Half Man

In his heart, there lacked the correct amount of devotion.

It was a problem, not just for himself, but for those around him. Mostly for those that loved him. Especially for those that loved him romantically.

He argued often and repetatively, never budging in his stance that "There is something to be said for going someplace half way, and then turning around and remaining exactly where you were." or that "Sometimes thinking about a taking a step, is just as satisfying as walking, without all the sweat."

He could only do things fully, it seemed, if they were done halfheartedly or absentmindedly. This is how he was able to argue the justification for his glutenous appetite or enjoyment of orgasms.

In his honor, the story stops here.

Worm Music.

There was a lingering hue of confusion in the air. The room was filled with people causally making faces, the kind of faces people make when they smell a really bad fart in a large public space.

Except no one had farted this time. This time it was her doing, and she knew it.

It wasn't that she wasn't talented. She was a great musician. Fantastic in fact. No one could deny that she might be one of the most talented musicians to have ever lived.

She even had that reputation. Her reputation was probably what set off the crowds confusion. It wasn't her talent. It was her lyrics.

Her lyrics were, in a nut shell; disturbing. Very disturbing.

Not in a way that punk or punk-rockers, or punkers, or medal-heads might enjoy. Not that kind of disturbing.

She had a disturbance that made it feel as if the song and the lyrics were going into your skin like tiny little worms. And then they wriggled about your whole body for the duration of the song. But when the song was over. You could still feel the worms in your skin. They didn't go away. They just stopped moving.

In fact, when you went home after her concert. You learned to love the feeling of the little worms inside your body, even though there were no worms. The feeling of them never left you, for as long as you lived. But if you played a recording of her music, they would dance again inside your body. They would dance, but not in the same way that they did that first time. That only happened if you saw her live more than once.

Eventually, people got sick of the tiny wriggles from recordings. And needed the full blown experience. It became so much of a frenzy to see her live. That she stopped playing live shows.

There was mass hysteria, and a hunt to kidnap her and force her to play live became the worlds priority. Eventually one of her own body guards killed her, accidentally while trying to force her to play the piano. The details were vague.

When she died. The worm feeling disappeared in everyone. And everyone in the world all felt really sad.

Fair.

People were beginning to stare.

I couldn't blame them, we were clearly giving them something to stare at. Well, okay, I was giving them something to stare at. You were lying there dead. But whose fault was that? Well, okay...

It was mine.

I would like it if you could take a little bit of responsibility for your actions too, I guess you can't though. I already made you. By killing you, with a knife. In the middle of a street.

Not the best way to go, I'll admit. And maybe you deserved better, maybe a lot of people deserve a lot better, but that doesn't stop them from getting a whole lot worse than what you got.

 So, you know, there's that.

For the record buddy, I didn't want to have to kill you. And I think that we can agree that forgiving and forgetting was not an option. Well, I suppose I could have forgiven and forgotten. I could have, but I didn't. And just because I could have done something, doesn't mean that I have to do it. So I chose not to forgive and forget. I chose to stab you in the throat with a kitchen knife. And you deserved it. Allow me to remind you.

I was sitting in my apartment, and we were watching TV, when you knocked on the door. Oh! Hi neighbor! How are you doing today? What's that? You're taking your dog for a walk? And you want to take my dog for a walk too? What a nice favor! You remembered that I had hurt my leg the other day and you thought it would be nice to take my dog for a walk for me, that's so nice!

So you took it for a walk and you let it off it's leash. And it went running. And it died. Because it got hit by a fucking car.

You killed it.

The worst part is, you wouldn't even replace it. I mean, I wasn't overly attached to the fucking thing. But come on man, a life for a life. I asked you to replace the dog. You didn't. So now you're dead.

I think that's fair.

A House on a Hill.

"Let's sneak into that house over there!" She said.

"No!" He said

"Shhh, you don't want to wake people up." She said.

"We should just go home and hang out." He said.

"If we sneak into the house, I'll let you touch my boobs." She said.

"Okay." He said.

So the two kids ran up in the middle of the night, towards the house that no one lived in.

The house wasn't old, and it wasn't new. It was just a basic house on the top of a hill. And while no one lived in it, that wasn't exactly uncommon in the neighborhood. The only thing that was odd about this house was that it was at the top of a hill, all by itself. It was a strange thing for someone to build a house on the top a hill all alone in their town. And then disappear (as far as the kids knew) within a year.

Naturally, it was assumed the thing was haunted. And that the guy that built it had sacrificed his family to the devil. And the boy running up the hill assumed that the guy, after killing his family, went off to another town, to start another life, and build another house, on top of a hill just like this one.

He really didn't want to go up the hill. But he really wanted to touch and kiss the girl.

So he kept running up the hill with her.

She was running slower than she normally would, because the boy was a little chubby and out of shape. But she liked his heart. There are people like that in this world. People that are daring, bold, kind and courageous. Curious to try everything, never fooled by the flash of society. Constantly in awe of the spirit of the world. That was this girl.

She wanted to see if the house was haunted. Because it would add to the magic of her perception of the world. She was beginning to realize that as time went on, and the closer she came to becoming an adult. The more that the magic of her life was getting sucked out of her.

The boy wanted magic too, but to her, the boy was magic. He was smart, but simple. Always had a smile on his face, as if breathing in air was special enough for him. A simple, pure love of life and the world around him. Innocent, more innocent than her. He didn't understand how she knew the things that she knew.

She knew them, because she didn't have innocent blinders with what she saw. She was mature. And it was because of her maturity, that she needed to see magic in the world.

They finally got to the top of the hill. The boy was panting, and becoming self conscious of his sweating. Luckily his older brother had told him to take tissues in his pocket. He discretely wiped his hands and face off with the tissue. If she noticed, she didn't let him know.

They held hands. And they walked up to the front door. Now that they were level with the house, they could see that the front door of the house, in the moonlight, looked deep purple. And the door handle was gold. It looked like a special door. Which put it especially out of place, since the rest siding of the house was the generic grey paneling. Like every other house in town.

The girl grabbed the handle. And turned it. It wasn't locked.

The door didn't creak. It didn't squeak. It didn't anything. That made it worse for the boy. The door was supposed to make a creepy noise. The fact that it didn't made him feel even worse. He squeezed the girls hand.

She looked at him. He looked at her. They walked into the house, together, hand in hand.

There was nothing in the front living room of the house. Just a bare hardwood flooring. Not very dusty. No furniture. Nothing creepy other than the blue moonlight shining in through the window.

"Upstairs or downstairs?" She said.

"Upstairs" He said.

"Okay."

The reasons for his choice were two: Possibility of a bed upstairs was greater, and when did anything good ever happen in an abandoned basement?

They found the stairs that led to the second floor. There was a hallway with four doors. Two on the right, two on the left. As they got to the top. The door on the far left, creaked open. Slowly.

"You want to go in to that room, don't you?" He said.

"Yes." She said.

"Why?" He said.

"I guess I need to." She said.

"Okay." He said.

His hands were sweating and so were hers, it was uncomfortable, but neither were about to let go. As each step they took. The door seemed to creak a little more loudly, and a little faster.

There was a bed in the room. Must have been white, but it was glowing with a blue aura around it. Must have been from the moonlight.

She took him slowly to the bed.

"We can do it here." She said.

"Okay" He said.

They kissed, and it was awkward. And wonderful. As he got more used to the idea, he loosened up. They started to enjoy themselves. They laid down on the bed together.

She let him slowly take off her top, and she took off his shirt. They were kissing and giggling. Never saying a word. He thought he heard something. But it didn't matter. This was bliss.

There was something wrong about this room though. He couldn't quite place it. That's when she started coughing. As if something were trying to spurt from her mouth.

The door slammed shut, and he couldn't move off the bed. She wouldn't stop coughing. And that's when he noticed.

There was no window in the room.

False Hope.

All I wanted to do was leave, as each moment passed. As the conversation continued and I could hear my own voice partaking. All I was thinking about was emptying out my bank account and leaving. Unannounced, never to be seen from again. Adventure, freedom.The unexpected.


But instead I finished the conversation, and went back to work.Like I always do. Everyday. I sit there, staring at my work, empty faced, which was fitting since that's what my mind was: Empty.


I knew how I got here, I got here because what I'm wishing for doesn't exist. It's a dream, not the kind of dream where there is a hope that it will comes true. But more like a dream where dogs are talking and you're flying across to different planets and galaxies. A dream you can never wake up to. The dream of true freedom. Getting up each day and going wherever you want to go, because you want to go there. And that is the extent of your obligation.


No one gets that. It's just written about. A dream. A fiction. A false hope.


A false hope can make a person suffer more than anything else. It can eat away at the core of your essence, making a good life unbearable. It tears away at your very essence, Until you are empty, the only thing inside of you is that hope. No hope at all.


And then in from the back of the mind. A memory flashes: A man on a street somewhere. What kind of street? A highway. Driving past him. I see him. He was walking. With a bag. Nothing else. Something else. Something else about him. A smile. Yes. A sign in his hands too. What did it say? Anywhere

Who was he?

I looked at my face in the reflection of my computer screen. I was smirking. 


Maybe all a false hope needs is courage.