Obsessed with writing.
There was nothing he could do anymore. He had to keep reminding himself of that as he looked at the grey cell wall. There was not much he really wanted to do in the first place. That had all already been accomplished. That was how he got here.
She had never thought she would see it again but there it was. It was nestled comfortably in an old box of random memories.The sight and smell of it brought memories flooding back to her. Her first thought was that of the face of the man she had stabbed with it. It was not hard to remember even though it had been more than fifteen years since the events had originally occurred. The memories, his face, were branded in her brain as if they had been burned there by a hot poker. She would never forget.
Suicide is a Nightmare, Pt 1
I had been a rough year. Working for a suicide prevention hotline had not made it any easier. Answering calls from the suicidal every day, from six o’clock in the morning go to three o’clock in the afternoon would be difficult on anyone. It was already difficult when you were having issues of your own at home.
Suicide is a Nightmare, Pt 2
I was talking to myself. I was hearing my own voice. How can someone make a call and be talking to themself? It had made no sense to my drunk brain, To be fair, it probably would not have made sense to sober me, either.
Suicide is a Nightmare, Pt 3
My son had crumpled to the floor. His life would never be the same again. I picked him up with ease even though he was almost twelve. I held him for a moment. Then, I realized I could hear my daughter, She was screaming nonsense from inside.
It was the summer of 1969 and there was nothing for high schoolers to do except sit in their cars and make out when no one was looking. They had music, too, of course. It was only the background noise for what was going on inside of the cars, though.
Jackson and Aaron are two average American boys in every way you can imagine. They liked to skateboard, look at pretty girls, and hated to do homework. Just like other sixteen-year-olds, they had an uncanny ability to get themselves into trouble when boredom struck. And that, my friends, is exactly what happened on cold October night.
The world seemed to have been going crazy years before anything had happened. There had been so many diseases, different types of corruption, and natural disasters before anyone had begun to think that there might be a reason for it.