So I had to write a short paper for my creative writing class with the prompt of: Describe a river or lake as seen by a man or woman who has just committed murder. Do not mention the murder. This is what I came up with.

It was the coldest day of the year during one of the coldest weeks in recent memory. Penitence, penitence, penitence, ( Read more... )

Four jobs I’ve had in my life that aren’t on my resume ( Read more... )

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Not again.

I cannot stand talking and listening to other people about art, their idea of art, or what art means to them. It causes me to sweat, my stomach to turn, and loss of voluntary control of my facial muscles. Thus, I often end up looking at people strangely, my face etched in confusion laced with disgust, when they talk for what seem like ceaseless ( Read more... )

I am back in Fredericksburg and it's incredibly surreal. Empty streets, sidewalks, classrooms, benches, rooms, walls. I can count the number of people in each on my classes on my fingers, seven and eight.

To soothe nerves rattled by emptiness, I tried to make my room in the apartment as cozy and homelike as possible.

I plan on remedying my lack ( Read more... )

I felt my blood, my organs. Flowing, breaking, splitting, contracting. Expanding ( Read more... )

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Honestly, I was over high school when I was still in high school. I can't expect the same from other people, though, and I know that ( Read more... )

Something inside makes me want to go to a thousand thrift stores and spend a day in each one ( Read more... )