Posted on

The Unsuspecting Recipient

“What’s this,” Kailey said as she picked up the game box that had come in the mail, “ooohhh, it’s the crime box I got you, right?” She asked as she shook it.
“That is is,” Mark answered. “I actually finished the one from last month a few minutes before you called me. I have the first two in the closet should you ever want to give it a go yourself.”
“Maybe I might,” Kailey said exaggerating her shoulder movements, “but first I would like to start this one with you.”
“Start with me,” Mark asked as he took the box from her and got up to get scissors, “you mean this isn’t something you can do all by yourself?” A tone of mock horror danced through his voice as he teased his girlfriend. They had been together a few years and there was nothing she couldn’t do herself.
“Obviously, I can,” she sassed him back, “but on the off chance it’s scary I’d rather watch you squirm first.” The two erupted into laughter as Mark walked back over to the couch.

Posted on

Letters of Longing

Over the years, I’ve proven myself to be a bit of an unofficial handwriting expert-hobbyist. It’s somewhat of a party trick. Tell your subject to write the following poem, a poem of my own invention, “The goblin quickly erupts picking up his zax, after the jerk waiter served him decaf coffee.” It’s a little lengthy, but people are usually distracted by its corkiness than to tear it apart. Most people go up in arms that “zax” is a made up word. It’s not. It’s a noun. Look up the definition if you don’t believe me. The crazy thing is through this party trick of mine, I’ve accumulated dozens of writing samples that look nothing like my own. With some additional information I’ve been able to open a store credit card here or there, made a withdrawal or two from bank accounts, but up until recently I hadn’t had enough samples to put into motion my greatest plan.

Posted on

Keeping In Touch

He watched as the top of her head bobbed up and down with the movement of her hips and arm. The top of her lower back rising up more and more as her head pushed further down into her bed. She didn’t masturbate every morning, just like he didn’t usually have jobs us this way. When he did, he liked to stop by. She how looked, if she still had some of the same morning habits or if those had changed over the course of time as well. Her hair color had changed. It was darker now, but so was the weather. It was colder, in color and temperature. In the summer her hair was lighter and warmer, like the sun and the sand at the beach.

Posted on

To the Dogs of Room 427

She wasn’t quite sure how she got here or exactly what she was saying, but she was sure she was drunk. She heard the words, “stay, away, me, masturbate, you, me, right, wrong” and then she stopped listening to herself. Or maybe she had stopped talking. She felt something soft and rough, smooth and edged. She felt the graininess of pores. She felt like she was going to throw up. She felt the temperature change as she returned indoors from outside. The warm air, versus the cold.

Posted on

Deanna Deals (kind off)

There once with a girl who lived in a shell of herself. Much like any holiday chocolate so you could find – say an Easter Bunny or Santa Claus – there was a hard shell around her and nothing on the inside. Only a large and vacant space occupied her insides. There were thoughts too, that swirled in the air of nothingness, but they weren’t substantial thoughts. They weren’t really anything. Those thoughts, and the vast void seem to be Deanna’s biggest problem.

She had the potential to change everything, the void, the nothingness, all of it. But for her potential to change it all, she lacked the motivation. Deanna lacked the sheer will or want to do anything. While this qualified as a problem for some, it was just everyday life to Deanna. Some days she did more than others. Some days she genuinely tried. Most days she faked it. This was one of those days.