Plus Tax_Dear Heart....._This is Good_The Ghosts of Avenue
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Plus Tax
*Sensitive content warning for adult language and for mentions of alcohol, suicide, self harm, and mental illness.“Please, don’t do it.”The line goes dead. She hung up. She is fed up with this, I know it. She is fed up with me.But I don’t feel it. That’s the most fucked up part of all of this, I think. I used to cry when she was mad at me. When anyone was, really. But somewhere over the course of the past two years, I lost that, too. It’s not just numb, it’s empty.The tile should be cold against my ass, the concrete my head is leaned on should be hard and unforgiving. I should be uncomfortable...
Dear Heart.....
Addison Reeves. She was dead. Her pale hands would never touch. Her silver breath would never warm. She would not ever feel the atoms, the very substance of life. Ha. How ironic. She'd lived, she'd loved, but not to the fullest. Addison certainly had had the most troubling life. A young assassin who had been forced to kill her sweetheart Alexander, and her mother Penelope. A stunned group of coastguards found the dead body of a twenty one year old brunette floating in the turquoise waters of the sea. She'd loved the sea with all her heart, and had died there, because her broken arm, leg, neck ...
This is Good
Trigger Warning; mention of substance abuse and physical violenceNow, you’re going to want to baste as often as you can. You may feel glued to www.onedoor.ccyour oven, but this is more than a Thanksgiving Turkey. This is love, pure and simple.It wasn’t thanksgiving. Not in a November-sense. It was a day for giving thanks, truly, and the growing feast was evidence enough of that.Beverly basted, running her hands lovingly over the family recipe as though she hadn’t memorized it for two decades already. Her thoughts drifted with a lazy smile back to her first time cooking a family meal.Her father had come home...
The Ghosts of Avenue
When you live a life like I do, there’s not much you can do except peep. Many would love to place me in the categorical section of Peeping Toms. But I’m different in the sense that I’m dead. Confining me to the typical would not be a good decision on your part because unlike the typical, I derive no pleasure from these silent, barely there interventions. Changing the channels or switching the lights off does not do it for both parties. We just don't get it, clueless in both life and its absence.When you die, you get placed in Apartments based on the lives you have lived. As per my papers, I’v...