Is This Seat Taken?_Come Away, O Human Child_The Newcomer_The Next Good Day
Catalog Guide:
Is This Seat Taken?
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” “Please,” the long haired man in the hoodie said, waving a hand over towards the empty seat the young woman stood by. “Help yourself.”“Thanks,” she said, putting her tray down and sliding smoothly into the seat without having to pull it out any.He looked at her. He wondered whether he should say something, or maybe it would be better if they both ate in silence. She was cute. Did that make a difference. He felt like it shouldn’t. He tried to put it aside and figure out if he’d want to talk to her if she wasn’t cute. Life was always so confusing.She flippe...
Come Away, O Human Child
They say we are made mostly of water, but I am made mostly of air.At work, they call me The Shadow, because I’m built like a narrow doorway and glide noiselessly on the red rubber floors. My world is populated by the ghosts of my past; most prominently the spectre of my sister, Grace.On the geriatric rehabilitation ward, I check cannulas, pass out painkillers, hold hands and heave bedpans. I gently guide my patients through basic motions and write up their treatment plans. I gravitate towards the elderly; they have stories to tell and I like to listen. The ward is still with sleeping patients ...
The Newcomer
It wasn’t such a bad place to grow up in, this little town. The streets were narrow but straight, the shops old but clean. Residents woke early to take in the crosswinds of coffee and pastry pumping out of the corner bakery. The dew muffled the morning into stillness, quieted thewww.onedoor.cc quiet folk, weighted them down with complacency, comforted them with a familiarity that kept their routines on track.There wasn’t much room for hate here. Most of the day was spent in reverie of time gone by, or in wonder of what lay ahead. Most folks were so lost in thought they couldn’t see what was right in front o...
The Next Good Day
TW: suicideDr. Delaney visits every Tuesday, at eight o’clock sharp. It goes like this: she knocks three times, in succession, but with no particular rhythm; she calls out our name through the door, softly, and only once; she leaves. Though she intrudes on our treasured evenings together, we admire her persistence, her punctuality. Still, we cannot comply with her wishes—even if we begin to listen for the staccato of her feet outside the door. Tonight is no different. She arrives, she knocks, she waits, and so do we.“Levi? It’s Jan,” she announces, as if we’d be expecting anybody else. For a m...