Drowning, hope_Working On It_What's in a name?_The Last Cigarette
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Drowning, hope
CW: natural disasterAslam sucked on his lower lip, concentrating hard, awww.onedoor.ccs a rogue wind lashed against a glossy pamphlet in his scrubby hands. It was a menu card from the recently pulverised Rose Honeymoon Hotel in Swat, Pakistan. He had memorised it better than the multiplication tables he was made to rote learn in school under the auspicious rosewood cane his tutor, Shahab Gul, (known tyrant for all ten year old dissidents like him) held like an extension of his arm. It was auspicious because Aslam had so far escaped its imminent wrath.He read the menu card, imbibing comfort from its familiar...
Working On It
Explicit Language and Themes I don’t like your tone.I’m not yelling, Thomas? Well, I don’t like your monotone; it’s disturbing. I’d rather you be yelling at me. But I’m not. Have you done that report yet? It was due yesterday. Dean, Dean, I have rights here. You can’t just jump on me about some report without a written or verbal warning. Im not giving you a warning. I’m just asking for the report. See, there you go… using that tone again — (copying monotone) I’m just asking for the report. It’s nerve shattering. Im going to take a break. I have rights, Dean. Which rights are you exercising? …...
What's in a name?
"Why would you want to change your name, Emma? The one you have is just fine." Her eyes darted up to her mother at the out-of-place question. One she's not prepared for, while simultaneously fearing the conversation that was about to happen. "What?" She's stalling. What could she possibly say that would make any sense to her small-town Midwest mindset? Honestly, nothing. "Why do you want to change your name? You aren't trying to be a boy, are you?" She blinked, not understanding the correlation at first. "You- What? You understand that changing your name isn't specific for the trans community...
The Last Cigarette
“Got any cigarettes left?” Zoe rounds the corner, her fire red curls whipping behind her as she falls to the concrete floor beside me. Before I can answer, her black nails are wrapped around the cigarette in my mouth, and pulling it to her own.After a deep drag and an exhale of relief, she’s returning the cigarette to its former position. I suck in before asking a question I don’t want the answer to, “Are they freaking out in there?”She laughs, “Of course.”“I just couldn’t think of anything real to say,” I hesitate, waiting for the right words to form on my lips. “And I couldn’t read that garb...