Hey, not sure what’s going on or why you haven’t called? Don’t really have a Facebook page, I prefer meeting people in person. I’m a runner—I think you noticed. I run. And maybe it was me, it’s happened before, maybe it was me, but I could swear you were looking over. Look, I’m taking a class in spacial awareness? It’s really cool. It’s like Continue reading 7:30am slight perspective
Rebecca, you are not going to believe this. A guy just gave me his number at the gym. It’s 8am. But he gave it to me thirty minutes ago. That is fucked up. 7:30 am, and you’re hitting on someone? C’mon. That’s too early. I did nothing. He was next to me on the treadmill. I was walking. I was going to run, I had just got on. He was there, he was jogging, and then he got off, and came back to clean his machine, with the paper towels, and disinfectant Continue reading 7:30am
“You’re a liar, a cur, and a villain.”
You’re angry, I can tell.
Visiting you here,
Away for a year,
It seems I found another;
(And) you’re angry, I can tell.
Must one Continue reading Room
He was going to marry her. That was the plan. That was what his heart told him, and since the accident, his heart hadn’t told him much. It pumped blood more fluff than grit, and left him walking into streets without checking the WALK sign, and drinking coffee the second it’s poured—no blowing, no milk, and definitely no sugar. All that was sweet had now become sour, and Mark Taylor hated it. He hated Continue reading God Damn You Mark Taylor
At the end of town on top of the cliff, the silver castle loomed. It was higher than the clouds but lower than the sun and the window that received the most light was pristine and curved. It arched into a room with walls made of granite. The granite held tapestries that ran thirty feet high, and in the center of the room at the long mahogany desk was Princess Libby.
THE KING was a mess. He was alive and his wife was dead and he couldn’t help but feel not the least bit bad about it.
“I must be a terrible person,” thought the King, as he sat amongst the garden sipping tea. The King had just sunk his teeth into a new book, “Get Them Before They Get You,” written by the notorious writer and murderer, Samir Black. Samir wrote the book during his time spent in prison. It took him one year to finish and he wished it took him longer because he was serving out a life sentence.
“I wish I knew about different subjects,” Samir would complain Continue reading The King’s Garden
If you let me in for supper, I promise I’ll be good. You can trust someone like me. I’ve been told that I make you a little uncomfortable. Sorry about that. It’s not my intention. I wan’t you to feel warm. At home. Relax, and take a sip of water. You don’t even have to know I’m here. It’s better if you don’t. See, I’m real quiet. I have this funny thing Continue reading If you let me in
He looked at his flute. The flute looked at him. He had been lying there on the slope with her for the last forty five minutes. No one said a word. He put the flute in his mouth. (Since you can’t hear the music, because it was created in a time when there were no machines to record, and the notes weren’t written down—because the boy went off track of the composition initially set down by the composer—just imagine) A forest Continue reading Unused: fiction