That has always been a given, whether he is alive or dead or stuck in some halfway ghostly state, and he had thought that literally dying would help him get out of that, but it didn't. He still has days where he can do nothing but watch as his family devolves, where he can just feel his chest unspooling like a fraying shoestring that got stepped on one too many times, where everything feels too much and too little and infinite and suffocating all at once.
He has bad days, and for so long, he's had to have those bad days alone. Being a...
Insidious was his middle name, but his owner didn’t know that. When she picked him up off the street, he acted like he was good with other cats, was playful, and loved to cuddle, but someone--or some cat-- loves to act. I mean, he acted innocent yesterday when his food somehow had a paw shaped hole in the lining with tuna bits scattered on the kitchen counter. So, when he walked to the door before his owner came from work, he swished his tail and jumped from the counter leaving the scene of the crime.
She fit his personality perfectly; She was forgiving, huggable, and always happy. He never und...
They say that every single person who jumps to their death regrets their decision by the time they have fallen halfway down. And that’s what happened to me.
I sat on the guardrail on the Golden Gate Bridge for the longest time. Exactly how much time had passed I did not know, as I had lost count after the first few hours, but the sun was low in the sky. My feet dangled off the edge, swinging freely nearly three hundred feet above the water. I did not shed a tear for myself, because I knew no one else would shed a tear for me. If I had felt emotion before, it was gone now. No...
I wondered if people ever felt guilty for banishing any signs of individual thought. I decided right there that guilt wasn’t a factor in a world that didn’t leave room for human error. With that, I zoned back into my pitiful reality.
“...And that is why our world is unified in language and laws,” Ms Burns said.
The room was silent as Ms Burns looked through her tablet, choosing which historical pit of lies she was going to throw us into next. She adjusted her dark glasses, making sure they were snug against her face.
He wanders into the room. It seems to have been completely untouched from the war, one of few rooms in the building. It’s quiet here. It feels almost isolated from everything else outside. The interior of the room has isolated itself from the death and destruction that had only stopped hours ago, minutes before sunrise.
The sound of his footsteps bounce off the stone walls and he stops when he sees a large mirror, leaned against the wall to the right of the door. He crosses over to it, amazed at how good of a condition it’s in, and stands directly in front of it.