Divergence_Leave It Be, Em_A squire from twenty years ago._A Wrench thrown at Heartache
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Divergence
Content warning—mental health, drug/alcohol abuse, suicide. My life is perfect. My life is beautiful, and more than I could ever have known I wanted. My life is long enough to know what happiness means. My partner and I never marry—we are always better off as friends. We consider it, when we find out she is pregnant at nineteen just after I turn twenty, a product of the leftover teenage lust we never truly wasted from our systems during years of on-off foolish dating. We never decide if we make a mistake, or whether what we do is right. We leave it at deciding that what happens isn't wrong. I ...
Leave It Be, Em
"What about this thing?"I hold up a round, yellowed appliance with a bulky wire wrapped around it like a hazardous umbilical cord. I have no idea what it is, but there's some sort of food hardened to the side that's probably been stuck there for years. Gross.Mom takes the thing from my hands. "That's a rice cooker, darling. I just picked that up at a yardsale." She sets it in (or rather atop) a full basket of kitchen relics in the "keep" pile, which, as I expected, dwarfs the little "toss" heap. So far, that modest mound only includes things of which she has more than two. Even those item...
A squire from twenty years ago.
A long time ago I was once invited, by two spinsters, to visit an estate. I had neverwww.onedoor.cc been to that area before and I found the scenery extremely beautiful and scenic. l stopped at an inn for some food. The host was easy-going and talkative, benevolent, and willing to accommodate his guests with an endless talk on any subject. I asked him for some information about the domain I was going to, because I had never been there before, and I wanted to have an idea of where I was going. He told me that no one had lived there for over twenty years, except for a gardener and his wife, but they might not...
A Wrench thrown at Heartache
Zed stared at the email, knowing once he’d put it down, he’d never look at it again. Strings of letters strung together, forming words, forming sentences, so disconnecting. Jessie, the woman who had been the love of his life, was no more the flesh and blood woman in his arms, her face and her words, now mere pixels on his screen, distintegrating. He hurled the computer into his backyard, symbolic, he knew, but using his physical strength felt good. For good measure, he flung a large wrench, shattering the monitor. …Eight months later, Zed sat with his mug of coffee in his easy chair and watch...