A Murder in Monument Valley._Never-ending Debt_Tomorrow is another day_A Level of Non-Reality
Catalog Guide:
A Murder in Monument Valley.
It was the of middle of early fall. Jayson set at his desk, back against the corner window that provided a view of his beloved city like no other to the east, filling out paperwork for his bosses. The role of middle mangerment; but it was better than the others: the ones he looked down at from his high untouchable tower. Untouchable... So he thought.There was something different about the unexpected knock on the window.He would get up to watch the flocks of birds, navigate through the structures--- the "monument valley" as he referred to it as--- of the skyline, flying above the traffic just a...
Never-ending Debt
"Now pay up Shamus, you bet heads five times and lose it all," said Delton. "You don't walk in here in debt, trying to pay off debt. We're an establishment not some back-alley chumps.""Here's the money, I'll have the rest next week"Receiving two blows to the face and knocking out a front tooth. Wiping the mud off his brown knitted suit. Tails he thinks; tails land five times, I'll be back tomorrow after work, when Old-Man-Willis clocks out I'll swipe the register and be on my merry way.At the register waiting for Willis to clock out; he stops over, fixing his bowww.onedoor.ccw-tie with a mysterious look in ...
Tomorrow is another day
What experiences have made me feel most alive? If I were to count, they’d be about five. I move my leg while laid in bed and think about one; sitting by bodies of water. The rushing sound is a peace for me. The second is hiding under the last night shadow at sunrise. I move my leg again with no purpose to this shifting other than the nagging feeling that I should be awake. I know it’s somewhere between seven am and eleven am, but it might also be twelve. I missed the sunrise again but then I say, “Tomorrow is another day.” My tomorrows have circled around the earth, squeezed into each other li...
A Level of Non-Reality
A Level of Non-Reality Tatiana Fox, Feb 2021“He told me it’s Schizophrenia,” she said, leaning over the small, wooden table across from her brother. She ran her finger around the rim of a plain, white ceramic mug. Empty. It had taken her an hour to summon the ability to speak the words while she had quietly nursed a double cappuccino. She didn’t want to admit to him the night terrors had never stopped. That she wakes up screaming and feeling like she’s covered in blood at least twice per week. She hadn’t wanted to tell him about the waking episodes at all. They started last year. In the beginn...