Life is supposed to be better after graduation. You’re walk across that stage, grab your diploma, and then you are welcomed into the real world with open arms. All those parties, all the cheering, all the gifts, all the congratulations you get, it’s all supposed to represent the new world […]
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It was July 2011 when the Polk County Rocks game spread to my area. People were painting up rocks, hiding them around and posting photos to the Facebook group set up for it. Essentially this was a big Easter egg hunt that was reaching everywhere from Lakeland to Arbuckle, with
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Lightning flashed overhead as I picked myself up off the ground. Wondering where I was and how I ended up there, I examined the shapes and shadows that littered my view. The dark sky made my vision near obsolete, but my eyes slowly adjusted to the absence of light, and
There yet again, he found himself in front of his computer. Late at night, the wife asleep. His mind wondered to that wonderful conversation he had last with Heather, his favorite personality on an online MMORPG that he frequently plays. He wished to talk with her once again, so he
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I am fully aware of how unbelievable the events I am about to describe to you are. From your point of view I would not believe them either. I would think of them as a work of fiction from that of a creative mind, but knowing what I have seen,
“There are no clocks in Hell, only an eternal ticking…” – Bridaine He walked inside, a man’s man, home from a hard day of labor, in no mood for sass or foolishness, brutal discipline at the ready, silence dominating… save the ticking of the clock. According to their training, his
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Nearly all great and epic stories – at least the unbelieveable ones, like sweet fairy tales – begin the same way. Therefore, so shall I. But my story is not sweet. Once upon a time, while in my forty-third year, I was a married woman living in a small Tennessee
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT “Huh?” I jerked up as my cell phone buzzed loudly, emitting an insultingly bright light. I rubbed my face and winced as I slapped at the screen in a half-ditch effort to shut the damn thing off. There was a muted thump as my hand brushed the edge of
After World War II, there were rumors of a weird occurrence that plagued Europe. Stories like this were buried and kept a secret to prevent a worldwide panic by the United Nations. Journals were frisked when a deployed individual was about to be sent home, and if they contained any
Apparently everyone is in on the joke or I’ve been living under a rock so I’m sorry if any of this is redundant but I have to reach out because things have gotten really out of hand. I think the first time I encountered Mr. Strangeteeth was the day I
I’ve loved gardening ever since I was young. My mother was a gardener, too. She taught me all of her tricks of the trade, got me to just love the taste of fresh produce. Not even that supermarket “fresh” where they cover them with wax or make them look shiny
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Paranoia can affect anyone, some more than others. For some, it’s disabling, and others it’s just an inconvenience. Sara wasn’t sure where she fell on this spectrum, but she knew she was on it. Or was she? Was she actually paranoid or just being realistic? She couldn’t figure out which
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I thought I could take this to the grave. I thought 7 years later it would be a shadow of a decaying memory pushed far back into the depths of my mind. I actually envy those people who completely block out a traumatic experience as though it never happened. But
Part 1 Tess stood at the mirror applying her eyeliner. It was Saturday night and, although she didn’t officially have any plans, she was sure that, at any moment, she would get a call inviting her to go out somewhere. She stepped away from the mirror suddenly, evaluating her work.
Part 1 It was a typical day at school when I heard that Jessica Braymer had disappeared. That’s not to say that there was anything especially “typical” about Jessica herself. She’d been one of the most beautiful girls in school. She’d been in virtually every organization, her grades were good…
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In 2017, a certain video appeared on Youtube. The phone recording presented a busy intersection in a rather large city, probably in the United States. The circumstances indicated the situation took place during rush hours on March or April, as people were wearing light coats and some snow was still
Wednesday, July 12th, 2017 The dynamic of memory has confounded me for my entire life. Memory is itself a living being, eternally aging until it decays and fades away. Each memory lives through its life cycle. Full of vitality in birth and hollow and weak in death. Like the people
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I stepped up the old, wooden steps of the porch, to what would be our new home. It was nice enough. It had a big back yard (fenced in with barbed wire) with a massive tree and a sturdy-looking tire swing. Most importantly, the neighboring houses were probably about a
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July 7th 1864 I am writing this letter under appreciable strain. It is to be, by this night’s end, that I shall be no more. Penniless and at a loss of the drug which once kept my temperament secure, I shall cast myself from my squalid room and onto the
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Frank’s heart sank as low as it could go before he even finished reading the email. Another job opportunity was out of his grasp before he even had a chance to make it to a second interview. And he knew why. “It was Rudy. I know it was. That fucking
My friend Kerry (names have been changed) told me this story many years ago. While its details might have imperfections here and there due to its memory fading slightly over time, I can assure you, it is completely true. Ann and Kerry lived near one another in a quiet suburban
The following is a true story with real people and real media attention. I am going to try to be vague in areas which would expose my identity, but if you are able to figure out who I am I ask that you please respect my privacy and not try
“Miss Merida Kincaid, please report immediately to reception with your certified nursing assistant. Your family is here to take you to your new residence.” Merida was led downstairs by her CNA, an elderly woman with thinning blonde hair and standard dark blue scrubs. “I’m going home,” Merida said, not to
Beyond the Veil is Dark And beyond Dark, the Heart That Must Be Slain. The Veil is everything you know And the Dark, Olcshire. This was the message handed to me, as per my grandfather’s will. It was peculiar, but nothing unusual. As far back as my childhood my grandfather
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