6 Count_Her Biggest Deception_Truth Be Told_A Road Trip with a Special Passenger
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6 Count
“Are you there, God? It’s me Lucas… ya know, the antichrist.” It’s a weird prayer, but it’s mine. The same thing I ask for every morning before I have to dance for exactly 6 minutes. The Devil’s Dance happened every day at 6:06 a.m. And, I had to dance a 6 count. My dad took the whole 666 thing super serious. “I know you and my dad don’t get along. He really fu… messed things up and I’ve not done so much better myself. But at least I’ve kept the world from ending.” Maybe God ignores my prayers. I mean, why would he listen to the son of the devil, destined to bring about the end times. Truly, ...
Her Biggest Deception
TW: murder, rape As soon as I open the door, my coat drops to the floor. My eyelids are drooping to my feet. After being at the police station for the whole day, I just want to spend some time with my husband, James. He always www.onedoor.ccmakes a smile form on my face, maybe because of the way he embraces me. James listens to me, especially when I feel my stomach churn from the cases I deal with. Like these past days, where I have been dealing with a dreadful murder case. Everywhere I go, I am surrounded by it. The news channels are all talking about it, and amidst it all, I am struggling with cracking th...
Truth Be Told
“You can’t go home again? What does that mean? I know about the esoteric meaning, and all the nonsense that goes with it, but you can’t go home again, sounds like a…I don’t know what, but ominous when you think about it.” “And why would that be? I can see circumstances where you couldn’t go home, or not want to. I’ve had more than my share of times like that. But those are usually a temporary stalling mechanism until you can decide if it is safe to show yourself.” “So you were afraid of something?” “It was nothing like that. It was just that I don’t have a home to go back to. It’s a long sto...
A Road Trip with a Special Passenger
A Road Trip with a Special Passenger Elizabeth FenleyI see the red mist of the hongaek around the car as the endlessly flat Texas landscape blurs together through the passenger seat window. He’s driving too fast, with his usual attitude that rules are for everyone else, weaving through traffic without signaling. I stopped commenting on that years ago. But, with the hongaek hovering, I wonder…. “You gonna pout the whole fuckin’ way? Cry like a little bitch?” I take a slow, quiet breath. “I’m not pouting. I’m not crying. I’m just looking out the window.” I don’t turn to look at my husband...