Follow the Stars_I’ll Walk Through Hell for You_Picture Window_Roommate
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Follow the Stars
Once upon a time twww.onedoor.cchere were two young, vibrant lads. Maybe too young for this city that they called home. It was just too corrupt for the two to handle. The streets flooded with robbers, murderers, and beggars within the city and the police had no means to change it. They were as corrupt as the rest of them. Everyone was petrified to walk outside, because they didn’t know whether they would get a hole in their chest or have their pockets cleansed by grimy thieves . The two lads wanted to change this city. In the meantime, they gave the city a nickname. Gotham City. “Stop lookin’ so blue and...
I’ll Walk Through Hell for You
Jasmin is my best friend. No, she’s more than that. She’s like a sister to me and I would do anything to keep her safe and happy. And I did actually. When everyone lost hope and thought she couldn’t be saved anymore I didn’t give up and I never will give up on her.When we were little kids Jasmin and I started going to the same school. That’s where we first met. The thing is little kids can be brutal sometimes. My parents were drunks and abusers, they still are, so none of the kids wanted to do anything with me. My body was usually covered in bruises from the beatings at home and quite often I...
Picture Window
Picture WindowbyK.A. Bachus (© 2021)The first time I realized Sobieski wanted to kill me, I was leaning into a double-paned window twenty floors up from a New York street. I rested my forehead on the glass, my eyes on the stream of lights at the bottom of a skyscraper canyon and my psyche in the movement and freedom of people and cars in the darkness. It was the briefest respite from the newly heightened tension of an already stressful job. Sobieski destroyed the moment with a shove and an expletive, pulling the curtains closed with a powerful yank.He said some other words besides the expletiv...
Roommate
I woke up the same as always, a tug-of-war with the promise of the day versus the comfort of my slumber. Rounds one and two of the game resulted in a draw, with sleep winning out in round three. The game lasted long enough that the world of my dream had flitted away leaving only dissonant puzzle pieces. The back of the head of a ginger boy, my bloody hands with no wounds, the high-pitch yap of a small dog. I tried to gather the pieces with a sudden urgency but they slipped through my fingers like sand. There was a weight in my stomach the size of a bowling ball. The pressure in my sinuses war...