I’m not sure if this one is as interesting conceptually, but I like it.
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Who saw this coming? Yea. Yea I DREW this. Not that it’s really all that good, but I made it. From scratch. I’m so proud.
Now go forth to the comment section below and RIP! Rip this apart! Or don’t. It’s 1920×1080 for all those of you with nice monitors to enjoy. Make it your desktop wallpaper! Print it out and wear it as a hat! Take it off and eat it! The fun never stops!
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Posted from the bus on the way back up to Ithaca.
I pulled the phone out of my pocket. The bus was quiet. 3 A.M to Buffalo. Everyone was asleep save an older man with a newspaper in the back of the bus and the pretty girl with the laptop behind me.
We cruised across the pavement, a cough here, a grunt there, all drowned in the white noise of the air conditioning.
There it was. On the phone. My feet, her feet. A picture I took three years ago. Maybe I forgot to delete it with all the others. No faces, just our lower legs, my shoes, and her sandals at one end of a hammock. I would never know why it popped up. Maybe I had shifted in my sleep and hit a button. It didn’t matter.
I took two seconds to look over the image, and then deleted it. I needed to know that the world was going to forget about her before I could let go. I wanted to be the last person ever to think about her, but I wanted to stop thinking. Cancer had done his dirty work over two years ago, and with that last picture gone, I was hoping her memory was going to disappear as fast as she had.
Originally on Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/20843
A ficly about a late night trip to a diner.
A little place called Four AM. We stepped into the dinner, knowing our money was low. We’d been traveling at night a lot. There were two younger Latino men in the corner booth, sipping coffee, and debating the wonders of nighttime driving with the fifty-something year old waitress who sat next to them.
She walked over when we entered, bleary-eyed. I loved twenty-four hour diners. There was a kind of brutal honesty about the place, but everyone kept their decency. I looked out the big window at the car parked in the cold, the dew gathering on the hood. The lot, the single road through town, the park across the street. Everything was empty. There was a baseball game on the television which was planted awkwardly on a high shelf above the bar.
The food arrived on wings, like the cook had been waiting for us, and before twenty minutes was up, we were on the road, listening to the engine purr, the AM radio station hiss, and the chilled wind whip the sides of the car.
Originally on Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/18861
A ficly about a web-designer and a late night ritual…. Ok ok. It’s about me. This is the first thing that I’ve written in a long, long time that is directly about moi.
Midnight again. Everyone was asleep. I listened to the machine whir to a gentle close. I plugged in my cell phone, put my wallet by the door, and waited on the couch in the dark room.
It was time, because it had to be. One constant in the day. When I couldn’t figure something out, or when I was angry, or nothing made sense and everything had gone wrong, there was still up and down, and the pain. The grueling, searing, ripping pain, and I loved it. Fifty of them, chest two inches from the ground, that was all. Had to be done. Then I could go to bed.
The first was always the easiest. Around twenty-six the pain set in, and by forty-five, I was praying for death. Then fifty-one. The period on the whole ordeal, a little something for me to let myself know that I could do it.
When I was done, there was nothing left but the crawl into bed, and the silence while my heart slowed.
Originally on Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/18088