A Way Out_For Sheila_A Place for Waiting_Eight Hundred (Inspired by real events)
Catalog Guide:
A Way Out
My name is Jody Miller, and I make people disappear. No, I don't kill them, I don't even dislike the people I help vanish. I think of them as clients, and it's my job to give them a new life. At all cost. I don't work for the CIA or anything like that, in fact what I do is highly illegal, but to me it's necessary and I have the means. I'm on my way to a client right now.Her husband is a highly dangerous drug lord, and she wants out. She'd literally have to be dead to leave him, or look like she is. That's where I come in. I've erased and reswww.onedoor.cctarted the lives of over 100 people in only two years...
For Sheila
The sun hadn’t yet risen as an electronic beeping pushed me out of sleep. With a yawn and a stretch, I blinked my eyes, mindlessly reaching over to switch off the alarm clock which let me know it was 5 o’clock in the morning. Turning on the bedside lamp with a quick glance around to see if there had been any changes in the night, it appeared that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, which was a good thing. Knowing that I had opened my life up to potential disaster during this time, I was glad that all was early morning quiet. Giving a final stretch, I slid out from under the covers and mad...
A Place for Waiting
These clouds are so white. They’re grey. They’re a whitish grey, the colour of sea foam building up on the shoreline. They’re grey. I can’t see many shapes, not really. I thought, for a moment, that one there looked to be a dog, a young pup playing on a grassy field, a ball, layered with drool, clenched in its jaw. Too much drool and too much ball for its mouth that his brayed lips froth and overflow with spit; he bounds proudly. Just for a second, I saw this, but then it disappeared, bounding off into the sea foam before it was ever really there, just a shadow of an idea of a dog. They’re clo...
Eight Hundred (Inspired by real events)
Eight hundred milligrams, the doctor said. Two white discs stare up at me on the counter, small beside the glass of water. Stupid little things. I look away. On the window sill above the sink is a row of jagged chess pieces, carved from dead trees. Mostly uneven pawns of all shades, but at the end is a neatly sculpted queen. “Have you tried carving yet?”It was August when I met her. I went for a walk, because the house was too small a place for all my emotions. She stood just outside that creepy old house on Nullen street, hands in her pockets, staring at the sky. She was a small person, made...