Life on a knife-edge_Louder Than Words_Twenties_Not To Point Fingers..
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Life on a knife-edge
His gaunt face illuminated under his hood as he drew in hard on the last of his spliff. He nonchalantly flicked away the butt, narrowly missing a homeless guy bundled up in his sleeping bag home against the railings. He always kept one hand in his pocket these days, turning the knife over and over in his palm. A modern-day comfort blanket. As he stepped from the curb, Jackson, was oblivious.He was oblivious to the twelve tonnes of red double-decker bus that was about to take his life. It would strike him on his right side. Oblivious to the fact that his skull would be shattered by the impact. ...
Louder Than Words
If life was a dance, then Hazel was off beat. Everything was throwing off her rhythm. Lately, it was as if she moved like one of those blow up tube dancers in front of car dealerships; painfully uncoordinated but something people couldn’t seem to stop looking at. The looks she got as her 70s platforms clomped down the hallway burned the back of her neck, and the whispers that filled her ears distracted her from her uswww.onedoor.ccual steady beat. These constant missteps, though, were not caused solely by the whispers or the looks. In fact, Hazel liked it when people noticed her, whispering about her big ci...
Twenties
She doesn’t feel like writing today. Her head feels foggy, her words lost inside. She tells others she doesn’t have any original ideas. That isn’t quite true; she wants to write about the unique scenes in her mind. She thinks another author could turn her ideas into a New York Times bestseller, but she can’t make it past a few pages. She doesn’t believe she can. Maybe if I wasn’t so lazy. Maybe if I paid more attention to real dialogue, she thinks. She wishes she could translate scenes into a collection of chapters people would actually pay to read. She avoids listening to that ‘80s soundtrack...
Not To Point Fingers..
Very much {gore/death/swearing/blood/weapons/you get the gist} warning- if you don’t like, don’t read. I appreciate constructive criticism!2:46 AM, December 18th. The police lights were turning my skin awkward shades of blue and red. On this cold night, I stood outside the caution tape, just wondering what the officers were thinking, what they were seeing. They’ve got the middle of the road blocked off, what about the cars? Taking steps toward the caution tape, I could feel the familiar crunch of leaves under my boots. With my hands balanced on the tape, I saw one officer bent over near a tr...