To be or not to be, or to fly, or to be a bird, or an 8th grader, those are some of the questions. Answers are just more quesions in different clothing, for those 13 years old.
Killing is easy when you have watched your family suffer every naked indignity. After than using the knives only felt normal and happiness was watching the blood gushing from their necks and stomachs.
Centries old the struggle was only by men and the prize was women and everything else the loser had. It had started as a solution to war and an outlet for aggression and those who played well sometimes only had to play once, of course the losers only played the one time.
“I’m way too high for this shit!” I shouted in the King Soopers produce section. The cop didn’t believe that I was diabetic and talking about my blood sugar.
She knew she had to run from the beatings, the bruisings, the blood and brutality. After all, the police were on their way, and being arrested was not an option.
And on the last weekend of every month he would go and spend hours upon hours with his friends.
Friends, who though dead, were good friends still.
Daddy never answered when I called, so mommy bought me a doll that resembled him and a box of pins I stuck in it to keep track of the times he didn’t answer. I still love my daddy, even though police found him in his rented room lying in a pool of blood from the small holes riddling his body.
The judge read out the sentence. It was four words long.
The candidate, caught out in the scandal,read from his prepared speech. “I have nothing to say but that I have nothing to say and I can see no point in telling you that there is no point in telling you this.”
Stale smoke clung greedily to stained cream walls, ineffectual fans spun lazily at disjointed angles, failing to disturb the miasma. Welcome to Dodge
I wished, the crying in the middle of the night would stop and it did. The laughter stopped too, but the scent of baby powder still clings to my arms.
Ah, masturbation. You can’t beat it.
Ominous radioactive clouds reflect in the ocean under the full moon. “Kiss me, this is it,” I say, and love grows like our cancerous cells.
This is a two-sentence story. It has two sentences.
I know I am two persons, but the mirror shows only one. Am I crazy or am I dreaming?