"I really think you should use photos."
She gave me a sidelong glance. "You don't like these?"
"No, no. I'm not saying that. You did manage to capture a certain energy in their faces. Artistically, it's quite well done."
"Thanks, I think so."
"It just that..." I made sure to look away as I spoke so she couldn't stop me in my tracks with another glare.
"What?" I heard her say.
"It just that they're your children." Turned to her.
"I know," she beamed maternally.
"And..they're missing."
"I certainly miss them. That's why I drew this picture."
"And it's a...
There was originally only one photograph. Now there were two. Well, two halves. Incomplete. Roughly cut down the middle of the bay, neatly bisecting the bench. One was lightly discarded in a pile of "Things to do/sort."
The other was folded and refolded and bent again, then sat in a wallet. Strangely, the one that was thrown aside was the more loved. It showed regret. It showed hope. It showed Faith.
The tattered half showed bitterness, anger, loss. Odd, really as the original showed promise. Anticipation. Love. The man who captured all these strange emotions just thought they were a...
They gathered in the woods during each full moon. The full moon was only significant as it lit the way for their new recruits. But who could forget a full moon?
She knew as she moved towards them that they would accept her. Their faces were neither friendly nor aggressive, they simply were. Each face identical to those either side of it, their expressions changing as one.
If she had not known them for a while she may have found them quite terrifying. But as she had met some of them before, she felt among friends. She looked different, despite...
"No. I won't go back."
I listened, expecting and shoring up my supply of reasons in advance.
"I tried. I really tried."
Around me, the contents of my storage facility. I would rather die than let them use that label on me. So, yeah, I had no running water, no electricity, no nothing except the contents of my closets and drawers slung everywhere serving as a multipurpose couch/bed/cocoon. Yeah. I'm that person. Rehab had been so not for me.
The streets - my arms are too scarred for tattoo ink. This, this is slightly better than the alternatives, of which...
I laughed the first time I saw the shirt. "I'm With Stupid," with an arrow underneith pointing to the right. It was funny because the star of the football team, who everyone knew couldn't add 2+2 together without serious help, walked next to him. I doubt either one realized what was going on, and when they saw me laughing, I have no clue what they thought I was going on about. Whatever. The arrow should have been pointing at the entire high school life anyway, right?
It wasn't until a few years later that I fully understood the significance of...
Fault. Whose was it? Lying on the ground like that. Cracks spreading out, damaging everything it touched. No one wanted it. It had to be dumped somewhere, though.
Suddenly, it seemed like the world shifted. The fault shifted, heading towards me. It opened up, and swallowed me whole. I fell into the abyss. Doubt and shame fell on me. I could have avoided it. Easily, too.
I fell and fell. The further I got, the more afraid I grew. The light above me shrank. I thought I could see people above, shaking their heads at me.
I spent so much...
You took another picture of yourself today. It doesn't look much different than yesterday's. Or last week's. But as you flip back through the months and years, the difference is startling. The difference is harrowing.
You create an animated gif of every daily image of yourself captured over the last two years. A contemporary Dorian Gray morphs on your screen. The last image from today loops to the first image from two years ago. That moment, that blink of time, cracks your skull like a baseball bat.
You're out.
When I was a child, we used to have pet mice. The first one was called Snips and I don't remember how or why, but we had it for a few weeks and then it died.
According to Grandpop, who is not the most reliable storyteller...no, that's not quite true. He's a reliable storyteller, he's just not the most reliable truthteller. According to Grandpop, Snips didn't die of any ordinary mouse cause of death.
Snips died because he got in with the wrong type of animal.
Again, I'll stress that this is all according to Grandpop, not something I saw...
"Please, just let me on!"
"Sorry sir, but we have regulations."
"Regulations? I am a citizen of the US. I served my country, and this is how my county serves me. I am looked down upon while leather and aftershave walks past me. Hundreds spent on a single meal for two, yet I collect cans and tips to buy a single meal from the arches at night. I try to get a job, but I have no address, no phone number. I am stuck because of your regulations. And does help come? No, the ones who do good - our...
Three new followers, this morning. Steady growth. Not YouTube Channeller level. Not like millions of subscribers. But that was to be expected.
A few more Views. Five new followers. Already! She was clearly having an impact, this quiet young woman, not wanting attention. Not seeking the lime light. Just tryng to escape a stalker. Not a regular follower. No one listening. No one to help. Safety in numbers?
Two more following. The blind leading the blind. Not even "word of mouth". Just trying to make her way in the World. Just trying to survive. And yet they saw. They saw...