I'm dead. Really dead. Not the "There'll be a twist in the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead.
I keep thinking back to how I died.
I don't remember how I died really. I think I fell.
Are you suppose to remember how you die? Or is that weird?
Is there some sort of weird rule of death that you can't remember how you die?
I feel like I can walk everywhere and find no one. Death is strangely lonely and empty. Am I the only one here?
I wish I could tell you what it...
"The day after tomorrow, this will all be over." Such a fucking cliche.
Sure, our road trip would be ending soon enough, and we would be returning to our miserable, monotonous, minimum-wage jobs that regularly take us to the very brink of sanity... but to pretend that everything we just experienced would be concluded as soon as we return to home port strikes me as truly false.
The thing that he seems to miss is the continuity of events which develops out of the dynamic relationship between what we do and otherwise experience, and the way we see our fundamental...
Pierce Nolan had lived in Louisiana for the last twenty years, but he had never ventured much further than the edges of the town. He had always been a quiet man, a straightforward speaker with little reservations. The small town of Barkridge was where he maintained his practice, dealing mostly with the local people and their problems. It was not for the most part an exciting life, but it was comfortable enough. That morning Pierce left for work at the same time he always did, 8am sharp. He said goodbye to his wife Velma, and soon jumped aboard the 802...
Lola was a name that grated on my ears. Most people considered it sonorous and calming, but after my teenage years, fraught with rebellion, Lola was a name uttered in exasperation rather than cooed.
THat is why I insisted Spencer call me Lara. It was a close sound so that I would still answer to it, but distant enough from my childhood that I could free myself from my past mistakes. He didn't seem to care either way. Lola, Lara, both names meant love to him and loving me was all he knew to do.
He found me in the...
It wasn't so bad, the cancer, eating me from the inside out. Started with headaches, diagnoses, hopes and dreams dashed like fine china on the asphalt. My hands shaking, pillow wet in the morning, children gripping me, knowing without words that life was changing. Daddy is dying, mommy said. Like grandma. No, daddy isn't going to heaven. There is no heaven. Only the great void. Its nothing to be afraid of Sofie. Daddy loves you. More doctors and pills, and then pain and then...nothing. The desire to life squashed like a grape on the supermarket floor. Life itself spinning, a...
Atop a ferris wheel the poor anxious squirrel found himself above the world far far away from the comfort of his tree and pile of nuts. As the wheel spun behind him, Mr. Squirrel ran ahead trying to keep up as he felt with every turn he would fall. As he lost ground he noted ascending higher and farther away from the ground. 'A telephone pole... a cable... a branch?' he thought could perhaps bring him to safety. When suddenly a gush of wind caused his tiny claws to slip across the rusty painted metal and he slipped. Falling, falling,...
He set the plate before her. Two slices of charcoal blackened toast, plump stoneless cherry jam, no butter or spread. It wasn't punishment for climbing out the bedroom window to staying out late again. It was all they ever ate after mom died. They got through a loaf of bread a day.
She no longer cared what happened. All she could think about was Ross. He cooked her pumelled bloody steak, creamy mash with chives, grilled tomatoes covered in mixed grain pepper from a silver pot. Loved her with food, milky coffee and kisses.
Next week she was going to...
she watched for him. the curtains engulfed her as she pressed her nose to the glass, eyes intent on the driveway. As his car pulled up, she smiled. before he could say anything, she plowed into him and smothered him with kisses. he laughed as she settled into the familiar position against his chest. she missed him too much to put into words. well, excluding the words "she watched for him."
"Hello, is this, uh, Mary?"
"Maybe."
"Oh, uh, well I saw your ad and I just thought maybe I had what you're looking for."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, it just that, uh, I've been working out and, uh, I think I have an okay face and, uh. I can be real mean in bed and stuff."
"What's your name, stranger?"
"My name is, uh, John, and, uh, I'm like 6'3'' and muscular and stuff."
"Well, 'John,' if I was to meet you somewhere, would you be interested in a little... action?"
"Uh, yeah! I mean, that's what I...
Jane made a desperate grab for the coin, spinning in the air. With a flip, Safura had set her fate in motion. Heads, eternal life; tails, never-ending darkness.
She had to catch the silver disk before it landed on the platform.
Panic filled her like water in a vase, her fear overflowing and spilling onto the pavement, evaporating almost instantly in the heat of the noonday sun. "Gods DAMMIT!" she cried, tripping and falling toward the still turning disk. Her fingers grazed the silver, and it landed, still spinning lazily, on its edge.
"You lose," stated Safura. His mouth turned...