No one tells you that sometimes, or most likely, most often, your memories might make themselves really comfortable and start mixing with each other.
Of the Moments Between Tranquility and Trauma
If the trauma moments lasted days long, it would be different. That would be Hell. But they don’t. It’s not a constant carousel of corruption, not like the movies where the protagonist spends the whole of the 24-hour day span in her room, on her bed—or under it—trying to hide from the memories and triggers.... Continue Reading →
Absent Father (Short Fiction)
He stares down at the infant in his arms. Opening his mouth in protest, he stammers, “Wait, nurse. This is some mist—” “It’s no mistake, Henry. Xavier is yours. Maybe you’d think twice before deciding not to wear protection,” Nurse Walter responds, uttering the last sentence under his breath as he walks away to focus... Continue Reading →
A Scene in which My Protagonist Gets Taken to a Psych Ward Escorted by Police
What they don’t tell you is that when the cold fire of metal handcuffs encircles your wrists, even loosely, you’ll believe, for a second, that you are a criminal. You are not safe. You’re a danger to yourself and these metal rings prove it.
Musings of a Wanderer 