I still can’t see through the window. I press my face to the glass, the frost freezes my cheeks, but I wanted to see through the mist, through the ice, through the closed curtains, and into the warm inside. I closed my eyes and for a second I thought I could smell the fresh bread. It warmed my skin, my heart beat faster. I heard my grandfather…[Read more]
I couldn’t stop, even though everything was in slow motion. Everything. I should’ve moved, I should’ve done something, anything, but I couldn’t pick up my feet, I couldn’t scream into my phone, I couldn’t say the things I’d always wanted to say because I couldn’t stop looking at it. Coming toward me, the thing showed no mercy, it showed no…[Read more]
I wanted to go, but Jonathan said no. He hated the movies. There was never anything good. Oh god, another remake? Oh GOD! Another sequel? Doesn’t anyone have original ideas anymore? There are millions of books published every year, but all the cinema knows how to do is rewrite the same stories while they reheat the same popcorn, leftover from last…[Read more]
The stars are a natural nightlight that come over the black tarp of sky. I wish I knew more about them, every individual speck of light just gets overshadowed by the ones that have names. Orion’s Belt — do those stars have names or are they only recognized in the group of three? I guess I sort of feel sad for them after all.
I hate this fucking shirt.
I pull at the collar, loosening it. My skin is sweaty underneath the layers of polyester.
What kind of cheap suit is made of polyester?
I clench my jaw and stare into the mirror, looking myself over. My button-up is tucked into my pants, the blazer is too big and makes my shoulders look broader than they are,…[Read more]
I clutched the doorknob. I didn’t realize my mouth was hanging open until I felt the saliva slid down my chin. I wiped at it with the back of my hand. It was a few moments longer before I recovered. I blinked a number of times, thinking that maybe by resetting my vision, everything would become right with the world; but I was wrong, it didn’t go…[Read more]
Sitting at the table, it turned again.
I wasn’t what they wanted.
I saw every face again and again.
The colors of the room melted together into one long stream of messy finger painting.
I was never what they wanted.
I think I’ve been on this ride more times than anyone else.
I don’t know why you’d put paprika on the table. No one…[Read more]
I can’t stop myself. I can’t look at myself in the mirror.
I fucking hate what I see and I hate what he sees more.
I know–I fucking know he thinks I’m disgusting, but he won’t say it. I know I’m disgusting because I think I’m disgusting–I know I’m disgusting.
I look at my hands, I look at the bruises on my neck, my arms, my legs. The bite…[Read more]
I looked at the dirt. There wasn’t much to it. It covered my hands with a dark, dirty film. The cracks and creases in my skin were darker than the rest of my hand.
There isn’t much to it, I thought again, “but it’s all I have.” With a cupped hand, I brought the dirt to my mouth.
We use it to cook. I put bacon in it; the sizzling sweet apple wood fills the air.
In the evening we use it for steak or stir fry or some kind of casserole.
Today we use it for defense. It goes ‘spang’ as it smacks a decaying human in the face. Their teeth go loose and a glob of their nose goes flying off. Blood drips from the bottom of the pan…[Read more]
I’m getting another one, I say. They told me I shouldn’t.
I drank a lot, but I can still count, so I don’t think I drank enough.
It’s not really about the flavor–though I say that it is. I like the marshmallow vodka. I like stickin’ that in the twinkie and eatin them together. I know my friends think it’s gross, but man, it’s the best damn…[Read more]
When I first read this word, I saw the word ‘butt’ and I was prepared to write about ‘butts’ for the entirety of 60 seconds. I immediately thought of very round, very perky butts. Then, of course, I think of excellent looking guys with very attractive dairy-airs. You just can’t help it when you think of butts. But then I saw ‘er flies’ and I…[Read more]
When writing a scene, you want to focus on the details. Not everything.
Don’t talk about everything in the room or every large detail on a person’s appearance, but what makes them special? If you walked into the room–if you were the narrator, had the narrator’s personality, what are the things that you’d notice?
What personality does that…[Read more]
He asked me what I wanted. I didn’t think he was making a list. I thought he was being rhetorical. he just wanted me to think of all the things I didn’t have so I told him–I told him everything that I ever wanted and I shit on everything that I didn’t have.
He told me he’d fix all of that, I just had to give him one thing in return.
I snorted,…[Read more]
Glowing on my camera screen, I saw them in the bottom right corner. They sat in a cluster on the chair.
It had to be dust. Something.
I went to the next image.
The little orbs became a line in front of the chair, a mismatched, messy line, closer to my lens.
I went to the next image.
It was just dust I said.
But in this image, the orbs…[Read more]
We used to call them pound signs. Because typically when you called the 800 number on the back of your credit card or the manual in your Chevy or on the back of a freaking cereal box, all you’d get was a prerecorded voice that said “enter a number, then press pound.” And every time you called you got an automated message, not a person, and it’d…[Read more]
I can’t get it in. I can’t get it to work. No matter how much I take it out and put it back in, it doesn’t do the job. I blow on it, hoping it’ll work, but still, it fails.
They tell me technology will fix this–soon, we won’t need to blow it to make it work. Soon, taking it in and out will become obsolete, but I think I’ll miss the action of…[Read more]
I sit up when my alarm goes off. I hit it. Across from my bed there’s a window and when I look into it, I see another man, sitting up, hitting his clock, but I know it’s not me. I can’t be me. His hands move with mine. He yawns when I yawn, but my hair is black. His skin is pale. He doesn’t look like he knows what ‘jovial’ is.
He can’t be me.
Is it really that I can’t remember or do I just not want to? I might be curious, I might want to know just to know, but I know I’m better off not knowing. I know I’m healthier not knowing. I know that if I know, I won’t be the same. I forgot for a reason. My mind pushed the memories away because it ruined who I was and it would change who I am for…[Read more]
We’re all selective in what we agree with. As long as it supports our ideas, we’ll accept it as a reality. We’ll accept what documentation says, but only if it supports us. We’ll accept what other people say, but only if it agrees with our argument or our ideas of how things should be. There are even people who only hear what they want to…[Read more]