loki. Are you showing up to save the world? Or are you in the mood to play mischief maker? Either way, it’s a hell of a ride. When you use your powers for good you are a joy, a thrill, super informative and super intriguing. When you are in the mood to wreak havoc, world beware. My advice for those around you who lack endless patience; run. Come back when the Gemini’s inner Loki, calms itself.
By Dayna Clark3 years ago in Futurism
The Greatest Great-Grandma
I have favorite humans. The superstars of humanity, few and far between. My Great-Grandma, Minnie Pearl, yes her name is Minnie Pearl, is one of my favorite humans to have ever walked the planet. I lived with her for twelve years. My own mother was gone, but I was blessed with a supermother. Most people don’t even get to meet their Great-Grandmas. Thanks to a whole lot of young parents and longevity in my family, I was able to enjoy the magnificence of this family matriarch. She raised four boys and one girl….five boys if you count my Great-Grandfather. They were married seventy-four years. You heard me. I’m uncertain if I can stand my damn self for seventy-four years. She was an amazing human. A black woman from the south, she did not play. She had twelve siblings and wrung her first chicken neck at the age of ten. She worked as a crossing guard, a cook (for wealthy white folks) and I came to live with her when she was running her own Daycare.
By Dayna Clark3 years ago in Families
Moms
I’m grown now, supposedly, completely. But they say when something tragic happens to you, you stay that age. My mother was murdered when I was six years old. So began my (self-imposed) life journey. A painful, yet sometimes immensely satisfying quest; Someone to fill my mama’s shoes.
By Dayna Clark3 years ago in Families