Seventy-two hours alone. A new record. Perfect silence, stillness. The perfect environment in which to work, to reflect. She finished that new short story she had been working on. She organized her DVDs. Anything to escape the dark thoughts—but they came anyway. And she cried. And cried. She hated herself, hated herself for the life that had led to these thoughts, hated herself for having these thoughts in the first place. They brought her to the edge. Then they stopped. Ready to rejoin the world, she turned her phone back on. No one had texted to check on her.
Rifle gripped firmly in his hands, he crouched behind the bushes and took a moment to admire his prey. Long, silky manes; pure white bodies; powerful hooves; and spiral horns to top it all off. It almost felt cowardly to kill such a peaceful mother and colt—but ten thousand dollars did not. He raised his rifle and took aim. Suddenly, something sharp pierced his chest. He looked down and saw the bloody tip of a spiral horn. Then his vision faded to blackness.
Never Ever Land
My name is Stephanie Hoogstad, and I am a Disney adult. Now, I know that sounds like a bad introduction at a Disney-holics Anonymous meeting, but that would imply that I’m trying to recover from some sort of addiction. I’m not. Is Disney an addiction? That’s debatable. As of right now, I don’t spend so much money and time on Disney for it to be considered a problem—yet. And I don’t view my love of Disney as an adult to be a problem. The problem is that there are people who think it’s a problem and will go out of their way to shame Disney Adults, especially online.