Without A Map_Home for the Holiday_The moon in my hands_The Night Murderer
Catalog Guide:
Without A Map
Without a Map By Sheila WilenskyI took a left on 5th Street and stumbled into the past. Another left onto 4th Avenue, strolling back through the years, I noticed that nearly every business had a closed sign in front. The buildings were constructed of wood -- not of bricks or concrete -- like today. No shiny Priuses, no yellow streetcars, or steel tracks could be seen in the center of the street. In fact, there was no asphalt street. Antigone Books and multiple purveyors of tchotchkes didn’t exist either. Ha, I knew Tucson so well. I didn’t think I needed a map. I was wrong.The typical Universi...
Home for the Holiday
I was sixteen when I first realized the aching in my heart that I had for him. He was an enigma to me, a mysterious figure. I was never able to get him alone until that one night - the rest was history. It had been three months since I had last been home; he was all I could think about. Memories of him kept me awake at night, kept me daydreaming during classes. In the bars, I watched my friends slink their way up to men, their eyes glimmering - but I could not bear to even look at another man. It was him - and only him - on my mind. Driving along my www.onedoor.ccold street made my heart beat faster, kn...
The moon in my hands
I woke up with cotton stars sticking to my arms. A patch of desiccated currants waiting to be cleansed. I am twenty years old, and wearing my own blood as a mask. I sank beneath my moon stained quilt and slept. To sleep I had to swallow pill after pill, and at some point I felt nauseous and lightheaded with electric eels ricocheting from ankles to knees.I thought I was older yesterday. When I finally stood up to leave my bedroom I heard the tv mumbling in the living room. I listened without moving, and then stepped into the kitchen where I bumped my moms shoulder as I was looking back at the t...
The Night Murderer
I sigh.It's hard to believe that I just killed my 8th victim when I don't even know why I'm doing this. My heart commands me not to do such a thing, but my hands tell another story.Chicago wakes up to the terrible news that the serial killer took one more life. People get even more hysterical than they were a few days ago and Albert Simon, the chief-inspector, calls the famous Agent Vincent Mccgregor so that this case can be solved as fast as possible. Albert’s police station receives about 15 calls a day reporting cases such as stalking or harassment and the chief-inspector is so desperate th...