Amelie Brashar reposed on the wooden floor. Her bloodless
complexion, and the hair sprawled messily around her head both gave the
impression that she lay in the thralls of death, but Amelie was only taking a
nap. If Mrs. Brashar had been in, she would’ve tutted at the place her child
had chosen to rest, but Mrs. Brashar never did seem to be in. This was not due
to some great recent tragedy, but rather to an infatuation Amelie’s mother
seemed to have developed for wide open streets and adult conversation. It was
rumored that when Amelie’s father left, Mrs. Brashar had first cursed him, then
slunk away to unpack her own suitcase.
With a small sigh, Amelie finally awoke from her catnap. She
looked surprised to find herself on the floor.…
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Your vision is
unfocused, voices and faces distorted, as though you’re watching from beneath
an ocean wave. The surface is in sight, but you’re weighed down with legs like
lead and distracted by your own ceaseless, ticking heart.
Somewhere below,
detached and drifting, you bear witness for the girl with defiant eyes. Your
father paces, turns, scrubs a hand over his face. The air goes quiet. He
demands you stop this, start acting normal again, allow them all to return to
normal. The order is that vague and that explicit. It leaves no room for
maneuvering, and just enough space for crossfire.
The sound of your
mother crying jolts you back into your body, makes you wince. There is nothing
you can say to them to explain yourself.…
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Sprawled out on the table is everything I will need: two bipolar forceps, three ophthalmic hooks, multiple surgical punches, a medical stapler, surgical needles and thread, curved surgical scissors, surgical screws and screwdriver, and, of course, a phaco chopper. All my instruments are clean and pristine; I’m ready to begin.
My daughter stares up at me from the metal table and pulls at the belts around her wrists and ankles. When she fails to break loose, and gives up trying to move her stapled lips, a tear rolls down her cheek.
“No, my darling. Please do not cry,” I whisper as I cup her face with my shaking hands, “this is for the best. Well, I guess not yours, but it is in my best interest.”…
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I am not human, at least that’s what I’ve been told. I used to have much faith in humanity; I believed that one day our greed and selfishness would be drowned by compassion and happiness. However, this world has repaid my faith with misfortune. I have been coerced inside the confining walls of insanity and it appears that I will never be set free from this prison. For seven grueling months, I have been tortured through the means of electric shock and malnourishment. One specific method of torture consisted of myself being strapped in a metal chair. I would be forced to watch a series of incoherent video clips. These clips were comprised of suburban houses, smiling faces of families, dogs of all breeds (especially the Golden Retriever).…
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What happened to Tyler
made me paranoid that it would happen to me, too. I chose to stay away from
girls who I felt “sought too much attention”. You know the type –
girls with clearly marked daddy issues gaged into their ears from their dyed pink
hair to their visible tattoos to their acting careers to their penchant for
talking in front of a mic in front of strangers every night to their long
Facebook rants. Anyone who sought too much validation was marked with a giant
red X to me. They were walking warning symbols. I would be smarter than Tyler.
I would learn from his mistake of dating an aspiring writer who used him for
material. I would never be accused.
Furthermore I always
wanted to make sure anyone I slept with would be into it.…
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somelucky – April 10 at 9:23 PM
I’m going to bed, I’ve got a job interview tomorrow. Sleep well and wish me good luck in the morning!
hydrangea-spring – April 10 at 9:24 PM
lol nice, hopefuly they hire u! im goin to bed too, night!
hydrangea-spring – April 11 at 10:03 AM
i overslept srry, i guess ur already gone. gl anyway!! i hope you get that dream job of urs!!
hydrangea-spring – April 11 at 12:39 PM
u back yet?
hydrangea-spring – April 11 at 2:09 PM
lol dude i found a super cool site u gotta check out!! lmk when ur back!
hydrangea-spring – April 11 at 8:12 PM
dude?
hydrangea-spring – April 12 at 7:38 AM
hey gm man!
my friends taking me out for brakfast so ill be back in an hour or so!…
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When you feel one coming, it’s called an aura. That’s not a word heard often, is it? Once, as I stood on the corner of Broadway and something, a woman with sapphire eyes and tarnished silver rings on every finger stopped beside me. She told me I had a powerful aura. For just $49 (there was a special) she would tell me my future.
“I already know,” I said and crossed the street staring down the glowing red hand.
My grandmother had another kind of aura, although we never called it that. We never knew there was a name for it. I have the image of her sitting on the back porch after supper in the dusty pink evenings. She wore strands of long turquoise beads around her neck, her skin wrinkled like crepe paper in the amber porch light. …
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