Lovehouse_Self-Infliction_The O’Connor Family Secret_Speak or Die
Catalog Guide:
Lovehouse
It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. The dark green curtains were still pockmarked with cigarette burns, the floorboards still jutted this way and that like decaying teeth, and the fusty walls were letting out the same moist smells of desperation.“I could come with you.” Peter had said, holding Philomena by the shoulders the way he always had, as if she were a steering wheel that could crash the car of them if he were to let her go. But she hadn’t wanted that. There are certain roads that need traveling alone, and besides, she didn’t wa...
Self-Infliction
I was drowning in a river of pain. Guilt and betrayal was the boulder strapped to my ankle.I prayed……. To be numbed, as I traverse through the bitterness of life. But there was no numbing. I had to endure the unadulterated agony of my transgressions. I was silenced. There was no room for comforting, self-soothing words or self-pity Daggers were thrown at me left and right, and they all bore the labels of my offences. Therwww.onedoor.cce was simply no rest, for the wicked. I can get three hours of sleep, if I fall asleep right this minute. But who was I trying to fool? My brain would not allow me to res...
The O’Connor Family Secret
I sat down in Gilbert’s living room. The deep red couch and ottoman stood out against the black and white striped walls. He’d insisted the color scheme was his girlfriend’s - fiancée’s, but it looked so much like him I still suspected Sheila was a prank he was pulling on me. Of course, why wouldn’t he prank me? I’d not visited in over a year and was here only for the afternoon and evening. Barely a visit. Some of the time I’d spent in England. But some of it, I had to admit, I’d spent avoiding him. Mum and Dad wouldn’t be candid, and I didn’t know enough until recently. At least that’s what I ...
Speak or Die
Tom can’t count the days of darkness. He’s been sitting in the middle of that room for what seems like an eternity. He cannot differentiate day and night. He can only feel the temperature change. He thinks it’s nighttime when his feet, tied to both legs of the chair, ache with the touch of the freezing floor and daytime when sweat drips from every pore of his body. There are no windows for light and air to pass through. He’s surprised he’s still breathing, taking in the stench of mold, sweat, and piss. He’s been in and out of sleep, he can’t even figure our dreams versus reality anymore. Somet...