We Ran Out Of TIme_Another Piece of Family_Abnormality_On Target
Catalog Guide:
We Ran Out Of TIme
“We have plenty of time.” Those words left a bitter taste in my mouth. I said that with a wide smile with a lot of hope for the future. I can gladly say it was years ago when I said them. I had years with them and that was a privilege that I had but the brilliant little boy holding my hands as we waited. It was a cold, sterile waiting room. It was a nightmare, but as real as it could be. If it was a dream, I would wake up from it in an instant and hold him in my arms. I would cry tears of joy and hate him for the ridiculous reason of getting hurt in a sad dream.I said that by the third year t...
Another Piece of Family
TW - mentions of suicide. Theresa looks me up and down, an unreadable expression on her face, but that's understandable considering she only met me two hours ago. I know she's unsure of what to think about me - most people are. I give her a moment to form the question I'm anticipating she'll ask - everyone asks it. Her gaze parts from mine momentarily, flickering to the table, then back up to me. Her nails create a rhythm on the chipped, creamy colored plastic. The clicks only last a scarce amount of seconds before they silence. Her voice fills the familiar silence at last, but the words she ...
Abnormality
TW: Child Abandonment, Child Kidnapping , Mild use of socially unacceptable language, Death"Okay, Pumpkin, try again.""Like this?""Just like that."McMullen ResidenceDarla: Age 71989-07-03"Peach and Pumpkin, the dynamic crime duo rob the bank! What is the world going to do now? Oh, but wait! A hero www.onedoor.cchas arrived! Waffles!""Darla! Your dinner's ready!" Darla's mother called from the door."Mom! Five more minutes?" Darla really wasn't a child that was ready to do anything but live in her perfect imaginary worlds. Ones where daddies stayed to watch their little girls grow up, to let them have a happy...
On Target
To Whom It May Concern:I have run out of ink. And not just in the metaphorical sense. I am inkless. Dry. Inkus devoidus. Maybe even inkus extinctus. And, although the proverbial barrel has been scraped - on many an occasion, I might add - I am officially without the necessary levels of cartridge fluid to continue in this shit shower of a job.I’m also out of wine. And there’s a gun on my desk. It isn’t my gun. Nor is it intended for me. In any way. One might say that it’s not my problem. In fact, many of my colleagues say ‘it’s not my problem’ on a startlingly regular basis. Unfortuna...