What makes a story?
The path ends at the beginning
How can I learn to sleep right?
The cold is in my nose. I can no longer use it to breathe. I open my mouth and the cold pours in. It hits the back of my throat, it penetrates my trachea, and explodes into my brain. I stop, frozen, mid-stride, mid-sidewalk. At first, people flow around me, only cursing the blockage. Soon,…
On the last day of the year, I dreamed of heat. The melting asphalt was soft under my shoes, like walking on an air mattress or a balloon. Something poppable. The thought pricked my brain and I sank, slowly, inch by inch into the black sticky sludge. Too slow. Fear turned to boredom while every…
If I stayed home, my family would disown me.
If you don't hear our laughter does that mean it isn't happening?
you read, therefore I am
Do you know how fast you were going?
I would implode at the first bark.