Michael Jimenez

jimenezA Southern California native, Michael Jimenez divides his time between the Coachella Valley and Los Angeles. Michael is a published writer with two pieces of work in the spring 2012 issue of West. An Honors Program student, Michael has been developing a unique technique for writing within the context of traditionally structured English composition classes. He hopes to present this process at the HTCC Student Research Conference at UC Irvine. Michael attributes his success as a writer to his lifelong love of reading. A husband and a father, Michael says his family is the most important facet of his busy life. Michael's schooling comes at the perfect time because he can do homework next to his six-year-old son in hopes that his son will absorb some techniques and discipline at a young age. Michael plans to continue to challenge himself scholastically through the most rigorous courses available. He hopes to attend UCLA in pursuit of both an undergraduate degree as well as admittance to the UCLA School of Law.

Other Works:


(283 Words Without Title)

His body shivered in protest as he approached the doors. He began to salivate. The air in the glass cylinder tasted of stainless steel and glass cleaner. A knobby finger probed the panel for the button. The world got smaller and smaller. His shallow breath and queasy stomach threatened to return his steak lunch to its worldly origins. The higher up, the smaller the glass cylinder felt. Have to get to the 30th floor before I pass out. Why the hell would they make an elevator out of glass?

Time to meet his new client. Pit stains and the odor of semi-digested steak do not make a good impression. I need to get this done now.

Who knows what I’m walking into. The mind is like water; it will fit into any space that it enters. Somehow I need to stay focused on the task at hand rather than the gaudy architecture and my lack of breath mints.

"Mr. Jameson, he would like to see you as soon as possible." I expected a much more attractive personal assistant. As she led me down the hallway I couldn’t help but realize that the hallway was descending ever so slightly. Restroom! I slipped away and let my bodily functions take over. It was all that I could manage not to spackle the commode like some half-assed handyman.

"Mr. Jameson, I am familiar with your capabilities. I would like to retain your services. This would require your full attention. I expect that everything that you encounter will be treated as if it never happened."

The meeting was short. I knew what to do.  Now I need to figure out how to make it happen. Her life depended on it. The last bus out of Los Angeles had my name on it.


What Now

(300 words without title)

The will to survive was always there.  The shadow beneath the surface of the water always threatened to surface and remove a chunk of somebody’s ass.  Not everyone had it.  Some faked it.  I was never one of them.  You could always see it.  They wanted to unleash the intuition and let it rip someone’s face off.  There was no place for that kind of skill set in society.  Times had changed.  The camp could be attacked and in one fell swoop our clan could be reduced to a bloody mist and nothing more. 

I will find my way into his soft parts.  You could say my knife was built to cleave rather than slice.  This enemy was different.  He was more focused on what not to do than what he should be doing.  A little feint to the left and they moved just out of my range.  This one was smart.  He would come straight in, seemingly finding the gap where I would be uncapable of doing any serious harm.  This guy was good, I let him lead and went for the sweep.  My timing perfect as always, he didn’t quite fall, but I made sure to end up on top when we hit the ground.  Fingers searching for a seam, he missed, but my thumb found a way to pry off his mask.  The grey beard caught me by surprise.  It was all the old man needed to brush me aside as he bounced up and vacated the scene. 

Dammit!  For the first time in a long time, I was not invincible.  Neither of us had been injured!  Now that he got away, he knew my weaknesses.  He might get me next time.  The only thing he left behind was a picture in a red-tinted plastic sleeve.

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