Candy Wrappers part 1 December 22, 2006More Like This
To begin, I am Detective Liam Angus Roy. Upon being assigned this case, my supervisor suggested I write about my experiences and what I find.(not sure why though) I am currently beginning an investigation on an old case, lovingly named "The Candy Killer Disappearances". Apparently, many kids have gone missing and after words the parents would receive candy wrappers with what was thought to be clues to the children's whereabouts. Messages scrawled in messy handwriting would appear in strange places. The children's parents would find them on nightstands, kitchen counters, at their work place, and even laying on the child's pillow. Even after being examined by many, known for their skill in cracking codes, the clues were never deciphered and the children never found
a Physicist's diary[April 17] Maria is getting sicker; tuberculosis is washing her life away day after day, but all the beauty of this World still shines in the depths those tormented eyes. I'm not as strong as she is, I can't bear my impotence. As a scientist once I used to think that the matter had no secrets I couldn't unveil: "Oh, how fool I was... miserable small ant!".More Like This
[May 10] The physician has suggested a period of rest on the mountain. Two or three months should be enough, then we will back home and he will visit her again. While telling this, he has looked me shaking his head almost imperceptibly. I hate him with all my heart, for that motion and for he can't save her; I hate God, in which in the past I didn't believe at all and now I need so much to have a guilty... and I hate myself.
[May 22] We took a nice Chalet in Courmayeur with a marvelous view of the landscape and the night sky for me and rarefied air so precious for my bride. There's something no honest man can deny about Italy: this c
ScaredShe extended her hand and reached for the door. Her body trembled violently in fear.More Like This
Gently, she wrapped her fingers around the brass knob.
It was time to face the day.
CostlyI walked into the small tea shop, out of the rain and shook myself off. I left my umbrella by the door and wandered slowly up to the counter to order some chamomile. After paying for it, I turned to seat myself in one of the booths, but found that each of them were already occupied. Mustering my courage, I walked toward one of them, who had only one person sitting at it. He was enjoying an omelet and biscuit by himself.More Like This
“Do you mind it very much if I could share your table?” I asked hesitantly.
“Not at all.”
I sat down clumsily and fumbled with my phone, feeling awkward for not engaging in small talk. After a while I glance up at him for a second. He was dressed warmly with new-ish clothes. His hair was disheveled, as though he hadn’t showered, and he hadn’t shaved in a while.
The waitress arrived with my tea and I was forced away from my phone to pour myself some.
“Penny for your thoughts.
Peace of MindI will say this: the definition of success is the most corrupted idea of mankind.More Like This
Teachers say good grades, parents say good jobs, teenagers say a nice body. “Money, business, sex,” they spit. Because what are you, but a pretty face and a name?
“Where are you going to school?” “Have you a degree?” “Why don’t you get a job.” “Get a car.” “Make a name for yourself.” “Leave a mark on the world.”
What about the marks on my skin, where I stretched myself too far? Make a name for myself? Names are knives in your back. “Katie, that girl from the back of the class?” “Oh yeah, Sarah from church, right? Don‘t know her well.” No you don’t know me. You can have your names and I’ll stay myself. If I want to leave my name behind when I’m gone, then I will call myself Reason a
I Am Someone To HateDo you know who I am? Do you think that my soul is calm as you say? A tame mare you can bridle. A sight for eyes that searched too long? Another pretty face, to recall at the late hours of the night?More Like This
No. I am no princess from your fairy tales. I am no damsel in your accursed, grey, towers.
No. I am nothing like it.
I am the chill down your spine, colder than the winter months. I am the monster under your bed, naught but pale bones and empty eyes. I am the ghost that haunts you, dead and hungry for more death. I am all the things you hide from. I am something to fear. Something to hate.
I am the force behind the dark that keeps you awake. The one that keeps you still as you pray to god that it passes and doesn’t see you. The next time you call me beautiful think of every shadow that has touched you in your dreams.
Run from me, boy. Forget you ever saw me. Lie down and hate the day you heard my name.
I am no calmer than the height of the storm. The raging winds have
The DancerHear me read itMore Like This
The night I met Jessie she was beautiful. She swayed to the almost intolerably loud music as if her bones were made of it. She was something unknown. I remember the sharp cut of her hair had run across her cheek, parallel to her carved-out cheekbone. It looked like a wig, I wanted to touch it. I wanted to touch her, and see if she felt like plastic. Who could ever believe that someone so perfect could be so real. I regret that. I regret doubting her reality.
Eventually she bought me a drink; she called it an Appleté but trapped in the pulsating fuchsia lights of the club it looked purple. It tasted like jealousy; sour and eye watering. When I told her this she laughed a little, apparently she'd heard that one before. I drank it anyway. I wanted to slot into my assigned role in her fantastical world.
We talked a little. She served other men drinks. The ones in the shadows could have been my reflection. It was confusing. The
Get upHear me read itMore Like This
She sat on the edge of her bed staring at the floor. Within her scope of vision there were many things she could look at. Many things to think about and process. There was a slate blouse that had wilted at the bottom of her bed, or her pale foot placed beside it. The foot looked unnatural there, with no pressure to grip it to the ground it looked unbelonging, like a cast aside prop. Yet she did not look, or think, or notice.
She just stared, blindly, for an hour, her thoughts were obnoxious and churned the paltry paste of self-disgust in her heart muscle, but they were relatively quiet as she repeated over and over in the forefront of her subconscious "Time to get up."
Time to get up. It was time to get up. It was time to get up and get on with her life. It was time to get a life. It was time. It was time to get up.
Unprovoked tears swelled and scattered loosely amid this trail of thought. She kept going, over and over, It