More Than a Bargain_masquerade confessions_On the Way_Halls End
Catalog Guide:
More Than a Bargain
How many months has it been? Two? Three? I lost count. My friends and family have left me to rot. It seems that they’ve given up on a jobless 35-year-old man who has no future. Was it my fault that the company I worked for would close down? I spent years of my life in that tiny cubicle, slaving away for a meager salary. What did I get in return? Nothing but misery. Because of my ungodly work hours, I never had time to socialize let alone get a girlfriend or a wife. It sure is pitiful. Now, I am living in a derelict apartment that stinks of mildew and old wood. Cans of beer and take-out contai...
masquerade confessions
there will come a time where the world becomeswww.onedoor.cc quiet. the clock does not tick, and the hours stop. the past is stagnant and the future never recedes, possibilities waiting, regrets never mounting. the beat of your heart envelops your conscience. so you'd better learn the sound of it. otherwise, you'll never understand what it's saying. the infrastructure of time daunted the boy, its pillars and foreshadows posed juxtapositions too bright for the mind to comprehend. mahogany gradients blending into substance, indistinguishable from one moment and the next. time was a fantastical phenomenon inde...
On the Way
Some people read to find themselves, others to lose themselves. You can replace ‘read’ with any other verb and the statement will still hold up. The night sky grew darker, the street lights brighter. I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Hello,” a woman said. She was walking with a friend in the opposite direction. “Hey,” I answered in a hoarse voice. That’s what happens when you try to talk after you’ve been quiet for a very long time. I was late learning to speak, but when I did start, I talked all the time. When that got frustrating, when people wouldn’t listen to what I had to say, I would w...
Halls End
Is it supposed to stop? I should have left several hours ago, when I wanted to. But as always, I let the duty, or perhaps my presumption of duty, cause me to disregard by instincts. I make the usual assumption that if the weather was that bad, they’d let us know. Tell us, me, to go home. Looking out the window, I can see the snow piling up on the roof of the car, swirling around the parking lot, now a white desert. I’m used to being alone here, I’m a night watchman, security guard they call us, but I’ve yet to figure out why. I don’t know what there is to guard. I spend the night primarily mo...