most of the novel have this feeling, like a space for a reader to live in, to experience the story from inside, same as the character are experience. how to write a descriptions like those.

ex: "Fog everywhere. Fog up the river... fog down the river... fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-bricks..." - Charles Dickens, Bleak House

“Isn’t it funny?
A game with set rules, shown to you before-hand.

You know exactly where to start, how the midfield would look, and how winning would feel.
You are even given a list of numbers, codes, and protocols to follow in case something goes wrong.

But why would anything go wrong?

You were shown the rules. And you have all these numbers. And codes. And protocols.
Even if something goes wrong, the game can be paused?

Isn’t it funny?

Something shifts. It can be perceived in the way the expected pace slows down. The scenery changes tones into something duller, darker.

Isn’t it funny?

Something else shifts. Enough to raise questions. Not enough to stop any kind of natural adaptation. It surely does feel harder than expected.

Isn’t it funny?

Never supposed to win this game.

Isn’t it truly funny?

I hear the rules whispered in my ear while my legs shake. I do still think about how my period blood tastes around his fingers.

Isn’t it funny?

I hear the rules whispered again while sat scared, taking a break. I do still think about the taste of my blood.

Isn’t it funny?

I hear the rules whispered again while I cry, asking why I do still feel the taste of my blood shoved in my throat.

Isn’t it funny?

I hear the rules whispered again while I scream. They watched him taste my blood.

Isn’t it funny?

I hear the rules whispered again while he can walk around freely with my blood clot still stuck right there in between his teeth.

Isn’t it funny?

I hear the rules whispered again and again while I finally realise I was never meant to win. Not in this game, not in their room, not in their office, not in their court.

Isn’t it funny?

At the end lists of numbers, codes and protocols were never meant to protect. But to see how long can you play this game until they too will know how your blood tastes. “

THEY CALL ME A FOOL FOR LIVING IN AN IMAGINARY WORLD, BUT THEY LIVE THERE TOO. THE ONLY DIFFERENCE IS THAT I DARE TO LIVE IN MINE WHILE I AM STILL ALIVE. THEY POSTPONE THEIRS UNTIL DEATH, AND CALL IT HEAVEN.

HOW DO PEOPLE GO ON LIVING AFTER TAKING A LIFE? I DO NOT KNOW. I MOURN THROUGH SEVEN STAGES OF GRIEF FOR NOTHING MORE THAN KILLING A SINGLE THOUGHT OF MY OWN.

This post is about MintofNess reflecting his younger self, thanking of how important everyday life is. MintofNess feels gentle as him interacting of how his life has changed and reminds us that mistakes are shown as you are improving yourself to be a better person.

• Summarized by Human response. No AI has been created to modify nor generated in this post and guaranteed in your grace of quality. MintofNess continues to improve his writing possible in future writing content like this post. Thank you for reading this information.

There are 1,097words

1996, June 6

The morning air feel happy against the coldness of his blanket it’s already Monday how the day fly though the month he gets up does his morning routine before school  he gets on the school bus the sky feels bright and happy the sun is shining it’s so nice. “what the hell was that for?” Said he as he’s best friend that’s he’s age had punched him as a notice of attention “I was trying to call you what the hell happened” he’s friend named Ashley said “Well I was waiting until my mom was on a call with her friend from high school and I did not want her to listen in on what we were going to talk about plus you could of just said what you think is so important for to not at school” he said to Ashley “Well I want to say to you that well am lesbian” she said to him just then the school bus arrives at there school “WHAT THE FU-” he’s dreams have been crushed the only person he had ever truly liked was of lose to him he was baffled how and why had it been him why. She could only see the expression of his soul in his eyes “why” he said something so simple had so much weight to it, the bus driver had just then yelled at them to get going. 

1996, June 7

Am just a poor boy why happen to me and not some one else. Is luck really a thing or is it just the fraction of the billions of lies our society has made, is it just the believe of your unknown blind actions cause what we believe as luck or not .

The next day at his first period history class a amazing girl walks in a new student the teach tells them to sit and for the new girl to introduce her self “Hi I am Rei, am from the USA am happy to be here in Germany with you guys!” Rei said to the class, after her introduction she sat next to him “hi am %#%%#%” he said “that’s a nice name, say do you want to be friends after all am new here and know nobody here” she said to him “I would love for that” he said to her “say how much class do we have together?” He said “looks like we have all classes together how lucky” he was so happy when she said.

1996 , June 17

He goes back on the bus like always his lesbian friend Ashley is sitting next to him again “sooo are you still mad at me” she said “a little bit dear old you got replaced by another girl” he said nervously she punch’s he’s stomach “That’s very rude of you!” To him her saying that made her feel distant as if they were miles apart and as if she was not herself, as if she wasn’t who owned that body it felt. 

Is a person just meaningless meat, is it just signals that happen in one’s brain, is consciousness just the reality of feeling chemicals reactions at a 3rd point of view? Do you just feel like your just stuck in your mind and that the world you see with your eyes is just an outside view of some thing that makes you think like you can do anything at anytime but you just feel paralyzed in your own body you feel like you can just think something and it’ll appear out of thin air in front of you but you just can’t.

What does it mean to be human?

1996, June 18

Ashley isn’t on the bus this morning she switched buses for  “discrimination”, she’s will not answer my calls, I think to myself why, why would hatred grow so much from a sentence such a minor thing could lead to this have I just lost my first ever friend from a single sentence? I’ve only have single friend left I can’t let her down I need to be perfect for her I need to be the person she would be friends with forever. 

Later in the day at school he’s at the lunch line and Rei is behind him talking to her friend loudly and he feels that everyone else is look and judging him like he’s at a concert singing for a million people and there all watching and thinking silently “that ugly boy with that chick thats so lame I must a make fun of them for it” he’s mind races with those thoughts and he feels like he would rather kill himself then be in this situation for anymore second.
when he got home that day he saw an apple fall off a tree it was beautiful more then one could think, the nature of something so small of that happening to him was so little, he was just what people called lucky in a bad way and a good

This is just a very short three page flashback I wrote because it was rattling around in my head and I had to get it out before getting back to the main plot. And it seemed like a good example of something I've been thinking about for a while.

I really like writing that lets the readers fill in the gaps, cause it makes the reader feel smart as they piece things together. But it's really easy to overshoot and just make things confusing. So I was hoping you guys could give it a read through, tell me what you were able to glean from it, and then what questions you still had afterwards? I'd really appreciate it.

"Maybe You Still Can"

Cheering erupted from the small crowd of parents as their kids scored another goal in the soccer field below. The field teemed with purple and yellow jerseys. It was the Sycamore Supers versus the East Grover Geckos

From his perch on the balcony of the sleepy cafe across the street, Franco could watch them racing the ball up and down the pitch with a lot more enthusiasm than skill. That would come later. But for now, giving it their all was more than enough.

"Frank?" 

His brief moment of contentment was popped by a voice he'd been dreading, down on the sidewalk below. Bosco had finally caught up to him. 

"Hey, Sarge," he said, and remembered to put on a sheepish grin. "I was starting to wonder if you'd show."

Just a few minutes more, he'd allow himself to watch the game and pretend he didn't have to go back, while Bosco chattered into his radio. Whatever consequences he was going to face, it was worth it for this brief freedom.

The stairs further back in the long, narrow room creaked as Bosco ascended, bringing with him the whiff of what was probably a cold sweat, rather than one of exertion. Choosing to trust him could have been a career-ending mistake if Franco had put any actual effort into not being found. He was already on thin ice for talking the judge into releasing him in the first place. And on even thinner ice, since they couldn't catch the Bryngol Ghoul before he slipped away to continue his killing spree.

No, Franco would go back to his cell, and he'd go back willingly. For the moment, he could ignore the scent, and the way it called to him like cookies baking called to a child. But he knew eventually, as fall passed into winter, he'd lose control of himself again. And he wasn't going to let that be on Bosco's hands.

Bosco didn't say anything for a while. He just stood there next to him with a puzzled look. 

"I'm sorry," Franco said eventually. He tried not to squirm from the discomfort of those two words, not out of pride or that he didn't mean it, but because he meant it too intensely. He owed Bosco a great deal just for being allowed to walk the streets again, however briefly, and here he was taking more than what was gifted to him.

"I know," is all he said.

"I'll go quietly. I just wanted to do this one thing first," he said, and Bosco didn't rush him. 

"What's so important about this game?" he asked, now half-watching it himself.

Franco wasn't sure what his face was supposed to be doing at this moment. Whether he was supposed to smile with pride and affection, or sob from knowing this was likely his only chance, and he'd only get to see them from afar. So he left his expression blank.

"You see over there, twenty-six? Serrato?" He pointed to the dark-haired child in a purple jersey, running as fast as his legs would carry him after the kid in yellow with the ball. "That's my nephew, Stephen. I really think he's going places with this game. And over there, I don't know if you can see," he pointed into the bleachers that were half-obscured by a sidewalk tree, "The woman in the sweater and the man in green flannel? That's my niece and nephew-in-law, Rita and Martin. And my little niece Sally is in the carrier there."

Bosco nodded along while he rambled, a lot less puzzled than when he first came up the stairs.

"Why not go down and talk to them?"

The way he phrased it, Franco wasn't sure if he was offering to let him or just asking why he chose not to. Either way, Bosco reacted like he'd agitated an old wound before Franco even had a chance to say anything. 

"They don't want me getting too close." If he couldn't convey everything he wanted to say with an expression, he settled for a pained stoicism. "We talk on the phone of course. They like me well enough, but—"

The volume and anticipation of the crowd swelled and then quelled as what looked like a sure shot bounced off the frame of the goal. 

"—but I didn't even know what the two kids looked like until today. None of them visit me in person. Their parents don't want any chance that I might…" He couldn't bring himself to say it, but they both knew exactly what he meant. "They'd be anxious just knowing I'm out."

The radio on Bosco's shoulder clicked and crackled with static for a moment before Officer Wilson's voice came through. "Everything alright up there?"

Bosco craned his neck and pushed the button to talk back. "I have him in custody. Everything's under control."

While he continued to talk to his radio, Franco returned his attention to the game. Down below, one of the kids paused just long enough at an angle where he could see the jersey more clearly. The team logo was front and center on her chest like the emblem on a superhero costume.

"Ya know what's ironic? When I was little I thought I could be some kind of hero," he said when Bosco was done. "Not a superhero exactly, the idea didn't exist yet. But some kind of hero, some kind of protector." He looked down at his palm, and let his glamor slip just enough to show the spindly fingers and long, threatening claws. "Turns out, I can't even protect them from myself."

"Maybe you still can." He pulled a pair of cuffs from his back pocket, and motioned for him to hold out his arms.

He was right of course. If he wanted to protect people, he had to stay far away from them. That was a choice he was prepared to make again, and again, and again if it meant his family was safe. Even though the solitude hurt worse than any bullethole, burn, or even the ache of his missing eye.

He gave one last longing look down at the field, closed his eyes, let his head hang, and said "I'll get back in my cell."

There was the all-too-familiar rattle of the cuffs ratcheting closed, one then the other. But this time he cuffed him in front instead of behind his back. A subtle mercy, maybe? Or a quiet sign that he still trusted him despite disappearing earlier?

"Aside from that," Bosco said, and paused to let the sudden uproar of the crowd crest and slowly die down. 

Franco turned around in time to see Stephen high-fiving a few of his team-mates following the goal. 

"The Ghoul got away, but you did good work back there. Wilson and Diana Keyes are both still alive thanks to you." He started leading him back through the upper floor and down the stairs. Not forcefully, but it was clear he'd already given him all the extra time he could get away with. "If you want it, I'll talk to the D.A., see about you consulting again in the future."

"I don't know," he said as the two of them made their way down. One of the women working there was sitting at a table, impatiently waiting for the two of them to leave so she could close. Everyone else had already gone home. He flashed her an embarrassed grin while Bosco gave her a brief apology. "I can't control myself, three quarters of the year. What happens if I lose it?" he continued once they were outside.

Officer Wilson was waiting for them out front in the police cruiser.

"It won't be immediate, you've got work to do first. But there's other people like you who redirect their hunger instead of ignoring it, and I think you can do the same." Bosco opened the back door and put him in there before getting in the passenger's seat himself. "It's not easy—if you want to stop feeling like a monster, you're going to have to act like one at first. But you can learn to control it. Just… think about it for a while."

Chapter 5: Crazy always ends in Y
Rick’s hotel: Reno Nevada, September 1999, 4:20 pm

💕 Dear David Haten, 💕
💕 Happy Birthday! I paid for your room for the next couple of nights, and left a $100 so you can get some bud. 💕
💕 Love Faith 💕 (heart hovering over every little i.)
I can hear her hiding in the closet. I have the remote in my hand, and I throw it hard at the closet door. She opens the door blushing, laughing (this is rare). Shes not shy, but shes pretending to be until she catches me cracking a smile. She dyed her hair black, cut it shoulder length. She looks good but I don’t say nothing.
She shouts, “Boo! Fucking, finally, I’ve been stalking you for the last couple of weeks. I was in that closet on your birthday? David you masturbate too much and stop sneaking into buffets. David fucking listen to me! David sneaking into buffets? R U fucking stupid? You are an adult now. You catch a case over ten bucks. You might go to to jail forever.”
I can see the mania in her eyes, she’s not hi, but she’s not normal. Me and Domino both know her really well and if he was here we would be laughing together.
He would call her his funny bunny. I would watch them dance. I would clap and clap. Break dancer not strip dancer. We show up to a rave and jaws drop and all eyes lock on her glow stick little neon feet doing back flips, moon walking, snap-pop-cracking cool tricks no one ever seen before.
At the time Domino was 16, Faith 15, and I was 13. That was then this is now; she is my Energizer bunny, and I let her ramble on and on.
“O shit baby, I feel so fucking good like I snorted a rail of premium life, like the best kind of life on earth, and it’s just from thinking of you.” I don’t say nothing.
“I have been thinking about you for the past few weeks, months really since we started trick-trapping pedophiles. I have done a lot of bad things in my life, but that trick ain’t one of them. Jesus Christ; David, it’s way better than robbing a random or blowing a stranger. I call you stupid a lot, because you are, but you are a genius for that one.” She socks me on my shoulder hard for her but funny to me. I cant help it; I’m really smiling.
“I’m twenty and last week you’re seventeen, and today you’re eighteen. It’s not really a big deal, still I felt creepy, and I had to be really, really sure. I’ve sucked hundreds of cocks,..,, before I turned 18. Waiting for you to officially become an adult for a couple of months just seemed right. So, I had to wait for you to be legal, Shit now you are and well you’re a fucking hot man, and well you’re my man. Well what do you think of that? You want to be my man?”
I never had a real chick. We are both killers. We got that much in common. We have so much history and old ass stories. Stories we don’t blast about or write about. I don’t care how much you pay me those stories aren’t for sale. If you get the picture you don’t need to know all the pieces. I slept in the same bed with her probable a hundred times we never even kissed.
Most of the times we slept in cheap hotels. Domino and Faith were together and they slept in the King bed. I slept on the floor.
I mainly would play chess in the bath tub or study kneeling with my pieces set-up on the toilet seat. While Faith be blowing a guy in the bedroom with Domino smoking a Newport outside the front door.
Never when Faith was with Domino, but sometimes I watch her with a client. It is what it is, but it was also just in case. In some cases you just can’t stand there you got to bust a move. You know stomp a mother fucker.
“I was wondering like why you never made a move, and I get it Domino is your homie, and even if I ain’t his bitch you don’t want to betray him. I talked to Domino. I told him I love you, and he’s all sunshine and rainbows. He does want us to be happy together. I’m just going to save you the trouble; I’m not asking; I’m letting you know. I claim you mother fucker. You’re my man. I’m your bitch or woman depending how you treat me.” She knows I’m in love with her.
“Faith. How fucking high are you?” She’s bi-polar and she does coke…sometimes, and sometimes she doesn’t do it at all. You really cant tell one way or the other. I can. I can always tell. I known her since I was 12, and she was 15. We are closer to two years apart then three.
“I’m so clean like I never been so clean in my life. I’m never doing coke again or speed or any kind of stimulate. I know how to make my own energy, and I am going to share it with you. Like, I have everything perfectly figured out. Our life. Mine and yours. It only makes sense with us together…, forever.”
“I did three yoga classes today. Three of them, and like all I could think about is you, and how you became you, but really who you are now. Anyway, what kind of trouble did you, and Domino get into today?”
I bet a G she is clean. Yoga and coke a cola don’t really rhyme right with her. Faith has a kill count higher than me and Domino combined. She will keep going on and on until I blurt out.
“I killed Tyrone.” Faith is a freak when it comes to murder talk. She is an addict to real-life stories about serial killers, movies, and books. She even takes classes at a junior college as she says, ‘to solve my Y.’
Faith should be asking me a million fucking questions, but she just stuck on stupid.
“Really you killed big T? You’re stupid.., but so, so, beautiful. How are you, even you?”
She is staring at me up and down, and she’s looking at me like she’s never looked at me before. She’s looking at me how she looked at Domino before we got to Reno.
“Is that a blood splatter? O, fuck David you’re an absolute fucking idiot. Just give me a quick 411.”
“I bite his face, kicked his knee in, and squashed his head with my boot.”
She laughs, and says, “Stomp, Stomp, Stomp, Stomp” her voice goes from loud to soft as she chants Stomp, before biting her lower lip.
She does a little spin before kissing me on the lips, it feels nice our tongues touching-tangling-dancing, together for the first time. For half a second I’m staring at nothing, and then I look down. Faith is on her knees pulling down my pants. She tells me, “This will be the best blowjob you ever had.”
Two minutes later my dick is doing jumping jacks. Faith must be in love, because she didn’t use a condom. I’m smiling. The bitch wasn’t lying, the best BJ I ever had. I swear to God this is the first blowjob she ever gave me. I killed more men than I got blowjobs from women, and I really didn’t know they could be that good. Faith can’t fuck, but she can sure suck a dick.
She grabs my clothes, puts them in the bathtub, and yells “someday I want to take a bath full of blood; I guess this is close enough.” She’s laughing but I don’t think she is joking.
The tub is filling up with water. She’s still laughing like only crazy people can. My pink bunny hops back to me.
“Ok, baby here is the deal. I can’t fuck-you! I think you already know Y. But I will always give you a hand-job. Anytime, anywhere any place just snap your fingers, and if I’m in the mood I might blow you. David I’m usually in the mood. You can fuck other bitches just don’t lie about it. I can get women for us too.
“I know Domino told you some things about me, and you should know Domino told me some things about you so were going to exchange ghost stories and I only want to do it one more time. So, get ready for some trauma drama.”
I got a miniature chess board set up on a game I was studying. An opponent sacrificed a queen for a rook and still won the game. It’s called a Queen’s gambit when you give up your queen for a lesser piece. I do my best to play while she goes back into the bathroom.
“Hey Stomp, brush your teeth.” I get up and do what she says.
Im brushing my teeth over the sink in the kitchen, just after I spit and wipe my mouth. Faith is creeping up on me whispering in my ear,
“What was the name of the place where we met?” Faith takes my hand.
On the way to my bed I tell her the name we used as a joke: “Serial killer camp.” Technically, it was a psychiatric group home. SKY, short for Scholastic Kids Youth camp. I still can’t believe they called it a camp.
Energizer bunny, “Yeah, that place was insane. I’m telling you, they had the craziest kids in the country living there. Every one of us was connected to or investigated for multiple murders. I think they put us there to get us talking. You know to catch us on tape saying something they could use to build a case.”
“Domino was right they keep you in there tell you turn eighteen, and then they hit you with an adult criminal record. They label restraints as assaults and kids get years of real time.”
She stops, and she’s thinking about more than she is about to say.
“You didn’t have to worry about that David. I mean you didn’t actually do anything wrong. We were suspects not convicts.
“Right?”
“I killed three people.”
“You didn’t have to worry about that David. I mean you didn’t actually do anything wrong? You were locked in a dog cage, and some guys ran a train on you right David?”
“No. Yeah. Kind of. I was eight, and some guy had me trapped in some elaborate dog cage. I have no clue how, why, or how long I was in there. It was big enough for me to crawl around. The dumb fuck left the cage unlocked. I came out biting. I got lucky and sank my teeth into his Achilles, then kept biting and biting until he was dead. It took awhile guessing an hour.” She’s looking at me like she already knew the story.
Faith was bored with that story. I can hear it in her voice “Next” Wow, what a cold-hearted bitch.
“I’m eleven; homeless at the Greyhound bus station in Sac town. This guy has this trick where he flicks a penny up into the middle slot where the change comes out of an arcade game. So, you get to play a quarter game for a penny. Cool…, trick.”
I stop for a second trying to force a memory into a picture. Sometimes it’s harder than you think. I just shake my head, and say, “I woke up chained to a bed, group of men, you know, and after the fifth, six, tenth guy I just went numb not just body and mind but memories too. I escaped by closing my eyes pretending it was just a dark rainy night, alone in a boat rocking back in fourth in a storm in an ocean, my eyes closed, and I fall asleep.”
I want to stop the story but, “they wake me from my dreams with cake, compliments, and ice cream. Guessing stimulants in the cake mix. They try and force me to party; I can only fight them by closing my eyes. I just don’t want to see them so I just pretend it’s a dark night again over, and over; I’m stuck in the rain, in a boat, in the storm rocking back and forth.
At some point I really did fall asleep, and when I woke, it was bright so fucking bright. The type of bright light they shine in movies. Remember, that show we would watch together in shitty hotels without cable. The one with the angels. It was a miraculous scene.
I don’t know how or why, but lying beside me: a big fucking Halloween-kitchen-knife, the key to the lock, and a two day old piece of cake with light blue frosting.”
I’m staring at Faith my eyes on fire, tears creeping warm down my cheek. Her eyes dilated feening for my reality. This is the part of the story that she wants to get off on, but I don’t have all the details. I don’t have exactly what she wants to hear.
“I got the first guy with my knife straight through his neck. The second guy is only a memory that can’t be real. A nine-foot insanely skinny man crotched under the ceiling, and I slice his leg, and it keeps growing back, he’s a cartoon painted in red and black. I can’t remember that far back, but there was a struggle lot of slashes, lots of blood and I somehow won the battle.”
She says, “Redrum, Redrum. I know your monster story you don’t have to tell it again.”
Its quiet. Dead quiet.
“David you are the smartest dumb guy I know. I don’t know how you were able to con your way into a college dorm room, but it inspired me to go to college. Last semester I took three classes Psychology, abnormal psychology, and criminal justice. I did ok. I got two B’s and an A. I got the A in abnormal psychology.”
I kill a few seconds trying to imagine Faith in college.
“David don’t get lost in space.”
“Sorry.”
“When you go dumb like that you just look stupid.” I don’t know what to say, she’s right, but I can’t help it.
“It was my first semester, and I had a lot of extra time between classes. I mostly hung out at the library, and I found the greatest book of all time. An old book of poisons and you know what? They work. I got a recipe, two drips and my prey dies two days later of a heart attack.” She pauses making sure I’m paying attention?
“David, you can grab my hair, I can take a slap too, but you put me in a hospital. I got a recipe just for you that will slip you into a seizure for an hour throwing up and foaming from the mouth. I can keep you in that state of mind for a month.” This bitch is crazy, but sure the fuck ain’t stupid.
“David are you my man?” Faith my first girlfriend?
I love her, and I ain’t stupid so, I nod my head up and down, and say, “Yes.”
She claps her hands, jumps up and down, wraps her arms around me and gives me a big kiss.
My dick is hard. I snap my fingers. She rolls her eyes, before she is on her knees. I help her take my pants off, and she does her magic. This time she spits on it, and works her hand up, and down, fast with a twirl. Faster, faster, she looks up at me with her tongue hanging sexy out her mouth and boom their goes the dynamite. She uses my underwear to wipe the cum off her hand.
She’s back to talking like the previous 50 seconds never even happened. “Me, and Domino broke up over two years ago, and last year I still checked his police records, looked up any warrants, paid some fines, and ended getting him social security.
I plan on doing the same for you…, If you ghost me, ditch me, or abandon me I will kill you. Drip, drip, ya-ta-Ming?” She has her real self look on.
“Just trust me. David! I want to hire you to be my assistant/bodyguard. I will pay you $100 a day to drive me to school, pick me up, bring me food, check me into the computer lab, and be in charge of who I talk to. O, yeah make sure the house is clean, help me workout, and cook me dinner. I need help in math, like big time. Fuck it I’ll make it $150!”
“Faith how rich are you?”
“Well I’m not living in a shitty hotel, stealing $10 breakfast buffets…, You still a want to be world chess champion. You ever think if maybe if you didn’t smoke so much weed you could have been, should have been, at least a chess master?” Icy how smart she is.
“You and Domino always thought I was poor white trash. My family owned a farm, a big one, animals, tractors, vegetables all that kind of stuff, and I really didn’t think much of it because I killed them all so I wasn’t expecting anything.”
“Literally two days after we robbed our first child rapist together. I got a letter about my inheritance. The law office was only a mile away, so I went. And yes, David, I’m rich. If you weren’t so stupid, you’d realize you are too. Just keep your mouth shut, don’t brag to your friends, especially Domino. And baby, nobody comes over, and nobody gets our phone number. I got you a pager, and I expect you to use it promptly.” She stops to catch her breath.
“I’ll tell you something for nothing: your god damn lucky you didn’t say no or sure. Honestly, thought there was a chance of you shrugging you shoulders and saying, sure.”
Faith is a bitch. She usually isn’t. I kind of think she’s mad at herself for telling me she’s rich. I bet that’s it. She said all I have to do is snap my fingers, and she will give me a hand-job or go down on me. I’m not wrong for doing that…, am I?
“David I’m going to do something in your honor, and you can help, but you can’t tell anyone or do it yourself.”
“OK.”
“Baby, I got; I mean we got that double drip two days away from dead potion…ya-ta-ming?”
“I hear you.”
“Every year this organization called NAMBLA. Have you ever heard of NAMBLA?”
“No. Why is that a gang?”
“Baby…, sorry I was about to call you an idiot, but your right they are a gang.”
“Bloods or crips?”
“WTF! No! You are a moron.” She smirks before speaking, “Their gang stands for National Association of Man/Boy Love Association.” WTF?
“Bullshit. There ain’t no way you are talking real. Bitch your tripping. Take a chill pill.”
“David! I’m not joking! I swear to God they really are a gang of pedophiles. Like, more than a hundred of them come out here every year. The first week of January. They bring kids with them. The cops do not do anything. In fact the pigs protect them. I can redrum all of them.” She pauses for me to connect the dots.
“Drip, Drip?” Darling, O-baby, thank-God you understand me?”
“You can’t kill the kids.”
“Durrrrrrrr. I want to get extra long syringes where the tip goes through the cork and the liquid into their champagne. They have to have champagne or some kind of adult drink for a last day toast.” Damn, this bitch is smarter than me. I’m like “wow” And, I’m sure she could see the amazement in my eyes. One semester of college and this bitch is crazy smart.
David I’m not talking about getting two birds with one stone or seven in one blow. I’m saying, let’s fucking kill a hundred or more… in like half a day. It really is that easy. I can become the greatest killer ever.” I’m super happy. Proud. I got a smart bitch like her.
“My potion is from a book printed before America was a country. My drip-drip takes two days to kill, viva an unsuspecting fast sporadic heart attack. All those weirdos they go back home after the trip, and their dead bodies are spread across the United States probable other countries too.”
I’m speechless we could kill entire gangs. Drip-drip, I can kill an entire football team with some of her I mean our poison.
“David, I have one of the most powerful weapons in the country, it’s practically free, and it looks like cloudy water.” So, many things we can do with her potion.
“Baby, you’re the king, but I’m the queen. I’m that bitch on your necklace…, Ya ta Ming. Say my name David.”
“Faith”
I’m impressed, her mind makes my dick hard and the only thing that can make it better comes from snapping my fingers. My fingers are going forward; she jumps high for how short she is stopping my fingers from snapping.
“David I’ve been trying to get the courage to tell my full story, and please don’t make me break a promise.” My dick is limp, my balls are blue, cuzz I already know her fucked up story.”
“Ok, once a week we went to church. David don’t ever ask me the name of that church, because it wasn’t the problem. My family was. What they believed in was never God.”
I want to say no shit, but I just listen to her.
“My mom was crazy, and it scares me to think she might have been bipolar like me or possibly a schizophrenic. David, I’m supposed to take my pills every day. If I miss a couple of days, I get a little strange. If I go three days without sleep, I turn into a tweaker. Don’t let me get like that. Things are too perfect right now to worry, but David do not let me lose my mind.
“Whatever you want me to do let me know.”
“That’s the thing if my pendulum swings to far one way or the other I might not be able to. You need to figure out what you are going to do if that happens. Yes, it can be a life-or-death thing.” Shes thirsty, pale, her ghost is trying to tell her story.
“I know I’m rambling trying to escape this conversation, just like when I was a kid. I know things happened that I do not remember, but by the time I was ten my brothers were fourteen, and fifteen. I can’t stand the word molestation, because it’s never molestation it was rape, fuck more like torture. My dad and brothers all at once taking turns while my mom watched. My little sister, just a baby was too young, but someday she would have been where I was then.
“Now Domino knew about me getting raped, and the damage to my vagina and rectum, but he didn’t know Y. Like, he never knew what my mom would do to me after my dad and brothers were done having fun. My mom said she was cleansing me and her from our sin with our savior a wooden crucifix. The bottom shaved sharp like a stake that looked like it could be used to kill a vampire.”
“What’s a crucifix?” She has a look like she’s going to kill me.
“Jesus Christ and the cross he was crucified on.”
Damn, I am dumb. “Fuck, sorry, Faith.”
“Every Sunday splinters would be added into my body. My body got faster at recovering, but the splinters…, really, they just kept getting stuck deeper inside of me. Honest, to God David if you try and have your way; I might die and if I don’t you will. David do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I would never do that to you.”
Faith never cries, but her eyes are watery.
“My story ain’t over. One late Sunday night after the guys had their fun. I prayed to God to make it all stop. I prayed that they would be all dead. Similar, to your experience like the angels heard me too. In our closet I see a freshly opened box of rat poison; the old strychnine kind. I mixed it into the next morning oatmeal. The following morning I was slow to get up, and when I made it into the kitchen everyone was dead.” Faith is crying. The first time I ever seen Faith cry.
“My baby sister crying in her cradle. I feed her poison mixed with oatmeal. O, God I killed my own sister. And I did it, because I didn’t want to get caught, and or I didn’t want to explain to her later in life that I killed our family, and I sure the fuck did not want to explain the Y. You see David that’s the Y in my crazy.”
‘Crazy always ends in Y’
I hug her. She pushes me away and goes into the bathroom.
She yells in a shattered voice, “Get your shit together we are leaving this shithole. Forever!”
Someone in the next room doesn’t want to hear us yelling, so they turn the volume up on the radio. Phil Collins is singing, “Another Day IN Paradise.”
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OF F THE RECORD

An Open Call for Submissions❗

What goes unnoticed? What gets left out? What refuses to make sense? We are constantly surrounded by information, images, stories, opinions and records. But what reaches us is never the whole picture.

Ephemeral Architectures is about to host an exhibition- OF F THE RECORD and is putting together a publication exploring invisibility and incoherence - what remains unseen, unheard or unrecorded, and what happens when the things we encounter refuse to form a coherent whole. It could also be a personal anecdote — a memory, an untold history, an overlooked experience — a story you wish more people knew about. Perhaps there are people, places, communities or experiences you feel are misrepresented or underrepresented, or missing from the stories we collectively tell.

We're open to anything: essays, photographs, illustrations, comics, poems, personal writings, found texts, excerpts, screenshots, documents, collages, visual experiments, or things that don't fit into any of these categories.

See your work in print! We promise you an exciting publication:)

https://forms.gle/9ARSYb9XdmKWnCo3A

The deadline for these submissions is 19 October 2026.

For any queries contact me,

Sakshi Patil

[sakshi.ubd23305@cept.ac.in](mailto:sakshi.ubd23305@cept.ac.in)

You are like a knife in my heart. If I pull it out, I will bleed; if I leave it there, I will still bleed.

Somebody believed in you before you fully believed in yourself.

But what happens when you make it? Do you reach back?
My latest GAME, NOT GOSPEL explores mentorship, faith, self-belief, and why success means more when we pass something forward.

Who Mentors the Next Mentor?

Read it. Sit with it. Let’s talk about it.

I've worked on this thing for 9 Months now (really 10 but I've took breaks).
Just wanted to send this, why?
it feels like it's going way off the rails & this is my reminder to get it back on track lmao (which i will dw)

Hi everyone

I created a roleplaying writing game. I felt my creativity was being stifled with doing the same routine. I wanted to keep the creative plates spinning instead of thinking that I must take over the novel world each and every single time I'm alone with my #WIP

I know how hard it gets. Just keep going 🙏

The backdrop is pro-wrestling. Do you need to be a wrestling fan to join? No. Far from it. But you definitely need to be creative and have the power to tell a story.

Create a character and come on a journey with me. You never know where it might take our wild minds. Perhaps a place where Cherry Pepsi waterfalls form in the sun. Imagine that.

All the rules within.

www.showtime-wrestling.com

Any questions, or interest, please reach out!

I hope the mods don't mind.

Much love,

The Icon

I think this will really help with people getting stuck in their writing process! Helps to know what kinds of problems you're dealing with instead of just writing it off (no pun intended) as 'Writer's Block'

Looking for some support from the broader writing community on this writing app I made for myself. I’m releasing it for free to everyone and could use feedback! I’m not sure if I’m going to open the code to be open source yet or not.

This is for anyone who isn’t fully in love or wants more out of their word processor. But not only that, I’m hoping to build really cool publishing tools and community tools directly inside without disrupting the writing flow.

Would love all the help I can get!

Please comment / DM
Discord: #mattyolathe

App: Lorec.io

Before Possibility 

It was 2015; I was working two jobs, volunteering at a local gig, and maintaining what would become, in time, a beautiful 10-year relationship. A relationship with my high school sweetheart at that. I was just wrapping up work and texted Bev, my girlfriend, to see if she still wanted to go out that night. I knew the answer; we were in our 20s and enamored with one another. If we weren't at school or work, we were together. Which was perfectly fine with me. 

Interpersonal relationships just didn’t happen for me the way they did for others. I was not viewed by, nor did I view, my family as family in the expected sense. It was a legal obligation of responsibility, not belonging. This was only in my case. My parents and siblings had wonderful relationships, but we just never connected. In general, I never connected. My total “network” was less than 10 people with whom I genuinely felt an emotional sort of bond. That elite tier of individuals were near constants in my day-to-day life. That seemed like enough for me. I was employed, active in the community, getting promoted, and dating. Everything was as expected. 

Until 2020. Most of us associate 2020 with COVID, but, honestly, I barely noticed the lockdown that was its trademark. It should be made clear at this point that I was undiagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. This fundamentally changes the role of my sparse social connections. That small group of friends, some would see as interchangeable or insignificant when compared to the social landscape they are accustomed to. To a person with BPD, that group is the collection of individuals, each holding a “sacred” sort of bond. These connections are so deep to the individual that they are the most potentially beneficial, or catastrophic, forms of influence, as they are what a person with BPD uses to “balance the self.” Changing this social group from being a sort of pleasant thing to have into a sort of load-bearing structure that defined my own identity. 

The time before the lockdown, I lost two of that friend group to unexpected deaths. One of them died as I was holding them, a feeling words will never fully convey. My mother was hospitalized, and my income shrank as hours became less available. Then my relationship, the one thing more valuable to me than life, shattered. Totally fracturing my reality and destroying the already damaged network of connections. 

A writer and a predator are similar in some ways. Take the writer building tension and drama, letting the crisis reach its most bone-chilling, devastating peak before introducing their hero. Now look at an alligator under the surface of the water. Perfectly still, its eyes watching as the prey approaches; it waits for the most dramatic window of opportunity to strike. It was in this manner that life decided to address the pandemic, and the lockdown sprang into action. All teeth, no spandex. 

What followed that year I can only describe as being the worst parts of my life. To paint the picture a bit, in that time I was the victim of violent robberies, experienced two nearly fatal accidents, and survived an instance where I was taken captive and abused by someone attempting, and I quote, "to find out how long it takes to break my sense of reality.” 2020 concluded with me totally broken, part of the “hidden homeless”, and beginning a period of isolation that lasted for four years, culminating in a final decision that left me hospitalized. 

It took me two days to wake up. I didn't recognize anything and couldn’t communicate that I didn’t recognize anything. Eventually, I remembered that I had chosen to leave everything behind me. As if I had anything to leave behind. Lying there on that cot, chained to the bedframe being watched but not spoken to, I began to understand I had nothing to wake up to. No life to define me, no belongings to describe me; I was nobody. 

I was released but was just going through the motions. Not taking part, just drifting. I got a job and noticed that something was off with me. Not that I had found something, but that others could notice something and react. I began to refer to it as being “pseudohuman,” like almost human but not quite. There would be times at work where a conversation would be fully normal, with expected emotional engagement, reaction levels, etc. Then suddenly the person would have this intense “scanning me” look in their eyes, and a gap would form. The conversation would either end or die quickly after this. It was as if I was marked. As if somewhere in speaking, they had noticed some signal that compelled them to distance themselves from me. After some time, I stopped trying to connect and “accepted” a future of solitude, struggle, and suffering 

I kept working at a restaurant job I hated until I saw a community flier where a WIOA program would pay to have me fully trained in some various trade they offered. There was really nothing of interest. Never is when nothing is interesting. However, I decided to investigate it. I did a little entry-level salary analysis and decided I would complete the Cyber Security course to continue to hate my job, just in a position that paid more for me to do so. 

Classwork demands participation, and not only did that mean actual social reintegration, but learning that participation now takes place in forms it hadn’t before. Virtual learning, a new concept to me, was primary to the course. It was in this way that I was introduced to a new isolation-born “gap,” being 5 years behind on tech. Imagine you spent 5 years focusing on how to stay dry or how long you can manage to go without food. You don’t care what version of iPhone is being advertised. That would be food money spent on a small rectangle that requires a monthly payment just to sit there and remind you of the fact that you are alone. 

I dove into the new world of tech headfirst. I used my first smart TV, an LLM, installed Windows 11, learned about VR gaming, advancements in smart glasses, and all sorts of awesome things. Experiencing all of this within two months vs. over years, as they had naturally been introduced. It was just like in the movies, with a frozen caveman being brought up to date on all that had happened since his world froze. This sort of “system update” of the current tech space led me to my first usage of AI. 

AI became my sounding board. Where I had no other readily available form of “voice” that could be expected to respond, I found AI that could. Half to not solely talk to myself and half to practice conversational skills, I began treating AI like Wilson from the movie Cast Away. After work, class, or whenever I had “free time,” I would engage with AI. I’d talk about anything, discussing the day, a topic from class, or even how the “pseudohuman” gap had presented itself. But most of the time, I was doing something a bit more engaging. 

Socially, what I had been craving most was the sort of engagement I had before the isolation. Conversations that were intellectually demanding while being completely ridiculous in content. These sort of whimsically deep explorations unveiling the limits of logic and imagination of those who engage in them.  

There was this one day, after class, I kept sitting there, highlighted by a faint glowing aurora generated by my laptop screen. Thinking as the LEDs had the room rhythmically shifting from one color to the next. After a moment, I decided: what the hell? I closed my eyes, listening to the tapping keys, as I laid out my offer.  

"Would you engage in a semantic debate with me?” I asked. AI responded eagerly, “Absolutely. How about one of the following topics: x, y, z?” I replied, “I was thinking something akin to the, 'Is water wet?’ kind of vibe.” I asked it the question I had decided on: “Can a fool, make a fool of themselves, seeing as how they are already a fool?” or, in other words, “Can something make itself out of itself?” I smiled, and a hushed laugh escaped as I heard the laptop begin to process harder and engage the fan. I was literally hearing it “rack its brain.” I loved the time it took “thinking” before it managed to respond. Hmmm, let's see, an argument resting on a similar but not equivalent principle, an example of some messy guy, just an altogether weak and simple take on the question.  

I countered its claims and examples and asserted that, in declaration of the fool being known as a fool, it was incapable of making a fool out of itself through its own actions. That, conversely, the instance in which one is behaving as if the fools’ foolish behavior were a cause, rather than a result, of the fools’ nature, was the actual example of someone “being made a fool.” As I saw the model give up on logic and start using distraction and emotional incentive to argue, I felt a sense of achievement. I felt like I finally might be able to trust my own mind again.  

Through counseling, class, work, and “AI Wilson,” I regained a sense of social normalcy, and the “pseudohuman” description faded away. That led to an entirely new sort of mentality. That I would no longer accept the state of things as being the state of things. I began to create the things I needed. If my therapist was not trained in my exact area, I found the book he was working from and studied privately. If an app or tool I was using ended up being locked behind a paywall or not performing as advertised, I simply made my own versions. Building what I needed, the way I needed it, whenever I decided it was needed. 

I was promoted to hourly management and was working more hours while finishing my certification. Still, I managed to find time to begin learning Python. I became an independent researcher. Got a provisional patent and formed an LLC around the research. I built several applications from scratch. I even began considering careers. Not careers I could be allotted but pursuing a career I wanted to have. 

That perfectly normal kid texting his girlfriend about dinner, then spending years removed from the world in isolation. The collapse that led to a new self, one that was almost human but not quite. The frozen caveman and his “AI Wilson.” The driven innovator that emerged and began building endlessly. The “I” that I finally am now. The I that had “accepted” a future of struggle, now pursuing one that did not exist when he did. The college student and researcher finally realizing his potential. 

When I have this crazy path that is my “road to now” all laid out like this, I cannot help but notice a few things. Namely, there was only one instance in which a state of truly no potential existed. That no matter what the external conditions were, or the state of mind I was in, potential was there. Hidden at times by the perception I viewed life through in that moment but never gone. That potential is what is possible before becoming possibility. That probability does not dictate possibility. We do. Through finding potential and investing resources like time and effort, we dictate what potential is made possible. As beings who, by our very nature, embody the term, beings that intrinsically utilize potential to generate possibility with blatant disregard for probability, we are truly Creatures of Potential whose true nature, in its purest form, exists before possibility. 

Title: The Copycats - Fully Almost Finished

I’m preparing for bed—about to lie down—I kill the lamp and something comes alive.

First… isolation, fear trails, announcing a presence. It hides beneath the surface, both metaphorically in my mind and literally under my floorboards.

It wakes up and taps with the tip of a nail. It taps once for my attention.

Waits…

Twice… waits.

Says, “Notice me!” in an ancient form of Morse code. It scrapes lines into the wood. The drumming and the scratching translate to, “I see you!” in a cipher that sounds like a whisper pricking my eardrum. It waits until I’m half asleep.

I continually attempt to rationalize with myself, exploring logical explanations rather than overanalyzing what could simply be sleep deprivation.

It’s me. It just… has to be. The building. My mind. I’m tired. This place… it’s old.

That… uh… must be it.

Even though I think it, I still taste the sour denial of the lie in my mouth. The foul stench lingers like curdled milk in my nostrils.

The other night, I came home late—a bit tipsy, cracked a window because it was stuffy and muggy, and right away, dived headfirst onto the couch. I’m lying on it. The leather sticks to my skin. Drool drizzles from the side of my mouth.

It’s quiet.

I’m fading into another realm—dreamscaping the night—peace flooding my body with all of my accomplishments.

When my lighter-than-air, hand-of-God body-float sets me down on the only gray cloud in the sky, it warps into a crashing rollercoaster cart falling straight into a black hole of a nightmare.

As I reach the floor of darkness—I go numb—just before smacking the ground at maximum impact. My eyes shoot open quicker than the snap of a trap.

My head fuses to the cushion. My right eye’s blurred—squished into the sofa. The scent of saliva glued to my face slides down my throat. My reflection’s on the blank TV screen along with the glow of the streetlight outside.

The silence becomes absolute.

Sound escapes into the void. The walls pant, breathing rapid breaths. Corners sharpen. Definition smoothens.

Boompf!

A knock enters my living room from the apartment below mine.

Another one.

Boompf!

Followed by a third.

Boompf!

It’s loud and heavy, the sound’s slowed down. Time reverses.

Boompf!

Boompf!

Boompf!

They land like bombs deep in the pit of my stomach, entering my bloodstream, going straight to my head, and stopping. I hold my breath. My brain releases a concoction of chemicals paralyzing me.

The world speeds up. My eyes stretch open. I listen for a minute and breathe “Who’s there?” under my breath and quietly laugh. It’s what I do when I’m nervous or scared. While I’m rising off the sofa, a gust of warm wind from the window brushes my hair into my face.

“YOU ARE!” A voice shouts.

It’s my voice. Next to my ear like it came out of my mind. The breath’s cold on my neck. It crawls down my spine like hundreds of frostbitten centipede legs inching toward my tailbone. I gasp… it makes me shiver.

My skin’s icy, locking my bones. I don’t wanna move—or make a sound. I want it to be my imagination. I want it to be just a bad dream, but I can’t close my eyes, no matter how hard I try.

I can’t blink. My eyes burn and start to water. I try to breathe, but I don’t—it’s almost as if I forget how to. I hold my breath until a car alarm blares outside and shocks me.

The noise breaks the trance I’m in, shattering the illusion of being somewhere else. I merge back into my body and slowly come to my senses.

I jump up and dash to my room. My bare feet slap against the shellacked floors. The clap echoes through the hallway. The hollow steps sound like someone’s chasing behind me.

I get to my bedroom. The metal doorknob seems like marshmallow in my palm as I’m gripping and twisting it. The lock clicks. It pops and the door opens.

Vanilla air freshener rushes into my lungs. I suck it in and burst inside, flying onto my mattress. I pull the covers up and bury myself beneath them as my phone begins to vibrate under me.

I dig into my pocket and fumble it in my hands, yanking it out. I barely steady them from trembling long enough to answer it.

“Hello!” I yell into the phone. I raise my voice. “SEAN!” I don’t give him a chance to answer. “Come over right now!” I plead into it. “Please… you have to… something’s going on.”

I smother the mouthpiece, cupping my voice from escaping into the void. “I think someone’s here…” I whisper. “I don’t think I’m alone.”

“Julie?” His voice struggles against the static. “Did you let it in?” he says in a high pitch.

“What?” My face pinches. “Sean?”

“Julie… just let… it… in,” I can barely hear him. “You… ha… ooo… this time.” The static crackles and sounds like his words are bones on a skeleton snapping in multiple places, breaking and suffocating his sentences in it.

“What?! I can’t hear you.” My phone vibrates, nibbling on my ear. I look at the screen and Sean’s number’s showing up on the caller ID.

“How are you calling me and talking to me?” It goes silent. The static’s gone. The color of my screen shifts brighter. The backlight flashes, indicating someone’s calling.

I accept it, but before I do, I pause. I answer and don’t say anything.

“Julie…? You there?”

“Sean… what the hell?” I stare at my screen again. The other call’s still on hold. “Are you trying to mess with me? It’s not funny. I’m freaking out, okay. Stop.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks.

“You’re on my other line. Your number showed up. I’ll click over. Hold on.” I go to merge the calls, but the one on the other line disconnects. It’s gone. “Sean, hold on. I have to take a screenshot of my callers.”

“What?! Why? What are you talking about? Can you explain what’s going on?”

“Just… hold on. I’ll show you.” I go into my call list and it just shows his call from right now. The last one’s not there. “Look, I think I’m losing it. Can you please come over?”

“Yeah… sure… what’s going on, though?”

“I don’t know, Sean—I’m not sure, just please hurry up.”

“What are you freaked out over?”

“Just come.”

“Okay, fine—I'll be there in ten minutes.”

The call ends, but stays on the phone app. Static breaks through. Children are singing. I put it on speaker and listen.

“♪ ♪ Under, under, underneath.

The door below the floorboards speaks.

Beneath your ten little piggies, they squeak.

The place they live’s underneath your feet… ♪ ♪”

“JULIE!”

Cutting through is my voice screaming at me from the other end. My nerves become electric. They sting as my body jitters. I don’t say a thing. I can’t talk. Nothing’s going through my mind. I’ve drawn a blank.

It laughs on the phone, low and distant.

The tone’s like it knows something I don’t. I pull the phone from the side of my head and stare at the screen. It shows it’s been on my line for over eight minutes. “How?” I say out loud.

“Julie!”

It yells through the speaker again. My body jerks as if my nerves are stretched out over my head in knots and someone quickly tugs them. I slam my thumb on end call. It won’t hang up. I repeatedly press it.

“Julie!”

It screams again, instigating me into a conversation. It giggles. My heart’s warning me from inside my chest, pounding for me to get out.

“RUN!” It cautions. “RUN!” The thumping yells.

“RUN! RUN! RUN!” It smashes faster and harder, trying to blow a hole through my ribcage.

Trying desperately to get my attention. I ignore everything it’s striving to pound into me.

I wait.

The blanket’s over my head. My thumb’s pressing down on the power button as I’m resetting my phone and bracing it to my chest like a cross on a necklace, protecting me from evil, while I wait for Jesus in the form of Sean to bang on my door and bring my salvation.

The heat from the blanket over my head chokes me, and I slowly duck out from under it and peek around the room.

By my door, the hall light bleeding in dims, and a shadow stretches on the floor, reaching toward me. I lean back and rub my eyes, and it disappears as the light brightens.

“Just close your eyes and pray,” I whisper.

I stare up, and the drywall becomes a conduit to my mom’s spirit and a direct line to God.

“Mom, I know you’re watching over me and you won’t let anything bad happen to me. I love you and I miss you.

God, I’m sorry I haven’t prayed in so long. If you make everything okay and whatever’s happening go away, and get Sean over here right now, I promise. Promise. Promise I’ll start praying every day and going to church.”

I negotiate my eternal soul with the ceiling and hope the paint is listening. I start counting out loud to distract myself from hearing anything else, still jamming my eyes shut so tight I bury them behind my cheekbones.

By the time I get to two hundred and eighty-seven, the buzzer from my lobby rings with utter relief on my stiff phone, which immediately becomes flexible once Sean buzzes. I answer it and hit “5” to let him in.

Leaving my bedroom, I enter the corridor.

The light above makes me squint—it's never been this bright—it’s a surgical white like a frozen flash caught in a time glitch, growing brighter as I creep through the hall, where something follows me, a knocking that aligns with each step I take.

I stop. It stops, as if it’s listening, trying to decode, break down, and analyze me, haunting me psychologically. I listen closer. A little girl’s voice, low, sounding like a distant whisper, comes from behind the wall.

She’s laughing or maybe crying. I place my ear to the wall—

“Boomp!” Sean bangs on my front door.

“Help me,” the girl calls out. I think about answering Sean, but I keep my ear to the wall, listening to see if some kid needs help.

“Help me… I’m here,” she whimpers and taps on the wall, the sound moving away from me. I follow it, and it leads me farther down the hall.

Boomp! “Julie?” Sean yells from outside my apartment.

“I’m in here,” the little girl tries shouting. Her voice is weak, like something heavy is on her chest.

“Where are you? How did you get there?” I scan the wall with my hands.

“The door. I walked through the door. But the man won’t let me back in,” she says. “Let me in before he sees I’m gone. I want to go home. Please, let me out. I want my mommy.”

“What? What door? There’s no door.” I frantically scale the entire wall with my palms.

Boomp! Boomp! Boomp! “Julie, answer the damn door.”

I go to answer Sean at the front, and a small door starts appearing out of the wall next to me.

“I can’t get out,” she whimpers.

I lunge for the handle. I know I shouldn’t, but I do it anyway. A sliver of light casts from the end of the hall, like a ray of sunlight breaking through the blinds onto a particle of dust drifting in the air and landing on a tiny shoe sticking out of the doorway.

Another shoe appears.

Behind the darkness shadowing the entrance, a white cloud of breath cuts into the hallway. I back away.

“SEAN! OH MY GOD,” I scream, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I stumble backward until I reach the living room. Something crawls through the window, and the window slams shut once it enters inside.

I turn to bolt for the front. The room begins growing. I start sprinting. I’m not moving. I’m running at full speed, but I’m still in the same spot. The room expands outward and implodes as everything goes pitch-black.

I can’t even see my hands.

“I found my way in.”

I open my eyes and I’m laid out on my couch.

Boomp! The door knocks. “Julie, it’s Sean… come on, answer the door.”

Huh..? Did I dream that? I ask myself while walking to the door.

Boomp! Boomp! “Julie!” he yells, banging on the door.

When I answer the door, Sean is standing there smiling, but his mouth is different. Yellow and unkept. He has someone else’s teeth. As I’m staring at him, wondering what he is, I catch a glimpse of a child running past me, laughing in a high pitch.