I always listen to my momma.
She knows best, and that's the best for me. She raised me since I was young, an I been meaning on thanking her for doin it right. I wanna be just like my momma. I wish that someday I can be as pretty as her, because she's beautiful and perfect. And she alwa...
I died in a car crash. It was brutal, inescapable. I never stood a chance.
In the last moments of my life I could hear bells chiming. They sounded of charisma and peace; something straight from a church choir. In my hand I held "Atlas Shrugged" by Ayn Rand.
The oncoming car that smashe...
Cold
A short story
Dedicated to Ray Bradbury
Dear Mother, I am scared.
The places I visit seem to fade slowly into a nightmare. Not even Laurie can keep me straight anymore. I am beginning to worry about the feelings I encounter regularly. I can no longer focus on the things I love...
The struggle is my favorite part of the cycle. The wiggling of limbs and fingers as they try to escape makes the nights effort a success. So as I slide a knife into John Gilbertson’s kneecap, I don’t think twice about what kind of pain I am causing him. Only the struggle fills my mind. M...
It is not unusual to carry around a photograph of your children or a loved one. To carry money or a credit card, coupons and checks, even a special rock you found on a memorable trail. But what is strange is never leaving this particular photograph at home. A photograph I save, and will never throw ...
This is the story of a perfectly sane man.
This perfectly sane man lives on the perfectly normal street of Edgar Drive, and lives in the perfectly fine state of Wisconsin.
He has the perfectly normal and sane name of Jonathan Limbs.
Even though Jonathan prides himself on being normal, sane, a...
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