Tag >> Short Fiction or Personal Essay
31 Dec, 2012
01 Jul, 2012
Have you ever thought of a woman being single and alone in the traditional society? In fact, I was a woman being single and alone. Although I did not want to live alone, my parents bought me a flat as heritage. Then I had to live alone in the flat. Thus I had got both benefits and troubles being single and alone.
16 Jun, 2012
02 May, 2012
When I was nine years old, my father overdosed on oxycontin. I didn't see it happen, but it was still a traumatic event that left me feeling as though I wasn't good enough, because I didn't have a father. I think, because I was a child, my parents very much gave me a sense of definition, that I was who I was because I had them...And without one of them, I think I must've felt like I was only half of someone.
10 Apr, 2012
25 Jan, 2012
21 Jan, 2012
I unwrap karma in my studio this morning and set her on my tabletop. Death metal.
She smiles and I wince. It's a long while before I begin to tell her w-h-y and she coughs, giving me pause enough to realise that I have yet to drink my coffee. You're right, I think, and patter off to brew some deep feeding elixir. Upon my return she is sleeping and I, it wasn't me, hopefully begin to ignore all things great and small by painting, and painting poorly.
Oh. Right again... well the beginning is clumsy, as per usual in my state and age, a statistically humorous twist of fate I like to say, I look cautiously on... All that this gets me is a raised eyebrow and feigned yawning. But I tried, I tell her in earnest and she promptly begins to chuckle. The chuckle turns into a cack and lo, before I'm completely reddened by a crowned shame of myself, she has her gut wits flying about in full blown laughter. Tentacular prowess I tell you - and I shrink.
You tried, she spat without sparing the least barb of contempt in her delivery, and then, with me in full snag, a silence. The kind of stop that makes a dime lame, a door stop, ashes. A soliloquised breath, a flick for detonation... all reminders of her w-h-y appear before me.
Oh. Well, there is that, yes...
But your reaction is a little on the bitchy side don't you think, karma?
My folds are hurried and incomplete and this allows for the last fair whip of her spittle to reach me. The case slides discreetly, tapped by this crippled foot.
My hands haven't shook so badly as this in 22 years to the season, and I begin to frown, and then sing... it appears that that is enough for this toast.
Burned, I walk away and lend my singing to shake in time.
12 Dec, 2011
21 Sep, 2011
21 Sep, 2011
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