toasty-death

[toasty-death]

Give me that, before anything happens.

Original Fiction.

Summary: Richard has been plagued by a nightmare that visits him each night. Only his fear of the nightmare grows as he begins to believe it may more than just a dream.

Word Count: 793

Category: Short story fiction, spooky

Warning to the reader: This story may cause triggers for depression.

For the past few weeks, every time I step through the doorway to this house it has an odd feeling. As if I'm always being watched by someone the clings to the shadows. I don't feel safe here anymore, I constantly think of this thing reaching out and snatching me while I sleep. The past few nights I have slept in a hotel room 20 minutes away, it's a little farther of a drive for work in the morning but at least I can sleep in comfort. 

I couldn't keep spending money on the hotel so I risked spending the night back at my place again, I thought that maybe it was all in my head, that I just had to work through it. That night I woke up in a cold sweat as I felt something pushing down on my chest. I roll over and flip the bed side lamp on, but nothing is there. I didn't sleep the rest of that night. 

The next night, I asked some close friends of mine to spend the night with me. Of course John and Nathan gave me shit about it, saying I was just being paranoid. But they love me enough to be there for me when I need them, and right now I really need them. I cooked dinner for them as thanks, we laughed and joked like always. I continued to walk around the house holding a kitchen knife, still faintly paranoid. "Give me that, before anything happens." John grabs the knife from me. "Sorry, I still feel kind of spooked." After a few hours we played some card games, and for the first time I stopped feeling so anxious about being in this house. Eventually we all went to sleep for the night, John took the guest bedroom, and Nathan slept on the couch. I fell asleep rather quickly, feeling safe in my home for the first time in a month. 

Richard. I woke up to someone talking to me, calling my name. I was sweating again, I looked around the bedroom but I couldn't see anyone. "John?" Nothing called back. "Nathan?" I flipped on the light switch and the room was empty. Richard. There was the voice again, only I wasn't sure where it came from. It was as if it was all around me, it sounded dark and ominous. I got out of bed and ran into the guest bedroom. "John, wake up!" I throw open the door and turn on the lights, John startles awake. "What the hell? What's wrong?" He sits up right in the guest bed. 

They can't help you, Richard. The voice spoke again, still seemingly from everywhere at once. "What the fuck was that?" John heard the voice, too. We both run into the living room to wake Nathan up, but when we get in there Nathan is lying on the floor with his eyes wide open. "Nathan? Are you okay?" He wasn't responding. I kneel down next to him and I realize that he's shaking, he's fighting something. He's fighting it. I begin to try and shake him, as I do I bump into something quite large. I hear a demonic grunt as the floor gives off a thud. Suddenly, Nathan can move again. "What the hell is going on?" He quickly stands up, looking about the room wildly. "It's the fucking thing that's been haunting me, it's fucking real!" I grab the nearest thing I can find, which is a vase, and sling it in the direction that I think it is. "Agh!" The vase shatters in mid air, it's physically here. "Quick, beat the shit out of this thing!" I yell at the others. We grab what ever we can find; a broom, a kitchen chair, and the coat hanger by the door. 

We begin slamming these objects into the thing, each successful blow gives off a resounding grunt from the creature. "Enough, stop this!" The creature tries to order us around, but we don't give in. It feels as if hours have gone by, but it was only mere minutes before the grunts have turned to shrieks. We beat it and beat it until a final gutural moan seeps out as for a moment the creatures form is revealed to us. It has sickly molted skin, emaciated arms, and devilish face. "This can't..." Were the final words the creature uttered as it poofs away into black smoke, and then it's quiet again. 

We stand there, breathing heavily, just looking at the spot where the thing was. It was finally gone, this thing that plagued my life for the past month. "It's finally over." Those were the first words that were spoken after a long silence. 

I finally felt relief. 

[toasty-death]

Do you recognize this?

Original Fiction.

Summary: Three vagrants prepare to jump onto a train to their next destination, what they find there may change their future.

Word Count: 504

Category: Short story fiction

 I could hear the sound of the train over the hills in the distance, it was probably close to noon at this point. In another 20 minutes it would be around the bend, and that would be our time to jump on. We've always lived this way, travelling from one place to the next. Doesn't matter if it was by train, boat, hitch hiking, or just walking. We've always been on our own since we were little; me, Tinker, and Ghost. We get by, and travel on our own terms. 

We were posted up in the woods with a clearing where the railroad tracks ran through it. We got here not too long ago, and we were in a hurry because Ghost had gotten caught stealing again, so we had to move. "I'm telling you it wasn't my fault, how was I supposed to know that the guy with sunglasses was a cop?" Ghost was complaining to Tinker, he just stood there with his arms crossed and the same look on his face that said "Really?" "Hey, trains coming, be ready." I wanted to make sure they weren't going to miss the chance to jump. "No shit Diver, we hear it." Tinker was a man of few words.

The train moved on by, we waited until we saw the empty cars and jumped on together. Before we knew it, we were leaving this shit hole town. A few hours passed by so we made ourselves at home in the car. Tinker was messing around with some stuff he found in a box, he always enjoyed seeing what he could make with the shit he found, hence his name. Ghost was asleep against a crate, and I was just sitting by the car door watching the scenery pass us by. 

Another couple of minutes passed by and Tinker walks up to me. "Do you recognize this?" He held out an odd blue sphere that looked like it was made of glass. "Can't say that I do, where'd you find it?" It was roughly about the size of a ping pong ball, it's probably an ornament of some sort. "I found it over in this sealed box, had to smash the lock to get it open. This was the only thing inside." He pointed over to the aforementioned box, he did more than just smash the lock open. He destroyed the thing. 

Suddenly, the glass ball begins to glow a bright blue color. "Shit!" Tinker drops the ball immediately; it makes a loud noise as it hits the floor, waking Ghost up. All three of us were caught in the glimpse of the light, transfixed on its glow. We edged in closer until we formed a small circle around it. "Is... it getting brighter?" Ghosts face was fixed to the light, her mouth agape. The light was definitely getting brighter, but I couldn't find it in myself to look away. 

The next thing we know, there's a flash of light. Everything goes white, and then darkness. 

[toasty-death]

You're the smartest person I know. 

Original Fiction.

Summary: A scientist left alone on a strange planet analyzes data with the hope of one day terraforming it into a hospitable planet.

Word Count: 434

Category: Short story fiction, futuristic

Warning to the reader: This story may cause triggers for depression.

 Everything in this world responds to each and every other thing. When a ball falls to the ground, it bounces. When your brain sends a signal to your legs to move, you walk. When someone speaks, it should be heard. That's what I've always believed, up until recently. I find myself at my desk in the late hours of the night, writing my reports and pondering questions that I haven't found answers to yet. I decide I've had enough for the night and walk up to the view port window. Overall the scenery hasn't changed, the sky is still the same grey-blue hue and the lands are a wasteland. I watch for a little while longer as the strong winds kick up the dust and blow it past the dome. 

I've been here for quite some time, though I have stopped marking the days on my calendar many days ago. I've grown accustomed to living in the dome; the generators provide the power I need, the autonomous kitchen gives me a variety of things to eat each day, and the recreation center gives me plenty to do when I grow bored or restless. Though most days I am at my desk, I research for the clues that this planet sends me. That's why I was sent here; to study the planet and discover if it's possible to begin the process of terraforming it. I applied for this position back on Earth, I ranked first above the other two candidates. Ironic really, who would volunteer for a mission where you would spend your days in solitude, to die on a rock light years from your home, and to die alone. I guess I would, I applied after all. 

I let out a deep sigh as I try not to let the thoughts consume me. I should probably head to the recreation center to take my minds off things for a few hours, and head to bed. 

The next day starts just like all the others. I decide to skip my morning routine; I'm feeling adventurous today. I head to the computer to follow up on any new anomalies, and I find a ping. I download the file to my tablet and snake my way to my desk. The data looks promising, seems like the scanners outside have picked up signs of moisture under the sand. I'll get started on this right away, I'm sure that I can start to piece everything together to make a viable theory. After all, you're the smartest person I know. I ponder to myself as I begin analyzing the data.

[toasty-death]

Do you even know what this means? 

Original Fiction.

Summary: A short story to represent the internal feelings of dissociation.

Word Count: 432

Category: Short story fiction

Warning to the reader: This story may cause triggers for depression and dissociative behaviors.

 The walls shatter and break around me, there's supposed to be a sound of explosions but everything is silent. I body is screaming that I run as fast as I can, but I find myself walking slowly. Then, everything is normal again. The walls are intact, the windows without a scratch. I continue walking as if nothing has happened. 

My grip tightens, there are things that I need to say but my mouth won't move. Walking forward is all I can do, I have no control here. Each time that I strain to gain control my vision blurs, the ground begins to shake, and my heart beats like a drum. Eventually I give in and allow everything to settle, it's quiet again. 

I walk forward, allowing the machine to go about the day. I watch it do laundry, sort paperwork, and drive in silence. Though everything is moving so fast I can't keep up, before I know it a month has passed. I think I have control again, I check my surroundings to assure myself of my own sanity. I find my belongings in my pockets, and I press my hand against the cold steel railing of the fence line I've found myself by. The cold feeling brings me reassurance, it tells me "you are here." 

The next time I look up, the trees are beginning to uproot on their own, cracks in the road begin to snake their way towards me. It's going to get me, it's no longer safe here. I need to run, but I won't escape the skittering chaos that encroaches upon me. My vision blurs again, and I find myself back in the machine. It's safe here. 

These iron walls are thick, resisting the attacks from the unknown. I hear the thudding and slamming of the churning world outside, and as long as I am inside the machine nothing can touch me. Occasionally I hear something, was it a voice? I try to respond but the walls are too thick, it isn't heard. What was it again? And how much time has passed? 

I try to focus my thoughts again. I pry and pull at the walls of the machine but it is impenetrable. As I focus a sense comes to me, something is touching my hand. My grip tightens, will my signal go through? Who's out there? Do you even know what this means? 

I wait for a response, but the machine is in full control. It responds to everything so I don't have to. After all, that was its purpose. 

That's why I built it. 

[toasty-death]

Okay, show me.

Original Fiction.

Summary: Running is all he's ever known. Until he meets a curious flying creature that seems more interested in fish than him. Should he trust this stranger?

Word Count: 458

Category: Short story fiction

 Running... That's all I've ever known. I've been running for my life for as long as I could remember. The jungles here are harsh, predators lurk behind every bush, every tree. They wait for the perfect time to strike, but I am nimble. 

I claw my way up a nearby tree to gain a better view of my surroundings, up there I can see the expansive canopies of my home. The river is nearby, within running distance; good. I climb down from the tree and begin running in the direction of the river, I should be able to make it there quickly. I move from bush to bush, stopping to scan the area before moving on to the next. 

I finally make it to the river; safe. I give the area another scan before dipping my head down to drink. Suddenly, I feel a tug at my tail. I whip around and hiss, ready to run again. Only, it's a thing that's smaller than me. It has a long face, and it has a peculiar scent. "What do you want?" I try to intimidate the thing. "Fish?" It chirps at me. I stare back blankly. "I am no fish." My legs are ready to bolt again. "Want Fish." It chirps again. I glace back at the river and see that there are a few small sized fish within my reach, I understand now. I glace back one more time at the thing before clawing down into the water, I snag a fish and whip it onto the shore. "Ah!" The thing greedily leaps at the fish and flies away with it. 

Strange, but it wasn't that bad. At least I can drink water in peace. I give another glace around the area before resuming. 

Fly, fly, fish! I hurriedly soar back to the nest, I can't wait to show the others what I've found. It takes me no time at all to reach the nest, and I already see my clutch is waiting expectantly. Their heads pop up in attention as they watch me land with a sizable meal, ready to take it from me. I fluff my feathers and stretch out my wings, they're bigger than me but this is my food. 

"Food? Where." The eldest clutch mate asks as he pecks at a meat bone. "River, there's fish. Small cat can get." I feel proudly of myself, fluffing the feathers in my chest. "Show me." The eldest clutch mate drops the meat bone, fresh meat still in his beak. I don't want to make him angry at me, so I better show him where there's food. "Okay!" I lift my wings again and lift off, leading my clutch in the direction of the small cat thing. 

[toasty-death]

[toasty-death]

Don't worry, I got you. 

Original Fiction.

Summary: Two hikers find themselves stranded in a cave after one of them is badly injured. Will help arrive on time, or will our protagonist succumb to his vivid hallucinations?

Word Count: 705

Category: Short Story. angst

Warning to readers: Contains scenes that may cause triggers for depression.

The cave was dark, the only sound that could be heard was the water dripping off the stalactites. I remember when we first found ourselves here, to escape the coming storm. That was two nights ago, and I don't think that I'm going to make it. I broke my leg falling down a cliff about three days ago, I was banged up badly in other places as well, and I think a fever has started to kick in. 

"Hey, you doing okay?" I realized that she's been staring at me for a while now as I go in and out of hallucinations. "Yeah, I'm fine." I lied. "The weather should clear up by tomorrow, and we only have another day of hiking before we reach town again. Just hold out until then, okay?" She was trying to reassure me, but I've already begun giving up on myself. She should just go and save herself. 

Another night had passed, and the weather still hadn’t cleared by the next morning. I dreamt that I was someplace else, somewhere where I had no problems, and the pain didn't reach me. It would be so easy to give in to that dream. I should try and fall back asleep. "Hey, are you awake?" She startled me, I realized now that she has been trying to talk to me again, I must've missed that. "Yeah, mostly. How's the weather?" Trying to be optimistic. "It hasn't cleared up at all, I need you to hold on for me. I'm going to make the hike down the mountain and go get help, I've tried to get a signal up here, but my phone has finally died. I promise that I'll come back, can you wait for me here?" She was throwing her belongings in her travel bag; she was set on this. "Yeah, sure. I'm not going anywhere anyways." I make an attempt to laugh but it hurts. "I left you enough food and water that should last long enough for help to arrive, I know you're probably not hungry, but at least try to drink when you can. Wait for me." She threw her pack over her shoulders and stepped out of the cave, then all was silent again. 

I spent the rest of the day drifting in and out of consciousness. My dreams began to seem real, filling images in the caves with my imagination. Eventually, I stopped being able to tell what was real and what wasn't real. 

Suddenly I'm back in that place, it's warm there and only a few clouds dot the sky. I could live here forever. She isn't going to come back to me, why would she? I'm just happy that she made it out of this mess alive. I'm sure it was a pain to wait on me, trying to get me to stand again. 

I drift deeper into sleep. Everything here was nice, and I began to forget everything that happened before. I don't think I even remember who I am, anymore. It feels so easy to just… let go of everything. 

Am I dying? 

The thought reels through my mind. For a moment I'm alarmed, but I was already dying, wasn't I? How is this any different. I don't want to go back into that cave, I'd rather stay here. I don't feel any fear in this place. 

"In here!" I hear a voice, but when I look around, I can't see anyone. Was I imagining things? "Is he breathing?" Breathing? What a ridiculous thought. "Hey buddy, you there? Can you hear me? Come back." My eyes slowly blink awake as I see a man in an orange vest, he looks like he's a paramedic. People have flooded the cave, and I hear the sound of a helicopter somewhere from outside the cave. 

The man begins to lift me onto a stretcher, and the gathered people begin to help carry me out of the cave. "Don't worry, I got you." He assures me as we exit the cave. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, sunlight hits my face. It hurts my eyes. Being alive hurts. But it looks like it isn't time for me to give up, after all. 

[toasty-death]

It's not too late, let's go.

Original Fiction.

Summary: Gale and Blaire have been living their whole lives being told that it's dangerous to go outside. Gale wakes up one morning and his lover Blaire is missing, only to lead him to a beautiful discovery.

Word Count: 1,357

Category: Futuristic, Mind Twist

 The silvery waves splashed against the granite sand, looking out you could see the expanse of the Mercury Sea out to the horizon. It was beautiful, but I knew it was time to head back inside since the sun was kissing the surface of the ocean, creating its usual array of blue and red clouds. Night would be upon us soon, but I didn't want to leave. "Come on, Gale, let's head back inside. You don't want to be caught by the rain, you know?" Blaire was right, it was supposed to rain tonight. We'd be dead if we got caught in it, I doubt we'd even last 10 seconds.

We headed back inside the grotto entrance, the steel steps seemed like they would go forever before we reached ground level. The walk was quiet, but I enjoyed her company like this. We didn't have to talk to feel comfortable with each other, that was the kind of relationship we had. My eyes strained against the glow of the neon sign, Paradise Grotto. Right, like this shit-hole was a paradise. We were forced to live here our whole lives, as the rain kills everything on the surface. We were allowed to venture to the surface when the weather reads clear skies for extended periods of time, but the entrance is sealed within an hour of any sign of rainfall. As we walk pass the entrance, the alarm begins to blare for the coming rain.

We made our way through the main entrance hallway, passing by cross sections that leads to the other sections of the Grotto. Our path was pretty straight forward, just down the main hallway and make a left at the recycle plant, then eight halls down. Blaire fumbled for the right key standing outside our apartment, she always had trouble remembering which key was the correct one. "Ugh, this one." She found it.

"I got the lights." I made my way over to the generator and started the process of starting it up. We can't have power running while we're outside of our apartment, just how things work around here. Power began to hum throughout the room as the lights flickered on, home sweet home. Blaire was already in the kitchen setting plates aside to prepare dinner. Probably freeze-dried meatloaf, again. One day I'll have to get us into one of those higher floor apartments, like one of those that the heads of divisions stay in. We'd never eat freeze-dried meatloaf again. I started cleaning around the house as Blaire finished up, it was my routine. Just another thing about how everything works here, you need to keep up a routine. Those who don't have a routine usually don't make it to their 30's, since there really isn't much to do in the Grotto unless you spend all of your earnings drinking it away.

We sat down and ate in silence, afterwards I cleaned the dishes. This is how our lives are here; we wake up at 0500, work from 0600 to 1800, we watch the sunset between 1800 and 1900, we eat at 2000, and sleep at 2100. That was our routine together in our wonderful lives inside the Grotto, we didn't need anything else to be happy.

"See you in the morning." Blaire kisses me goodnight. "And every sunset after." I kiss her back. I fall asleep fairly quickly and let the darkness take me.

I wake up in the morning with the sound of the alarm clock buzzing, I've always hated that noise. I shut it off and rub the sleep from my eyes, it looks like Blaire woke up earlier than normal. Well, I should start getting ready for work now, too.

My normal morning routine is washing my face, then I brush my teeth, then I gargle mouthwash for 30 seconds. After that I take my morning medication, it seems I'm running low on Vitamin D again. After my morning routine I head out to the living area to eat breakfast with Blaire, only the lights are off. "Hun?" I flick the lights on, but the living room is empty. I search the bedroom again, and she isn't there. "Blaire?" I begin to panic, is she hiding? This isn't like her at all. I begin searching everywhere frantically. She isn't anywhere, I open the front door and there she is, fumbling with her keys and soaking wet. "What the hell happened? Why are you wet?" She just stared back at me with wild, wide eyes. "Gale, I need you to come with me." She mumbled just low enough that I could hear her. "What, where? Where have you been? We are going to be late for work."

The next thing I knew she grabbed me by the arm and began pulling me down the hallway. "Hey! Blaire, talk to me!" She stayed focused on leading me somewhere, did she get into an accident? Is she in trouble? Eventually I gave up on trying to ask her what had happened, and I allowed her to lead the way. She leads me eight halls down, we make a right at the recycle plant, and up the main hallway. Paradise Grotto. She stops in front of the neon sign, I can hear the alarm up the stairwell for the signal that it's raining again.

"We need to go up the stairs, do you trust me?" She turns to me with a dead serious expression on her face. Up the stairs? "What's going on, Blaire?" Her eyes are darting between mine. "Gale, I can't explain unless I show you. We need to run up the stairs, we can't stop running. Do you trust me?" My mind is racing with hundreds of thoughts. I look up and see the entrance security has started paying attention to us now as one of the middle-aged guards gets up to walk over to us.

"Yes." We take off up the stairs. The guards shout for us to stop but we have a head start on them. We move as quickly as we can up the hundreds of steep steps. My chest begins to hurt, we've been running for 10 minutes. I can hear Blaire struggling to keep up her pace, eventually I'm the one in the lead, grasping her hand and pulling her along. We keep running, and running, until we reach the top of the stairs. The hatch leading to the outside is in front of us with the red hazard lights on, the alarm is ringing in our ears at this point.

We pause for a moment to catch our breath, and then she reaches for the latch handle. I reach out and grab her wrist to stop her. "Blaire, it's raining, we can't go outside." She places her hand over mine as she leans forward to place her forehead against me. Her hair is still wet and it gets my shirt damp. "I need you to trust me, please." She takes my hand off hers and opens the latch. The sound of the rain pouring down against the earth fills the stairwell, I've never heard such a sound before.

I watch in shock as she bolts outside into the rain with arms wide open. "Blaire!" It's too late, I can't save her. She'll be dead in seconds. Only, she isn't in pain. I stand there baffled, my mouth open as I watch her dance in the rain. It was the most beautiful sight that I've ever witnessed, it was as if she was a piece of art. For the first time in my life, she's the happiest I've ever seen her.

She spins around once more and looks at me with a huge grin. "Come with me." She reaches her hand for mine. My heart was racing, what was even going on? How is this possible? I couldn't get my thoughts straight, I felt dizzy. I think I might throw up.

"Gale, it's not too late, let's go." The rain was dripping from her outstretched fingers.

Suddenly, my mind was blank, and my feet moved on their own. I stepped out into the rain.

[toasty-death]

You should date an illiterate girl.

Date a girl who doesn't read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in a film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.

Let the anxious contract you've unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale or the evenings too long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn't fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.

Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn't, smile all the same.

Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn't read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.

Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent of a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, goddamnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.

Date a girl who doesn't read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so goddamned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life of which I spoke at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being told. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. Or, perhaps, stay and save my life.

Charles Warnke

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Paladin™: when you’re kinda feeling cleric but also want to Stab

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Lucie Zelená

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source

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“And silence, like darkness, can be kind; it, too, is a language.”

— Hanif Kureishi (via quotemadness)

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“Relax wild one. It’s not your job to be everything everyone needs, and you don’t have to be impressive to be loved. Stop trying so hard. Just show up … and be real with the world. That is enough.”

— Brooke Hampton (via perrfectly)

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“A book must be the ax for the frozen sea within us.”

— Franz Kafka