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It’s happening again. Though I have already penned an epitaph, the Essay-a-week challenge is refusing to die. Numerous writers, myself included, have fumbled around week after week with the content. We could of been spending our summers soaked in sunshine. We could of been experiencing, rather than chronicling. And yet here we are again, reader. … Continue reading
Dear baby, Welcome. This is the Earth. It’s a big, big place with little, little people. I’m on it. And now so are you. None of this makes sense to you, of course. Right now you’re just a rubbery jumble of Jello wrapped up in human flesh. What else can I expect from you besides … Continue reading
I saw her through the rain. It rained often here, though I didn’t notice it much anymore. In such a little town, the rain was inevitable. Expected even. Most got used to it. They would find a place very much like where I am now – a coffee shop symphony with forks clattering and spoons … Continue reading
It’s been three years, blog, and sometimes I wonder what it would be like if you weren’t here. I start by lifting my hands from this keyboard. My fingers are stiff and fragile, soft and unused. My left wrist cracks in the air, and I listen to the sound of it breaking into the silence … Continue reading
The following is a transition report I wrote to the next opinions editor of the Silhouette. God rest their soul. * You don’t know me – ghost that I have become – and I most likely don’t know you. I’m sure you’re a wonderful person. That’s why you’re here after all. You’re smart. You’re funny. … Continue reading
I am afraid of waking up on April 9. On that date, four years will have come to a close, and I’m scared of losing all of it. After some 20 years of education, I don’t have to go to school anymore. I’m afraid that with the absence of a routine that throbbed on with … Continue reading
The following is a clunky part of a story still unfinished. This is trash I took out from it. Make it your treasure. Or don’t. Either way, it’ll be buried by other words at other times. * Mom comes home one day. I’m nearly seven. She looks like I do when I lose a tooth … Continue reading
You know how it is. There is not much to tell you which hasn’t already been said. Things like this or that, that or this. Or even this: I was six when I found my mother’s head in my sandbox. I’m sure that something like it has been said some time at some place for … Continue reading
The following was written, edited, and drafted for my Science Culture and Identity Class. * It was the biggest airport in the world and yet in a matter of only a few minutes, its doors were shut. Men dressed as black as the shadows they carried formed a line on the inside door to deny … Continue reading
I cried on my sweet sixteen. While my parents sang “Happy Birthday” in thick, heavy accents, and lit candles were dancing to the tune of their breaths, and wax began to dripping bit by bit on the bright yellow ice-cream cake, I started to sob. I didn’t mean to nor did I have much of … Continue reading
Mizpellt wurdz 