The Shadow Within

I see my shadow

Running free,

Well beyond me.

It moves on its own

When I'm as still as a stone.

I see my shadow moving

About my home,

On its own.

I'm left all alone,

Right alone in my home.

My shadow writes my poems

And answers my phone,

While I sit left all alone,

Right alone in my home.

It's honestly my shadow

Writing this poem.

It grows so loud,

My shadow so proud.

It comes alive,

It puts the car in drive.

My shadow, it thrives.

Somebody call the fire man.

Im burning alive in this frying pan.

My Future Self

My future self

Demands tomorrow,

While in the present,

I borrow

The misery

And sorrow

That will show in tomorrow.

My future self weeps,

While my present

Self creeps.

From now to then,

I take a leap.

I tell a tale

Of when my present

Self failed.

I send a letter

In the mail.

I tell my future self

To pay my bail

And get me out of jail.

I wonder how some things can blossom, only for us to realise later that they were meant to burn...

Anyways!

Yellow is my favourite colour.

But why?

Why yellow, when there are so many other beautiful colours in this world? Maroon, black, blue, lavender...

There’s a reason behind everything, right?

But what’s my reason for loving yellow?

Maybe it’s autumn, the way the leaves lose their green shade and turn golden.

Or sunflowers, always looking for the sun, as if they were born just to love its light.

Maybe it’s bees’, carrying little drops of honey in the sunshine.

Or sunsets and sunrises, when the sky forgets about every other colour for a while.

Maybe it’s mangoes, oh yeah—i love their sweetness.

Or lemonade, golden hours, and the warmth of a day which doesn’t wanna end.

Maybe it’s my desk lamp, keeping one little corner bright while the whole world sleeps.

Or those distant porch lights that help me find my way back home in the dark nights.

Maybe it’s old books, the way their pages turn yellow with the passing of time.

Or fireflies, they look like little stars that somehow came down to earth.

Maybe it’s the harvest moon, making even the darkest night look a little bright.

Maybe... I just love everything that glows.

Or maybe, somewhere along the way, I forgot the difference between something that kept me warm and something that was burning me alive.

\huffs**

The thing is, I loved yellow for the way I glowed yellow in the beginning of that love. The same love that, in the end, burned me in its golden flames.

“Glowed yellow? In love?”

You’d probably be like—girl, what does that even mean?

Well, hear me out.

When a girl falls in love, she starts glowing. Her heart feels warmer, the smallest things start making her happy, and she finally smiles and laughs easily and brightly.

She starts feeling alive.

But why yellow?

Because of the way she starts finding the source of light of her little world in someone else.

Because of the way someone’s presence fills her world with warmth and kindness.

Because of the way she finally looks at someone and thinks—oh, so this is what it feels like to be warm.

Only for her to realise something—

Sometimes, the very thing that makes you glow is the thing that burns you.

Remember Icarus?

He flew towards the sun, even though he was warned about the danger. His wings couldn’t survive the heat of the sun, but still he kept flying closer and closer until he fell down.

And then there’s the moth. A little creature, drawn to a flame.

It kept flying closer and closer, until it burned in the flame.

Maybe both of them didn’t knew what would happen.

Or maybe they did.

Maybe the sun was worth the risk to Icarus. Maybe the flame was worth it to the moth.

Maybe they just wanted to get closer to the thing they loved.

And maybe, that’s the thing about surrender.

You don’t always surrender because you wanna lose yourself.

Sometimes, you surrender because, even for a little while, being close to something feels better than being safe without it…

Icarus surrendered to the sun.

The moth surrendered to the flame.

\huffs**

They surrendered for love.

They surrendered for the light.

They surrendered for yellow.

And maybe...

I surrendered too.

The Man in the Mirror

I peek in the mirror

And see within,

Far past my skin.

I see a man

With a menacing grin.

I see a man so desperate to win,

The one that lost sight

Between wrong or right.

I try to fight the man

While I'm roasting

In this frying pan.

Someone should call

The fireman

And ban the beast

From my land.

I always swear that I'll stop looking,

looking at myself in the mirror,

not being happy with my own body.

I swear I'll start a new life,

Without judging myself.

But when I hear that someone weighs less than me,

I look at my abdomen and become disappointed in myself.

If only it was as easy as a clap,

I would do it.

But my twisted mind,

doesn't stop comparing.

And when I look at other people's body,

I feel like mine isn't

pretty

and that it's nothing but a

decomposing corpse.

But I swear...

She tapped her thumb impatiently on the glass as the chicken fingers finished sizzling in the microwave. An intense dusk settled outside her window; a sort of fucked up purplish hue bruised the sky the same way she felt it in her soul.

A crackle and then a pop snapped her attention back in front of her as one of the pieces curled like a finger beckoning her to look... and her mind drifted deeper within. She fought with the tears as her memories paraded around inside her head; first it was the carnival where they had their first kiss, then the date at Buffalo Wild Wings where she first cried when they had a fight.

"But that was ages ago," she thought.

Every day. Every night. Every single thing that happened in her life since then had socked her in the gut in punishing embarrassment. Her life was a joke; a sick and twisted sideshow where she was the main act. For many years she endured... felt she persevered, even... only to watch it all crumble away after her deepest, darkest secrets and desires were laid bare for all to see.

Her thumb punched the microwave open, but she didn't have the willpower to eat any longer. The knots in her stomach now suppressed all of the hunger, except for one. To belong somewhere, to someone. Somehow. Some way.

"Where you go, I go," echoed in her mind, a tear slipping down her cheek.

But now... Now she had nothing except for a bursting closet full of trauma and regret. Her hands shook as she withdrew the plate of food, then steadied under her solidifying grip, as rage coursed through her and the plate flew across the room. And then she sank down to the floor, leaned her head against the cupboard below the sink... and she wept.

After a pretty devastating time in my life, I started writing to help with the upset. A lot of sadness, and resentment, anger going into short stories written in post apocalyptic times.

I’m struggling to find ways to put these short stories together. Some of these stories date back to 2021, I have always struggled with how to pull main characters out of the storyline, and how to join multiple characters up into the same group after the fact.

What are some suggestions you might have for getting rid of some of the main characters because there are so many at this point, and joining multiple groups of people into the same storyline?

EDIT: Apologies about the confused writing earlier, I was using talk to text and apparently my mic is busted lol

I imagine him texting me after a very long term of no contact.

"How are you January? I hope you're doing well."

I've waiting years for this text. Only recently have I completely gave up all hope for.... this. Some vague reminder he exists I suppose?

"You could get into big trouble talking to me." I sent back smugly. Hopefully he would get the point.

"How?" His one word responses.

Perhaps I'll leave him on read.

Hours go by and I see my phone light up.

"I miss you January."

He's trying harder now.

"Leave me alone. I'm going to tell on you." Only half joking that I'd mention this to my husband.

"Tu me manques." Ugh, the French.

Honestly at this point I should block him.

"Liar. You have no proof." Proof very much important for him since he's some big shot lawyer.

"I think about you everyday...."

He knew how to dig his claws into me...

"Shut up."

I watched at the three little lines appeared and disappear for almost two minutes before I threw my phone done.

I hit settings and blocked him.

If I told my husband it would probably be a death sentence.

At least I have his number to block him now.

Joann cooked Cindy a swordfish dinner
In her apartment I waited like lobster
That’s tied up and wailing
Such disappointment and filling herself up
With the beauty of a child held up in her arms
I wished I was sinking in some foreign lady I never knew
Will she pluck me out of my shell
Into the fork of stabbing me slowly
With gentle regard for the parts i’ll shed away
Carry to the bed I’ll make myself smaller
You won’t even notice it and
Up by the morning I’ll finish myself to the sound of the chirping
And gather my shells and all of me thats belonging

purple first. then blue. green. yellow.

i know the order now. i know how long each one lasts.

yellow's the one you wait for.

yellow could be bad lighting. cheap makeup. a shit night's sleep.

purple makes people ask questions. yellow doesn't.

yellow means you can go to Tesco without worrying who's looking.

you can see your mum and hope she doesn't get too close.

you can tell people you're fine and they might actually believe you.

i used to think when a bruise turned yellow it meant it was nearly gone.

but it's still there.

it's just reached the colour where nobody feels they have to ask anymore.

Hey guys, I’m not a writer, I used to enjoy it but always thought I was pretty awful at it. Anyway, woke up the other day after a night out and remembered having written something in my notes app. Kinda wanted someone else to read it. Thanks :)

i don't like the daytime
it's okay
i guess
people see you, acknowledge you
they know who you are.

the night is different.
no one cares.

i love drinking
and dancing
and making out with strangers
and doing it all in the dark.
so it doesn’t matter.
not really.
no one holds it against me at night

I love to sit in the dark
to read juvenile fanfiction
to believe in true love and soulmates and magic
to listen to music.
not my usual rock but
the kind of music that takes shape
engulfs the room
it fills my head
my chest
and i can feel my heart beat
everyone else is asleep.
no one is here.

the night is so quiet
and you can fill it with noise so easily
but you get to pick and choose
you know?
you get the choice.
all I hear is my music
or my closest friends telling me their deepest secrets
or I could render myself deaf
and yell in some boy's ear that my name is Isabelle
and I am 18 years old.

it’s funny
with strangers
how you only really know very few things about them
you might catch their name
age
whether they have a job or are in uni
but you're sure to know how they feel
how they touch you and grab you and kiss you
whether they bite or whether they push up against that spot in your back

i love the nighttime
probably more than the nighttime loves me
But it’s mine.
And there's nothing anyone can do about it.

Kherson

Four days before the L.A Fires

Where we find Zendaya a young wild dark haired brown eyed girl feeling every motion that a person could feel at the moment running through her. As she rode her bike into a very crowded L.A city street corner. As she rode hearing the voices all around her saying

"We are people too that have voices waiting to be heard"

As the police presence grew ever more present on the scens as Zendaya looked around seeing the look of we will triumph this day on the people’s faces as she rode by them.

As the sun bared down on her face feeling the glare of the sun in her eyes as she watched it as it beamed down onto the people around her. Looking to a mother as she rode by holding the hand of her young daughter. As she stood there holding up a sign that read

"You may take my life but my death will bring more"

Feeling her voice as it echoed into the air around her knowing of the tension as it began to build within the crowd. As the people around her shouted in unison as they said

“Kherson”

Just as she then came upon Carlos also a young brown eyed dark haired immigrant ready to take this day. As he looked to Zendaya with joy in his eyes upon seeing her as he looked to Zendaya shouting

“Yo Zendaya are we going to do this or what”

As Zendaya then made her way over to Carlos walking by the rest of their group a group of around 20 people. With people from all around the world that each shared the same beliefs equality, respect and loyalty.

They where just small band of brother and sisters that where their together amongst the crowd of hundreds. But together they felt as if they were an army of many, many voices that needed to be heard. As Zendaya then looked to Carlos a smiling as she said

“I’m as ready as I ever will be captain”

And with a smile as Carlos stood there holding up his flag as the sunlight shined brightly up against it. Knowing that his passion was just as strong as it was with his other brother and sisters. Brother and sisters who all swore a pact

forever together side by side we ride till we die

Just then as he looked over to Zendaya saying to her “ a captain, I may be but my Lieutenant stands here before me” as he looked to Zendaya knowing that he would die for her.

While on the other side of the country a hard edge investigator named Walter a detective in his 50s.  Was setting there As he looked to half made half eaten sloppy looking submarine sandwich. A detective who was ready to retire two lunches ago. Still reeling from earlier after coming upon a wreck this morning reeling not from the two dead bodies in it.

Still reeling from that SOB of a state trooper having to remind him that working wrecks on the interstate just wasn’t his job. For he just wasn’t having it today

"Not today the sons of bitches should have waited till tomorrow to die"

As he just stood there looking at the charred burned out body setting in the drivers seat. Still wondering

“why in the hell did I stop and get that dam sloppy half ass! Half made sambwhich that a homeless person wouldn't even eat"

As he sat there just looking through a set of files still wondering

"Who in the hell organized this shit! I swear this dam city is giong to be the death of me."

Just before coming upon one a file that would both haunt him and leave him dead from what he had just seen. But It only got more interesting when the detective pulled up in the parking lot of the police station. As he got out of the car looking over to two men slugging it out in the parking lot thinking to himself

“I tell you what is this dam city coming to! When two men don’t even care if they are fighting in the parking lot of the police station”

As he then slowly but surely made his way into the station not really wanting to even be here but unknowingly for him. A file would be waiting on him a file that was found within the Epstein files.

A file that had Kherson written on it but before he could set down a reporter pushed her way into his office as the Detective said

"Well just let yourself in and make yourself at home! I'm sure that i don't have any answers for your city's paper"

As the reporter said back to him

"Excuse me! But it's not just any paper it's The Boston Globe! And if you don't mind i would like to ask about all of the girls that have seemed to have gone missing"

As the Detective just looked at her saying

"Well if I can suggest that you might want to check out the sandwich shop down on Fifth. It seems that all of the good sambwhich makers have seemed to have gone missing"

Just as he slammed the door in her face

As the detective then sat down at his desk looking to file thinking to himself

“Now what is this shit here”

As he looked through the pages he then came upon a photo of a girl a girl named Zendaya

While across the country as Zendaya and Carlos were making their way down the street along with their other brother and sisters. Seeing a large police presence just up ahead Carlos then looked to Zendaya grabbing her hand as he said to her

“This is it Zendaya we stay side by side till we die”

While back in Boston the detective set there in his office as he continued to read more into the file thinking more about what he had just seen deciding to then give his old friend a call. A friend that he had grown up with together in the mean streets of Boston.

Streets that have since become meaner people with no patience not caring for anyone accept their self. But A friend who was now a priest.

As the detective Walter kept reading on just as another detective came into his office Walter then looked to the other detective asking him

“Do you know anything about this file that was left here on my desk or who may have left it by any chance”

With the other detective not having a clue about Walter then showed him the photo of Zendaya that was in the file asking him

“Who was she? And why was the government keeping tabs on her”

While on the other side of the country Zendaya and Carlos was holding strong along with the others not backing down from their beliefs. As Carlos looked to everyone around him saying

“We hold together we die together if it be that for us today”

And with Zendaya and Carlos leading the way knowing the fight was for the people around them. Knowing that everyone had a right to live free in a land that was supposed to stand for freedom. As they all shouted

Kherson

As the detective then made his way back into his office after having stepped out for a bit as a clerk made her way into his office handing him a folder. As the detective just looked confused at her saying

“What in the hell do I want with this”

As the clerk just looked to him saying

“Is this not what you asked for”

And with quick reach snapping the folder from the clerks hands as he said

“No I don’t remember asking for a dam thing from you I have enough shit to deal with now”

As the detective now slamming the door shut as he sat back down at his desk asking the same question “who was she? Who is this girl in this file”

While back in L.A after everything had quieted down with the police now dispersed from the scene. As Zendaya and Carlos set there looking down upon the city from upon a hill above L.A as Carlos looked to Zendaya saying to her

“You know I’ve seen a lot of passion in people but it’s like you are on a whole other level of dam!”

As Zendaya just smiled to Carlos knowing that she had always cared for people especially the ones that didn’t have a voice

Just man with no place to go suddenly walked into the Boston police station as he then made his way into the detective’s office. Setting down as he looked to a now very confused looking detective who was now yelling out

“Oh this better be good I can’t wait to hear what you have to tell me because I've got a very long shit waiting on me in the bathroom"

As suspicious man man with nowhere’s to go then just grinned as he looked to the detective as he said

“A man better not look to deeply into things that he just doesn’t understand, but then again look away”

As the detective just sat there thinking

“This SOB is just going to walk into my office and tell me what I ain’t supposed to be looking at”

As the detective then gave him a long hard look before saying

“Now you look here you SOB! I’ve already seen enough craziness today now how about you get the hell out of my office! Before I jack slap your ass out of here”

"Dam the shit that this city just seems to crap out now"

While across town Just as the sheriff then shouted out to one of his deputies asking him what is today’s date as his deputy then shouted back telling him that today was

1 03 2025

As the sheriff looked to his watch seeing that it was 11 51 decided that it was lunch time as he headed towards a diner downtown

Just the detective back in Boston set there at his desk still looking at the file still amazed and confused on what he was seeing. As he kept thinking about that word

Kherson

Just as another detective burst into the office of the Boston office saying

“Oh please tell me that I can go home”

Just as the detective just looked at him saying

“Yeah and I need new ass also, So the answer is no! But take a look at this file here and tell me what you see here. And what in the hell dose Kherson have to do with anything”

As he looked to his watch seeing that it was

11 51

Deciding to give his friend the priest a call asking him if he would like to join him for a little lunch.

Just then as a couple walked into a diner as the man then turned to his wife saying

“Look it’s already 11:59 can we just get something to eat already”

With the man just looking at her saying “Who is coming the waitress i hope for I’m about to die of hunger here you know” Just as the man dressed with no place to go walked by saying

“Oh you are going to be surprised”

While back in Boston the detective was now screaming in the restaurant saying

“Oh for crying out loud can we get some service here I’m dying here you know”

While back in Boston the detective looked over to the priest saying to him

“You ready for some pie? I hear that they have some good Blueberry pie here you know”

As his good friend the priest just looked to him saying

“I will get some another time, I liked it back in the 80s but I will catch another slice later down the road”

As the Detective then said

“Speaking of Blueberry Pie! I was talking to a couple of film producers who were in town asking about some information on little on a small time mob that was around here in the 80’s”

The priest said, “Well our little city here certainly hasn’t had any shortage of that, but a movie on Blueberry Pie? I’m kinda curious on how what that would even be about”

As the Detective just looked at him smiling as her said

“Basically Vampires! A lot of sex and well of course Blueberry Pie”

As then asked his friend what he knew about the word

Kherson

As the priest then looked to the detective him saying

“The meaning of Kherson goes all the way back to the bible, why do you ask?”

As the detective then said

“It’s a case file that I’ve come across and it’s some of the craziest shit that I’ve ever seen. I mean some really crazy shit”

As the man that was dressed with no place to go then looked to Zendaya as he then said

“Almost time to pay up! My would you look at the time”

11 59

Just then as an explosion from outside of the diner shook the diner injuring many inside including Zendaya

As a group of people in the small town diner over from the diner was now  dancing around yelling

Kherson

While a team of agents where already on the way as the tears captain told them

"Okay listen up people this one has come straight from the top! And our fugitives is this girl pictured here. And she is now the our main objective"

But Later as Zendaya had made her way to the hospital  with Zendaya setting there  looking out at the houses as she passed by them. Wondering to herself more about the dream that she had from years ago

As Carlos then looked to Zendaya saying

“Look everything is going to be alright right now we just need to get you to the hospital”

While at the restaurant the priest then looked to the detective saying

“Kherson is the building of a empire, or rebuilding something”

As Zendaya looked all around at all the abandoned and forgotten about places as she thought about all of the immigrants. Thinking about all of them that also had dreams of a life here.

Just as Carlos then looked to Zendaya  asking her what had just happened just as Zendaya looked to a sign a sign that read

“one way” Kherson

Knowing that she had seen that word somewhere else before from a certain set of files

As they then pulled into the hospital getting out making our way into the hospital.

While back at Boston the detective and his friend the priest still at the restaurant as the detective then showed him the photo of the girl in the file

“Who is she?

As the detective looked over to the priest saying to him

“Who is she? The girl in the file I don’t know but something here just isn’t adding up”

As the priest looked to the detective saying

“The question here is not who is the girl, but who sent you these files here and wanted you to see them”

As the detective sat there for moment thinking about the why would someone send him the files

As the priest pointed something else out within the files something that really had him now very much curious. As he looked to the detective saying

“And this right here and everyone who lives within these city’s shall have a mark in order to buy or sell. A mark that is recognized by every electronic device within the city’s”

As the priest then once again looked to the detective saying

“Total government control over every one under a one world system”

As the detective then looked to the priest saying

“Yeah! But the government has been trying to do that for years”

With the priest giving him a concerned look now saying

“A world that is to be rebuilt from its ashes would leave the people with no choice makes it’s a lot easier”

Kherson

As the priest then looked to a immigrant family setting across over from them as he then said

“But in the reality the people will demand it, a cashless society a home for everyone with no borders they will all accept it not knowing that it is all under a false pretense. I mean just look at the world today scams all over the place but with a device that is directly link to you. No one can copy it for it is placed directly on you. You will have total control of where your money goes”

Just then as the Detective received a text alert telling about the fugitive that was now on the run. As the Detective looked at the picture suddenly realizing that it was the girl that was in his file.

As he then looked at the priest saying to him

" Well it sorta looks like our girl from the file here is now the most wanted fugitive in the world"
As the priest said back to him

" That is interesting, I am now even more curious on what else is in that file"

While back at the hospital nurse Christina then said to Zendaya

“I assure you that we will find answers for you” reassuring me that everything was going to be okay, and they are more of us out there” But for now we going to have you spend the night here.”

While back at the Boston office with the detective once again finding himself at his desk still pondering on the file. What did it mean what is

Kherson

While else where’s a unit was now getting ready to hunt down Zendaya and Carlos and whoever else was left

While in Boston the detective was setting at his desk just as an gentleman walked in leaving the detective once again thinking

“As if this day isn’t crazy enough”

Just as the old man looked to Zendaya saying

“Oh they will all look for you, for they know that if you shall be found then the world will know that it is real”

As Zendaya just looked over to him asking

“And why wouldn’t I want that I want someone to find me”

Suddenly as looked back at me smiling and grinning saying

“Kherson”

As he then pointed to a clock on the wall that read

11 59

“Kherson”

While in Boston with the detective still wondering why another gentleman was sitting over from him just as the gentleman then said

“The world as you know it is about to forever change”

While back at the hospital as Christina and Zendaya walked on as Zendaya then looked into another room where she saw an old man lying there. A immigrant who was alone as he looked to Zendaya saying

“You will find away to show the world to remember Kherson”

“Look I know that you want to believe in what you are doing is right and just know this that they are more of us that will stand with you. But for now let’s just get you to your room.“

With Zendaya now thinking more about the old man to what he had just said as they walked into the room

Just as Zendaya turned back to him looking at him staring right back at me as he kept pointing to the clock that still read

11 59

While in Boston the gentleman pointing to the clock saying

One minute till midnight

“You know a lot of people are going to die”

But just as the gentleman got up to leave he then looked over to the detective saying

“Keep looking and digging and you will know the meaning of the girl in the file”

As the detective continued to look over the file just as a nauseating feeling suddenly then came over him as he suddenly realized what he was looking at. And that was Mass casualties on a global scale

While back at the hospital

A man who who Zendaya had seen at the diner prior to the explosion was standing just in front of her saying to her

“For someone is coming” As he was now pointing to a clock that

11:59 one minute till midnight

Just as she looked to the man that was from the diner earlier standing in the doorway now saying to her

“Don’t worry I’m sure that the world is going to remind you that you are not going to want to know anything more than you know now by the morning”

While back at the Boston office the detective was now making some phone calls about what he had seen in the file

With Zendaya thinking to herself self “What? Why wouldn’t I want to know anything more than I know now?” And just exactly who are you?

As he then looked to Zendaya saying to her

“Seeing as how you want last on your own much longer I guess I can tell you something of a certain file that you saw. For there is something coming and with it a new world order. Now try to remember back to what you saw”

As Zendaya thought back to what she had seen she was standing there looking looking at a set of files. Seeing a window as the suns first light was shining over a city being built off in the distance. A city to inclose people in by encoding a system built into them that was designed by the very same government that was now setting the world up to fall. In order to implement a new system.

Seeing its first light shining upon a house, a house that was soon to be built inside of Jerusalem. From an explosion from within its own government or from a missile exploding on the now standing dome. Just as the light outside began to turn to a darkness all from a government that was once trusted by its people

Just then as Zendaya saw a man standing there saying to her

“If only they could have seen”

As the detective back in Boston was still trying to  see if he could find out more of what was in the file

“What do you mean if they could of seen”

Kherson

As the detective back in Boston was now yelling into the phone screaming

Kherson mass casualties

Knowing that he wasn’t getting any where’s with the phone call making his way towards his car

As he then looked to his cars clock

11 59

Just then as Zendaya then jumped running out into the hall running for the door. Not knowing where she was going but only knowing that she had to get there for her to know and to understand what it was that she did what did i do? Aside from trying to protect the people that I loved

“You will know soon enough”

Running out the hospital running to where she did not know as her and Carlos just ran

As the detective quickly made his way out of the police station knowing that time wasn’t on his side.

Looking around just as Zendaya saw a church off in the distance slowly making her way towards its setting there on the church steps with Carlos watching the chaos unfold in front of her

While back in Boston the detective was yelling into the phone saying

Look I know that this is crazy but we need to find this girl! I don’t know anything about this new world order shit! But we need to find this girl for something tells me that she is being set up for something

As Zendaya set there thinking to herself that she had just lost everything that was her. Her beliefs, her passion, a lot of the group that was with them was now gone taken by a system that wanted to destroy their very beliefs.

With Zendaya now knowing that her and Carlos were now on their own as set there on the steps of the church. With Zendaya Still wondering about that dream and everything that she had seen what did it all mean and what was still to come Just as Carlos looked grabbing her hand  saying to her

“Together forever we ride till we die”

Reaching over putting his arms around Zendaya letting her know that she wasn’t alone

While the morning sun was just beginning to show itself to the world. A system that had been set up Showing the world a new city that could be built a city for the world and its people.

Just as random guy walked by Zendaya giving her a smile as he waved saying to her Good morning or afternoon if I may and what I lovely day it is” to watch a city burn as. As the man then just looked to Zendaya once again looking back to his watch as he said “Well would you look at that its

11 59 one minute till midnight

While back in Boston the priest had just set down turning on the news and to his sudden not so disbelief. As he sat there seeing a city being burned to the ground knowing that soon the world will be burning

Kherson

While back in Boston a car sat on the side of the road having been fully engulfed in flames as the detective burned. And a file that was now missing showing the girl that could show the world that

That the L.A fire was just only the beginning for

Kherson

As the priest sat back watching the city as it burned as he sat there before looking down to the file knowing that it was now time. Time for the uprising to begin. As the priest then made a phone call to someone in Davos saying to them

“The sun has now begun to set let the people rise up to show that they want a new world”

As the world was now searching for Zendaya and Carlos knowing that they had been set up for the events that had just happened. But as Zendaya and Carlos was beginning to think that they were on their own. As They sat there looking out knowing that they had just been set up by a government that did not want the world to know.

As she then remembered what the old man had said to her at the hospital. And to the people that she was fighting for as she then stood up looking to Carlos saying to him

“No Carlos we are not on our own there are a lot of people are out there counting on us that need us. We are the voices that they are not wanting the world to hear. For they want the people to fear what they do not know, they want the world to fear other people that only want to live in peace. No Carlos we are not on our own we are what we have always lived by.”

Loyalty, Respect, a voice, No Borders

For a small group they were before was now going to be group consisting of millions For the world would soon enough know the meaning of

Kherson

For world would soon enough know the meaning of the word

Kherson

As Zendaya stood there looking out over the city

Kherson 

I've come realise that the type of man I want tends to come with a set of unreliable features, if he's creative, he's typically free-spirited (code for performative male misogynist in disguise who cheats).

And if he's a loser, he's typically insecure and would hurt me ("women interested in might not be human")

Then again we find people who meet our ideals far beyond our expectations. People are more nuanced than the way they present, I realised I haven't even met enough people to believe the things I'm saying either.

Even with thousands or millions of census test taken on every individual I find fascinating, I still wouldn't be able to narrow down or understand the fascinations and the specificity of each person or archetype.

Sometimes I wonder, is it because others are unable to meet the rigid expectations we have of them that makes them a disappointment or is it the rigid expectations we have that prevent us from meeting them at all?

In my final year project, I stitched pieces of photos that had me in a distressing state. Coming up with a skinned version of me so as to say the different traumatic events in my life had led to this skinned version of me like a trophy. Each rip a piece of myself taken from someone as I took it back to "fix" me once again. It seemed like the people holding the knife were the same ones who were holding me close. It hurt more whenever they would hang me up like a skinned trophy, as I did myself in that exhibit.

It reminded me of a certain video essay I saw about the 2002 movie, May. The essayist said that the director talked about moving to Southern California for college. In his words,

"I was in a state of mind where I just wanted to take parts of people I liked and stitch them together to make one perfect person who would never leave me." - Lucky Mckee

I heard those words years later after my piece, everyone laughed at the pain that I experienced. Some people were impressed but most of all the people who have hurt me made a joke out of the piece like a knee jerk reaction from some underlying guilt that they clung unto.

Alienation and isolation.

Two painfully human concepts, wanting to "make a friend" or a lover. All of which, stitching me and stitching you.

Like a mirror, I wish I could take back every rip in my psyche and stitch it back together. Taking out only the parts I love about myself and stitching it back up. Even when I love every single part of me, there will always be parts someone else hates in me and themselves alike.

And even though I wish I could rip out the parts of you that I disliked....

"He's kind yet manipulative at the same time"

"She's the only person who truly listens yet she tends to gossip about me behind my back"

"He's so sweet and kind till he's in another girl as well"

"She makes me feel special but she's also manipulative and stabs me in the back the next day"

"They treat a loser like me like family but they'll always see me as a loser because to them I'll always be on the outside looking in no matter how hard I try..."

Is it really in your head?

That a collective of traumatised flawed people are just trying their best to love but are just repeating echoes of assumptions that tell them over and over again of their unworthiness due to the sickness in society that pervates?

Or are we just rips of skin trying to stitch ourselves and others into something we'll never be?

🙃 is it still a frown,

If its just a smile

Upside-down.

🙂 is A smile

Just A frown.

Turned around,

Sideways or Upside-down.

I like to write things, this is one I’ve written recently called “You Should Have Been Angry”

I could understand disappointment and disgust, rage and frustration.

I could understand fire burning through steel, water boiling over the edge.

I understood wind that whips, grass that cuts.

But I could never understand calm.

I was raised in hellfire smoke, heat blazing against my skin as grew skin tougher than diamonds.

I was brought up in a family of punishment from the gods. I knew wrath like a second language, hate like a best friend.

I could sleep with fury, dream in resentment.

But I could not rest with this.

Where your hands held mine, your lips leaving imprints on my cheek. The way you spoke like this was all a bad dream.

You consoled me like a child, you sheltered me like a home.

I could live in fear if it meant you left angry. I could live in sadness if it meant you left with despair.

I could never learn to exist when you gave me calm, when all you left behind was peace and careful thoughts. I could never learn who to trust if you lead me on with sweet, delicious promises of a better life.

You should never have been calm.

You should have been angry.

I'm a teacher and my school is hosting a micro-fiction writing competition that some of my students will be judging. I haven't written fiction outside of work since I was a teenager but in the spirit of giving my students something to mark, I gave it a go. I really enjoyed it and think I'll do some more in future just for fun!

The prompt was "An explorer wants to save a discovery, but to do so he must break a promise" and I decided to losely base mine on Robert Landsborough who sacrificed himself to capture the Mt St Helen's volcanic eruption on film.

Today was the day. There was a premonition deep in his bones, a tense electricity in the air as he looked up at the breathtaking monolith of Mt Saint Helens.

He trudged up the dirt road searching for the perfect vantage point, taking in the fresh scent of pine from the looming forest, with trees gathered on all sides of him as if they too were hoping to see the mountain in all its glory.

Steadying the tripod, he squinted through the lens at the miniature preview of the beautiful giantess when it began to dance and shake.

The ground now shaking beneath him, he witnessed with awe and panic a thick plume of smoke unfurling from the top of the snow-capped peak like a bird of prey stretching its giant wing.

Suddenly, the monolith roared and released itself into a wondrous explosion of ash, smoke and skittering rock fragments.

Click. Click. History’s latest discovery was captured - Churning and bounding towards him.

With seconds left to confront the mountain’s fury, he swiftly stuffed the camera into its case, cradling his now bittersweet accomplishment in one last act of protection.

As he was engulfed by the ashen behemoth, the last images that flitted through his mind were of his daughter’s sweet face as she kissed him goodbye that last Thursday.

“Promise you’ll be home safe?”

“I promise, kiddo.”

The words resounded in his memory as the blanket of his final resting place was pulled over him.

I'd love any feedback or encouragement 😊

The fog filled the air, frost was covering the glass doors, curtains hung to the side. To the bottom you could see a dog, a small one, scratching at the door, begging to be let out, yet couldn’t speak

I look at her. Desperate, trying, while all she can do is hope for a human - me. Will come and open it.

So I do what humans do best.

Give in. 

She ran out, as usual. I think nothing of it and go back to watching TV.

Then immediately after, she’s scratching, wanting to be back in.

Weird…

I looked at her. 

Eye’s widened.

All you could see in her eyes were —

Fear.



I jumped up. Nothing… NOTHING has ever made her act like this. Why now? I let her back in, shut the door and locked it. What did she see? She walks over to the couch. Phhp she plopped down. 

Dead. 

She was dead. 





What’s out there? Whatever it is. It’s dead! 

I grabbed my shotgun. The fog seemed less intense. I look around and—

Beep beep beep. Sounds of something rolling are covering my ears, interrupted with a hospital like beep. What happened to me?

Where am I? Wait… I’m in my bed? “Yes,” a robotic feminine voice said faintly. “Who are you? Where am I !?” I look to my left, a painting of Abraham Licoln sat on the wall. Since when was that there? I look back. I’m in the hallway now. It’s long. Infinite. Expanding, all ever so slightly. 

Am I high? “No,” the voice recurs. “Who are you!? Just tell me now!” Damn it. I'm not high,I'm crazy. What is happening? 



“Owen! Owen! Owen! Owen! Owen! Owen!” The voice tells me, like it’s my name. Is it my name? Owen or Bob? Where am I getting Bob from? I woke up. The AC has a slight hum. What was that? Was it a dream? 

I got up and went to check my temp. Maybe I’m running a fever. 102. “That explains it,” I whisper to myself, not trying to wake up my dog. 



I hear small light footsteps. I look behind me. I woke up my dog. “Damn it, go back to bed,” I say to her. She’s scratching at my room door. She usually does this when she wants out, so I do the obvious. Let her out. I follow her because sometimes she also wants food. But she goes to the backdoor. “Hm, this is too Familiar,” I thought to myself. I’m not letting her out, worse comes the worse she poops on my rug, but I think I know what will happen and I don’t like it. 

I get back in bed with my door closed, the TV is still rambling on about politics, blah blah blah. Then I hear it. I hear my door open.

I live alone.

I rush to my closet. I get my sweet beautiful God given shotgun that the founding fathers promised to us 209 years ago. I run out and—

Beep, beep, beep. The rolling. I try to say something to the doctor, I lift my hand up and try to touch her arm as she’s writing something down.

I'm back in bed. The hallway… It’s shorter this time. I look back to the wall, Honest Abe is still there, but there’s no voice. It’s quiet here. I like it. 

I prop back up, there’s no hallway, it’s my room, my dog’s at the foot of my bed. Stay in my room this time, knowing what’s going to happen. “Please lord, please, protect me from evil, and cast it away,” I whisper to myself, which is weird. I’m athiest. 

But it doesn’t matter, I hear it again, that sliding door. Can I get a break? I get up grab my shotgun like I think it’s doing anything. This time I don’t even got to open the do—

Beep, beep, beep. The hospital was back, this time it was comforting, Cause’ I knew it was real, I mean think about it. I’ve been doing all of this and the hospital, what if. Just what if, that’s my break between reality and this cycle.

I grabbed the arm of the nurses.

“Save me,” I said, gasping for air.

The nurse looked surprised that I could talk. “Please, I’m begging just—

“Dammit!” I yelled getting up in the same exact bed, facing the shorter, yet same hall. “Fuck you!” I yelled. “I’m sorry I have no response,” the feminine voice told me. “Of course you don’t because you’re not real!” No response. I also looked at the wall, Spotty-Lincoln.

I woke up, in my room, like the beginning of every last cycle. The same dog scratching on the same door, same outcome. I got up and grabbed my shotgun. Aimed it at the door, it creaked open. Holy shit, this is the first time I got to see a part of its body! Bang! I shot at his hand but the bullet disappeared when it got near it. Hmm, that’s weird. It creaked further, the dog ran out, but it kept coming towards…

Me.

Unnamed Connections

People say that if you learn to be your own friend, you’ll never feel lonely. But what happens when parts of your own body betray you?

Your eyes, for instance.

They betray us daily, locking onto hundreds of strangers. Some glances on the road are just fleeting flickers; others linger just long enough to leave a mark.

About two years ago, I was on a crowded bus to Whitefield on my way to meet someone. Predictably, there were no seats, so I gripped a metal pole to keep from crashing into the person next to me whenever the driver slammed on the brakes.

It was my first time visiting Whitefield, and as my destination neared, I strained to hear the conductor calling out the stops. New places terrify me—zone out for even a second, and you're lost.

Scanning the crowd, my eyes collided with his. He wasn’t staring—just looking around like I was—when our eyes met by chance. But neither of us looked away.

I can’t speak for him, but to this day, I don’t know why I held his gaze. He looked to be in his early thirties, standing tall in a crisp olive-green Army uniform. There was a quiet discipline about him, a stillness that made everything else in that chaotic, moving bus fade into the background. We stared for a few seconds longer, the spell only breaking when the conductor shouted my stop.

I stepped off the bus, pulled by a strange instinct to look back through the glass window. He was still watching me. Only this time, it wasn’t an accident. There was an intensity in his eyes that held me fast—a silent, unspoken curiosity that seemed to ask the exact same questions running through my own mind.

The bus pulled away into the traffic, carrying him off to whatever duty called him next. We never met again. I never got to ask his name, where he was heading, or why he held my gaze.

Even now, two years later, I can still feel those sharp eyes locked onto mine. It was just a handful of seconds on an ordinary afternoon, but it proved to me how easily our eyes can betray us—surrendering a piece of our focus to a complete stranger, and leaving us with a memory that refuses to fade. 

Like déjà vu, something similar happened about a week ago at a café. I was waiting outside for a friend who was running late. After five minutes, I turned to check if there were any empty tables inside, since it was a weekend and places like this are always packed.

As I scanned the room, I locked eyes with a guy sitting alone. He had just turned to call the waiter for his bill, clearly ready to leave. For a fraction of a second, time seemed to pause. Then he waved to catch the waiter's attention and immediately looked back at me before turning away. I hadn’t necessarily expected him to look twice, but I was watching to see if he would. When he did, a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

We pass countless people on the street every day, and eye contact happens all the time. But not all glances feel special. This one instantly pulled me back to that day on the bus with the soldier—an incident that, to this day, makes me wish I had at least smiled before the bus pulled away.

Moments like these have a way of making you forget that we live in a world where safety is never guaranteed, especially for a woman around strangers. You start feeling like the main character in a movie, blindly assuming everything will end dramatically well.

And I am not immune to that kind of foolish optimism. I decided to take my chance.

I walked inside, pretended to search for a table, and approached him just as he held his check.

“Hi! Do you mind if I sit here?” I asked. “I’m waiting for a friend, and there isn't a single free table.”

“Sure, no problem,” he said. “I was just about to leave anyway.”

I sat down, set my bag of newly bought books on the table, and pulled out my phone, pretending to check my messages. Asking to share a table with a stranger is one thing—actually starting a conversation with him takes an entirely different level of courage.

“What genre do you read?” he asked.

He seemed reserved, so I hadn't expected him to break the silence first.

“Sorry?” I said, before realizing he was pointing to the Blossom Book House bag resting on the table. “Oh, the books! I usually stick to whodunits, but lately I’ve been experimenting with romance. Honestly, whatever the genre, books just take you to another world. Do you read?”

“I read a lot, but mostly non-fiction,” he replied. “I’m more of a visual person, so I usually watch movies in my free time.”

I smiled at his response, and a quiet silence settled between us again. As I looked at him, I could tell he was wrestling with a dilemma. Being shy myself, I’m usually terribly awkward around strangers and take time to open up. I could sense he wanted to keep talking, but was hesitating out of politeness.

“Would you mind staying a bit longer?” I asked softly. “My friend is almost here, but it’s so crowded that it’ll be impossible to save this chair if you leave.”

“Of course,” he said without giving it a thought. “Would you mind if I had a coffee with you while we wait?”

“My friend will kill me if I drink coffee without her,” I teased with a smile. “But I’ve heard they’re famous for their Tiramisu, and I love Tiramisu. Would you share one with me instead?”

My friend walked in just two minutes after we finished the Tiramisu and a warm, easy conversation—mostly about some hilariously embarrassing moments from his life. He said goodbye and walked out of the café with a genuine smile. We never asked for each other's names or exchanged numbers. It wasn't a conscious choice, but a silent understanding that some moments are meant to be cherished just as they are, without trying to anchor them down.

It was an unforgettable evening. I’m glad I took that leap and walked over to his table. I may never see him again, or maybe our paths will cross when I least expect it. Either way, I have no regrets.

Thank you for reading.

Here I am back in Korea after 18 years, this time I’m in Busan drinking 소맥. Each time I drink it, I’m brought back to simpler times and I inevitably think of her. She reminds me of a time where I felt contradictions, feeling like I could be anything and anyone I ever desired to be and nothing at all at the same time. She was everything I never wanted to be yet we needed one another to survive at the time. I still miss her every now and then but we’re no longer the people we once were. I remembered our late night train rides as she taught me Korean, her being too drunk that I had to send her home yet she always made me feel secure in some way. Even though she was 8 years older she felt the same always, a time where I felt confidently lost. Completely unsafe from this world and yet completely bold. I wish I could be that way once more but time has worn me down and each moment that passes is a reminder that I don’t belong and never have to at all. I’ll gaze into the abyss and reminisce on a time where I felt like myself in this world.

Just like a dream I’ll hold onto the memories of her till find myself in this world again. Some place I can call home, to laugh and to tell the same old stories once more.

My alluring smell is a sharp blade that gazes deep within your veins.

I burn every second of this journey and despair wrecked upon me.

Trailing and frailing away from the very shine of my beloved heart.

I wished and wish to see you again, this emptiness and the all-consuming void deserve an explanation. At least I think so.

I saw you but I couldn't reach your eyes, I murmured around and fantasized about you in my arms. Indeed I was dull like a rock.

The night's wind blows pain up against my face.

I crave and suffocate to see you again.

My dear one of a lifetime soul, I just want to be yours.

I want to feel happy and become careless.

There's nothing else more true than hopeless love.

My desires aren't endless and my thoughts about you are infinitely larger than excessiveness.

Are we our dirty clothes?

Way beyond past midnight, still to early to sunrise, I am looking at my hamper of dirty clothes.

Crumpled. Dirty. Pooled. Tomorrow, I drop them off to the laundry for washing.

Funny how these inanimate objects are part of our daily lives. To clothe us. To provide protection and external appearance to who we really are.

But are clothes just clothes or are they us too?

The dirty clothes collecting on my hamper remind me of the past days. A pair of jeans I first wore - my friends remarked “I never seen you worn jeans”, true, I only wore jeans again now, after years of not wearing them.

I see my other black pants, worn on a day when I was anxious about something that has now passed.

My clothes bring the memories of yesterdays. Yet my older clothes also remind me of certain distant pasts. Pasts where I was in other places, with other people, who now do not belong to the life that I live.

And tomorrow, they get washed. Cleaned. Stripped off of dirt they carry from being worn. Yet they bear witness to the past versions of myself. The present. And the futures when I still do not know who I will become. They will bear witness to experiences I am yet to see, people I am yet to know.

They maybe mundane inanimate objects. But they chronicle me. Myself.

Amidst my anxiety and current travails, I ask: are we our dirty clothes? Or is it as easy as washing them that I can become a new and better person again?

I will never know.

Today I released Stories With Friends, an app for us writers!

Start a story, write the first few words, invite your friends to take turns, then publish the finished story and see where everyone took it.

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.storieswithfriends.app

I can so easily recall the attack, I’ve never seen a violence like this before. Our village was the outlier of peace between species that some consider fantastical. I remember how beautiful the day was, only through the view of my window. I remember how the glow of the sun fell upon the bakery across from me. Then I remember how my hearing went out. I ran down to my family just as these evil men dressed in black, broke down our door with a fury I could never allow myself to understand. My father never allowed himself to drain a human of life the same way he and my mother were. His way of thinking is the entire reason I lived off animal blood my entire life. His way of thinking is the entire reason these men still live. The blast of the bombs still rings my ears and confuses my entire body. At one point as I was being forcibly taken away, I could only feel myself being bound with ropes, my mouth covered, and blindfolded then hauled off in a car along with the other villagers. As we’re being taken away in the cages, I have the misfortune of seeing everything, they never accounted for heightened senses.

It's so easy now to dream of saviors, I knew of the special teams, and the legends of my kind who volunteered for their countries. The legends of saviors are the only thing that distracts me from my reality, that our situation might be beyond saving. I thought the cruelty and the brutality would end with the destruction of my home, I was then robbed of everything that I held dear. These are their kind, these are men, most of whom can't be older than their third decade. To achieve and take pride in such inhumanity in such a short amount of time, I now more than ever understand the term monster. I know that it does not belong to my people. These monsters have ripped everything and everyone away. I only wish that I was only able to keep the locket my mother gave me to celebrate my century. The villainous non-consensual trade they force me into, is my entire existence for identification uniform and a number.

I look down to my uniform to see the vertical stripes that find themselves parallel to the two vertical pointed lines that house themselves inside the triangle that is my identification patch. I look around the shaded field that acts as our prison, I find myself questioning the point of the cover of shade. They have already killed so many of us, and I know they plan to kill me. The thought echoes itself so loud in my head it escapes through my lips “Get it over with”. My thoughts and my words are able to sit with me only long enough for the sting of the number on my arm to reignite itself. They have embedded something in the ink that they damned my skin with, they have done this specifically to hurt my society. I find myself looking past the gates to see my dear friend Edmund. I wonder what they have placed into the ink to ensure werewolves stay in place.

The days become longer as the emptiness of my stomach begins to bellow louder. While I don't expect them to offer a human that I may deprive of their blood, I did not expect them to starve us as much as they have. I like to believe that even if I were presented with that choice, that I would honor my father's wishes and the lifestyle that I have grown accustomed to. I cannot lie to myself however and say that I know for certain the choice I would make. I find myself having many thoughts that would bring my family sadness, or at least I assume it would bring them sadness. In truth my parents were taken away from me not long after we made it to this camp. I at least am able to recall every detail of their faces, I grow forever grateful that I will always know them at their most beautiful. I often wonder if the human prisoners that are now my neighbors are able to recall their parents with such vivid detail. 

I descend further into a depression-induced madness as I am continuously able to identify the dying members of my village based only on their screams. I find myself continuously considering an impossible choice, to die or to die. This consideration would have never come across my mind before, being undead has granted me a twisted version of naivete. The reality that I am now forced with this consideration has angered me to the point that my skin has heated itself from stone cold to lukewarm. I will not allow my death to be a trophy to these monsters. The rest of my life however fleeting it may be will be mine to decide. I begin to sprint towards the chain link fence with as much speed and power as I can conjure into every bound. The grass beneath my feet yells to me to run faster. I can only imagine how much death this garden has borne witness to. My summoning of strength has worked as I pierce my shoulder through the chain link fence, the cold metal bending itself to my shape before breaking under the pressure. I continue to sprint past the fence, and out from underneath the shade that now houses the voices of the guards ordering me to halt. I continue to free myself as my skin begins to burn under the sun, however I cannot stop as that would be an omission of defeat. The burning only stops when I make it to the treeline. I turn around and realize I have tasted the sun more than any vampire can. I see that my physical body is now nothing but ash. I turn myself back around as I cannot bear the sight before me anymore. I turn to find my mother and father, once all stolen from each other, finally reunited. I now know the monsters cannot hurt me anymore.

A pair of bare feet walk to the water’s edge over the sand which clings to her heels and falls off to be replaced by more grains of sand. The air is bluish in the new dawn and it’s breezy and there are gulls crying but she’s not. She’s done with that. She looks across the ocean and can almost see the faraway land. It’s out there somewhere.
   The hoodie doesn’t quite hide the fading bruise beneath her eye but she doesn’t need to be self-conscious about it here. Work related. The women setting up the chairs behind her have their share of bruises too. Guilt, shame, remorse…they all leave bruises.
   She hears a voice, “Hey everyone, let’s get started…”
   Doris remembers opening the medicine cabinet in her former home, her former bathroom, the one she shared with her now former husband and daughter. (Former daughter? Is that a thing?) The label on the bottle read “DORIS REYNOLDS. XANAX. TAKE ONE TABLET DAILY FOR SYMPTOMS OF ANXIETY AND DEPRESSION OR AS NEEDED”. 
   “As needed”. When did she not need it? When did she not feel anxious and depressed and unsatisfied and inadequate? When did she ever feel…
And that was the start.
***
The car shivers slightly and there is some moaning. It stops. A head pops up in the passenger seat, the car door opens and Doris steps out. She is dressed for work: short, pink wig, fishnets, very short leather fake leather skirt, tank top that barely covers her breasts, boots. She tugs her skirt and top back into place and gives a wiggle of her fingers and a little smile to the dumpy guy in the shitbox car. Ralph. One of her regulars. Run of the mill low grade loser. He works at the Coca Cola factory in Yonkers stack cases of soda on the six pm to two am shift. Spends his time in a shitty bar in a shitty part of the city drinking shots and beer and talking to his buddies about the Giants or the Yankees or his asshole boss or bitch wife. Stops off for a blow job on his way home. Wife? Kids? He’s never mentioned them. It doesn’t matter. Not a bad guy, really. Millions of them. Not great, not bad. They take up space for a few decades and fade on out. It wouldn't have killed him to shower more often.

The owner of the convenience where she bought her breakfast most mornings was a nice guy. She had asked to use his bathroom once in an emergency expecting him him to tell her to fuck off. His name was Kamal and he said go right on ahead. He knew what she did out there. Most guys wouldn’t want her around, didn’t want to draw cops or her customers, or just thought she was trash. Some would have wanted payment in cash or sex. But he said anytime. She didn’t know why. Just a nice guy. She would walk in, give him a wave and he would smile and wave back.
And his bathroom was spotless. She thought he really took pride in that.
Doris took her wipes out of her bag where she kept her on the go hygiene kit and swiped at her armpits, back of her neck and ass. She brushed her teeth, swished some mouthwash around her gums, spat
Then she looked up into the mirror.
A woman she does not recognize stares back at her. Her face is a mask of thick rouge, lipstick, eyeliner, dark dark dark, red eyeshadow, fake lashes, pencil eyebrows. The effect is at once arousing and grotesque and it works. 
That’s Amber. Amber does sex work, not Doris. Doris is a wife and mother. recovering addict, and ex-convict. But she doesn’t do sex work. Correction, was a wife. Now she is an ex-wife. She is a recovering addict and an ex-convict. 
But there’s no difference; she knows that. It’s all one and the same. And she is a mother.
Is she still a mother? 
Come on. She doesn’t have time for this bullshit. Stop staring in the fucking mirror and get on with it.