The Night Shift

I remember many nights when the chill of winter froze my small, frail bones. Just like the way my heart would race when I saw the soft glow of light creep through the cracks of my bedroom door. My tiny hands would grip the blanket in a tight, clammy grasp, pulling the comforter up under my chin. I would close my eyes and pretend I was asleep. All just to hear my mothers voice.

Twenty Dollar Car

642 things to write about: describe your fathers car.

I never had the luxury of growing up into wealth. By the time I was four, I was already a statistic and a poster child for a broken home. At the time I knew no difference, and that was okay to me. It was enough for me. The motions of childhood may not have been ideal; but even the grievances had their priceless payoffs.

Pre-Programmed

I’ve always considered myself a part of a privileged life. At least in the big scheme of things. My situation was no more desperate compared to third world countries, than Tsar is to his peasants. I may not have had much at some times, but I had my health. I had my family. Some days I debated whether or not I had either. But there was always the liberation of my heart, come any holiday when I remembered those less fortunate. But in the small picture, the narrow tunnel vision of selfishness, I never really paid mind to much of anything.

Thoughts of a Part Time Insomniac

My head is so cluttered with my beliefs… Or lack there of. So many sides to too many stories that I don’t know the endings too. Everything is just a bunch of middle.

(Can’t) Blame It On the Alcohol

Don’t tell me that alcohol excuses you from your violent actions.

Yin and Yang and the White Dress

Objects will hold memories better than anything. Sentimental objects have the power to bring the past back to life. The time, the circumstance, the people. But most importantly, it’s the rush of feelings that’s the most overwhelming.

The Last Chapter of the Relationship

It’s a dull pain – throbbing with every beat of the aching heart. I always feared that my breathing would shatter my heart, so I often found myself waiting on baited breath. But then I realized: you can’t break something already broken. This was it. It was all over.

Eat Less; a short story on body image.

She stood looking in the mirror, eyes fixed upon herself. The prolonged self examination was not one of vanity, but of insecurity. Many hours she stood, undressed as she was now, simply cowering under the scrutinising gaze of her own reflection. It was as if her reflection snarled at her, the way she looked, who she was. Not only was she self destructing, but she felt as if she were imploding and taking everyone else down with her.

I Once Knew A Girl Who Wore Three Pairs of Socks

A very short story based on something I heard in a passing conversation. Sometimes, those small things you hear, give you the oddest but most interesting kind of inspiration.

I once knew a girl who wore three pairs of socks  Perhaps her feet were always cold. I’ll never know. But this girl, she was special.

Not in the weird way, I mind you, but in the unique way. The way she would smile at the flickering of the night bugs, or wince at the full moon. She crinkles her nose at the smell of roses, preferring dandelions.

“We are the weeds of the world,” she would say with a distant look in her dusty green eyes. I could tell that they were once as bright as the grass in mid July.