“Hey,” a dark-skinned hand, with a golden band wrapped round its ring finger, taps against the gray-speckled wall of my cubicle. The barrier trembles, starts to fold in on me, and I look up. “Just wanted to check-in on those progress reports. See how they’re doing. The ones for SimCycle. Gonna be meeting with the…
Out of the Mouths of Babes
There once was a philosopher who didn't know what to do. He was, in fact, an expert in uncertainty. But, lest the reader jump ahead, let it be known that the philosopher knew neither what not to do. No, indeed, he was only ever able to supply reasons why an action would-perhaps-maybe-might-be the something which one shouldn't…
Solitary, Confined
I hear another's voice, a whistle, a shout, a yell. Though frightened, I'll never tell: How deep the sound had hit me. Alone, I am my own choice, encased, uniform, a shell, though loneliness be a homely hell: Unseen, seeing only. What a hefty price to be, sovereign, independent, free. Unheeded, the warning was lost…
From the Projector’s Reel: An Experiment in First to Second Person Pt. 1
You first woke, startled, to find yourself in the living room, with your friend on the couch opposite yours. You felt guilty, because yours was the more comfortable couch—you should have gone to your bed upstairs. She looked cold and uncomfortable—you had taken the only pillow as well as the warmest blanket. She started to…
From the Projector’s Reel: An Experiment in First to Second Person Pt. 2
Thinking about your friends and how they must feel, about how you yourself felt after your own blushing moments, about how much you yourself miss those moments, you think back upon Augustine of Hippo's comment that love always comes too late, as well as Tolstoy's remarkable capacity to depict romances, especially that special kind of…