We had sex. We didn’t plan to do it. If anything, we actively planned against it. Not out loud, mind — that’s not the sort of thing you discuss out loud, any more than you discuss planning to have sex. No, our planning was furtive and silent, made up of subtle glances and faint shakes … Continue reading Touch Him
Tag: writing
Mr. Frumbleton
Mr. Frumbleton lived alone in a single-floor house at the end of the road. The house, like him, was a relic of decades past. Its design and the interior decor were outdated. It lacked central air, and was therefore insufferably warm in the blistering summer temperatures of the modern climate. The outer layer of his … Continue reading Mr. Frumbleton
Bridge
Today's post is even shorter than normal because a friend is visiting me. Yay! They built a bridge between them. They did it together — neither one nor the other built the structure in its entirety. As such, it was made of a combination of their styles and favored materials. His: white, plain stones, large … Continue reading Bridge
Help
I have to help. It’s not just a drive within myself. It’s not something altruistic inside me that sees a person in danger and says, Hey, you really should intervene. I don’t like to listen to that voice. I don’t often hear that voice at all. What I get, instead, is a voice that said, … Continue reading Help
Time
People say, “Time heals all wounds.” My grandmother used to say it. My mom has said it to me. I’ve seen it on the internet, and I’ve heard it, once or twice, from friends. It’s such a common phrase that there are people who accept it as fact. I used to be one of them, … Continue reading Time
Drowning
There are things which the body needs that it will strive for regardless of the risks. With strength born of a primal urge, it will pursue these things, even if the mind that governs it resists with what little strength it has. The body knows what it needs in order to survive, and when it … Continue reading Drowning
Christa
Christa’s parents never returned home, and the police were never able to tell her, for certain, what had happened to them. They could only tell her three things: that it was her father’s blood, in the basement; that her mother had held the knife she had found on the kitchen floor; and that her parents … Continue reading Christa
Broken
Things which are damaged never really get repaired. Jasmina meditates on this as her husband speaks, knowing that what he broke between them will never heal. He struck her. That is enough, for her, to consider their relationship damaged beyond repair. She doesn’t really listen to him. His words don’t matter, because she’ll never forget … Continue reading Broken
The Silence of Apathy
The Mask The Mask, Continued Christa knows that her parents don’t love her. She has known it for a very long time, and though she has grown accustomed to the idea, though she has accepted it as an unchanging fact about her life, she will never be comfortable with it. Like the lingering effects of … Continue reading The Silence of Apathy
The Mask, Continued
After The Mask received some positive feedback, I decided to give it a continuation. Enjoy. She is dissatisfied. She has been for years, but previously, it has been a sort of comfortable dissatisfaction: unpleasant, yet familiar, and therefore less uncomfortable than perhaps it should have been. Her life up to this point has been bland and flavorless. … Continue reading The Mask, Continued
Daydreams 