When I Became Death, I Finally Felt Alive_Can You See What I See?_Second Floor Apartment_The Librari
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When I Became Death, I Finally Felt Alive
“Please let me die,” I said, staring up at the ceiling with my wrists bound to the hospital gurney. Tears had pooled in my eyes; and my death ended up being as monumental as the word sorry. Apologies were passed around in small groups, ‘sorry’ was given and taken to family and friends, and then like a regret pushed down deep, it was moved away from. My death came and went and my family and former life had to move on too. I had expected no less. “Please let me die!” I had sobbed, uncurled on my bedroom floor, chest heaving and mou...
Can You See What I See?
How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here forever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.– Virginia Wolf, The Waves“I’m indecisive because I see eight sides to everything.” – April KepnerThe show has been successful, or at least tonight's opening has been. The show itself will be up for two months. It’s not the quality of the hors d’oeuvres that has made for the great turnout and positive nods of all the people ...
Second Floor Apartment
The couch had stayed. The last tenant had told Angie's friend Marta that he would not be moving it. Angie was fine with this. Sight unseen, she signed a six month lease. The couch had no legs and was very low to the ground. If Angie sat on it like a chair, her knees came up level with her tits. But she rarely sat on it. She laid down on it. Or stretched her legs out across it. She used its entire space.***The bed sat on the floor too. It was one of the few things that they'd purchased together and therefore had to negotiate over. Adam had agreed for Angie to take the box spring and mattress, b...
The Librarian's Court
The Librarian’s Court – a mostly true; short-story by Jenny GrinwisLibrary-Mary was no Atticus Finch. She wasn’t – not if you mean that she spent her time shooting rabid dogs and being the moral defender of the Boo Radleys and Tom Robinsons of this world. No, she wasn’t Atticus Finch in that kind of sense.Mary was the moral defender of the library.One day, as a newcomer to our small town, I waited patiently to enroll myself and my four children to the self-same library, while Mary, on the other side of the book-returns counter was giving a death-stare to an errant, senior member of the library...