Killer Day_A Question of Time_About Henry_Conscience
Catalog Guide:
Killer Day
As I left my house this morning, I felt oddly invigorated, like nothing could stand in my way. I bounced down the stairs and headed up the street to catch the bus. My morning routine was right onwww.onedoor.cc schedule. Until this very moment that will change my existence forever.I get to the bus stop and look around at the other patrons waiting to board the bus. No one is returning my gaze, but that’s hardly unusual so early in the morning. As I step towards the bus door, a lady in a black leather jacket steps directly in front of me. Before I can say more than “oh,” I’m bumping into her. She has a sneer o...
A Question of Time
“We’re running out of time.”I say that under my breath as I read the latest news, a plume of steam billows out from my pursed lips and into the cold city air. I stand there and watch it rise and dissipate, just like my chances of making this work. If anyone hears me, they are too savvy to acknowledge my words. I’m on my own and I think I always will be.I slump into the seat of my car and slam the door shut, even then it doesn’t sit right. Nothing sits right, but that’s fine by me, or if it isn’t then I don’t care, not anymore. She’s here. I know she’s here. I have to find her before they do. I...
About Henry
The new house was big and old, and right now it was full of packed boxes, disorganized furniture, and several unshaven moving men. Henry went off to find his bedroom.“Follow the stairs to the top,” his mother told him, kissing him on the cheek, a practice he allowed only when they were alone. It was funny, the house didn’t look this tall from the outside.Reaching the top and finding a tall set of windows, he looked out over an expanse of thickly wooded hills. “Wow,” Henry said softly.When his dad was around, they sometimes took day-long hikes in the woods just east of Seattle. They would set o...
Conscience
I feel the cold walls all around me, the hard bench behind my back. The little light that could come into the box doesn’t, it’s smartly avoiding the damp containment. An icy voice keeps calling into my cell, but I don’t hear it anymore. I know what it’s saying. How could I forget? My mind wanders back and forth through time, much like the time travel machine I dreamt up in elementary school. I feel my feet walking, the leather shoes rubbing against my ankles where my hurried preparation left it folded at the top. The top of my turtle-neck was also folded against my skin, but that was intentio...