There must be so many universes where I’m not about to be raped and murdered.
“So you’re what, 34? 35?” Monster interrupts my deep thought.
“Anyway, you’re still hot,” he whispers into my ear from behind, his breath a tart medley of smokes, cheap whiskey, and…sardines?
If I hadn’t taken the shortcut home. Different universe.
If I’d had coffee after lunch. Who’s hands would be tied up behind this chair?
Monster now stands before me. “Best to die when you can still leave a pretty corpse, right?”
Every day, every instant, small choices send us down one life-path or another. Infinite possibilities. Forks upon forks like roots of a tree. Most paths lead to an decent life, some to glory. Some stop abruptly. Dead ends.
My path led to Jim. To Kayla. To Mr. Meows. I try hard not to cry.
“Do you die before the fun, or after?”
If that cancer had killed Pop-pop before he could teach me his trick for nasty knots. Don’t struggle. Twist, back and forth, gently.
“During…”
What tragic life-path brought Monster to here, now? To this dead end. The rope slips from my wrists and falls quietly to the floor.
If I hadn’t stopped to buy that fancy new pen. If I’d put it in my purse instead of my pocket. It was for my poetry. New path: it’s for stabbing this fucker in the eye.
Monster leans in. Yes, definitely sardines.
“I’m 39,” I tell him, “and I intend to see 40.”
About the Creator
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor6 days ago in Fiction
A golden giant fish
Title The Legend of the Golden Giant Fish In the heart of a small littoral vill, nestled between towering escarpments and crashing swells, lived a community of fishers whose livelihood depended on the bounty of the ocean. Among them was an old fisher named Haldor, whose weathered face bore the wrinkles of innumerous passages. Yet, beneath his gruff surface lay a heart filled with stories of the ocean, tales of great prodigies and mystifications that charmed the imagination of all who heeded. One cold wave downtime's night, as the vill huddled around creaking fires, Haldor regaled them with the legend of the Golden Giant Fish. According to the tale, deep in the darkest depths of the ocean, there swam a magnific critter of unequaled beauty — a fish of pure gold, larger than any vessel that dared to venture into its sphere. numerous had heard whispers of its actuality, but none had ever laid eyes upon it and lived to tell the tale. Despite the dubitation
By vinoth kumarabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
OF MOTHERHOOD.
Dear mother-to-be, I wanted to let you know how very, very special I think you are. I don't think there can be any job that is more meaningful than the one you are about to begin, that of being a mom. You are the most important person in the world to your precious unborn baby, and you will be for many years.
By Catherine Nyomenda3 days ago in Writers
Comments (1)
Great work! Fantastic job!