I try not to create when it is late. When the light bulbs are buzzing and the crickets are having small talk. I feel like going on a walk. Somewhere I can clear my thoughts from the memories—nostalgia—thinking of people I knew. Continue reading
Tag Archives: fictional
Fictional Memoirs: A Poor Excuse
There’s so much to do. So much. I haven’t a clue,
how to hold the door open for the person behind me. I didn’t ask for them to find me. I didn’t ask for them. They ought to know better than to follow my heed. All I have in my heart is greed. Here I am; male, twenty-two and still struggling to be cool. I don’t know how to act when the pressure is on. I get sidetracked and pretend to be withdrawn. I don’t know how to dress. I’m really a mess. Continue reading
Fictional Memoirs: Suburbia Of Comfortability
Love your enemy.
As your life has gone, you’ve never been much of a winner. Albeit you reached the rank of Runner-up, thinking of how close you were makes you bitter. Encountering people with differing ideologies and preferences makes you frustrated and annoyed as if those other human beings are attached to you like glue. You curse them militantly, strategically reinforcing the perception of their stupidity. Continue reading
Fictional Memoirs: The Prison You Call Home
The toughest prison to escape and the most contained estate, is not the penitentiary. It is not the secluded island or even the buried lock-box. Continue reading
Jackson and Annabel: A Conclusion
~!WAIT!~ Don't read this if you haven't read part 1, Jackson and Annabel: A Contrast and part 2, Jackson and Annabel: A Crash first. This is the conclusion of the three part installment of the hipster-romance between Jackson and Annabel.
Since we last left Jackson, he was still a self-absorbed millennial sponging off of his family and random girls for meals and attention. His dream girl, Annabel, was last seen peddling away, as he sat on the side of the road, clothes drenched with water and stained with grass.
Joseph: Stalking Myself
Joseph awoke promptly at 6:45am. His face scrunched as his right side rolled underneath him. He turned his face into the pillow and tried to position himself so that he could still breath while putting the majority of his face into the teal faded pillow case. It was one of
Fictional Memoirs: Selling Hope
How does one perceive goodness from the mundane? They sell it. The Greatest Salesman in the world once spent 11 months trying to sell one carpet. The same single carpet. Why? Why would the Greatest Salesman in the world spend rigorous hours for one sale?
Everyone told him that
Fictional Memoirs: The God of a Moralist
I unite generations and disappear when the consequences become clear. I promote peace and love justified through forced moments of upset tears. I prey on the fundamentals and open lives to ideas of service. Through me kings have
Fictional Memoirs: You
When you fail, that is not the end. When you lose, that is not the end. When You pass away, that is not the end . . .
Fictional Memoirs: He
Style is everything. A balled up receipt pressed on his thigh and made a small indention in his left pocket. Adjusting in the carpeted seat, he pulled out his key. The teal green 98 Honda Civic rumbled as he turned the slightly bent key for the third time. He had been utilizing the copy since he lost the first set.