azrael52

azrael52

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mint

Mint tea is not my favorite, to tell the truth. But I tell my grandma it's wonderful and take a second sip. I can tell she's not fooled. Same as when I was younger. But I smile and meet her eyes in a conspiratorial moment.

The canteen at his side was dry. He had given his all and had nothing to replenish his parched soul with. Was there even a drop left in there? He turned it up and what spilled out was a life, lost life, drained to bare walls and bottom.

torch

Light the torch and watch it burn. As it smolders in my hand, smoke wreaths around my ceiling fan. I do not care. Let it burn. Let it burn. Why can't anyone hear the smoke alarm now? My make shift light dims then fades. It is gone, and so's my life.

booth

"What booth is it again?" Matty knew she was supposed to meet the man her Grandfather said would save her in the cafe south of the tracks. But other than that, she was relying on her incomplete memory of their past conversation from three years before.

thief

The thief stepped gingerly into the police station. He wasn't there to turn himself in, and he wasn't about to get caught doing something this foolish. Granted, it had to be done, but he didn't have to like it. His dare just wasn't complete until he placed his ill-gotten gains in the dead center of their office.

A pretzel? Seriously? My last meal is going to be a stinkin' pretzel? Well, fine, if this is it, then this is it. Here goes. Down the hatch. *MUNCH* Hmm, not bad. Not a steak, for sure, but not bad. Too bad it's my last meal, because I'd sure like a second one, come to think of it.

wrath

Wrath walked through the streets for the hundredth time. He had done it. He had turned the entire town against themselves. No one was left. No one survived his onslaught. It's funny, he had done all of this without once lifting a single finger.

"Domestic." That's what they said. I'd be a domestic. What the heck did that mean? Like a slave? A dog? An indentured servant? Maybe I'd simply be a butler. Oh well, it beat the heck out of where I had come from.

mole

Mole on my neck hurts like heck. Yeah, it's a speck that hurts like heck. Yeah, I got nothing. Nothing but this freakin' mole on my neck.

Oh, man, I'm so tempted to write about what happened this morning. So tempted to write about the juicy bit of something that crossed into my field of influence. But I cannot. It's not for just anyone to read. So, what should I write about today? Nothing tempting. Nothing about ... well, gotta go, I only have sixty seconds.

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writing since 2011 · 166 entries · 166 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Raymond showed up.

52longest streak

166days written

5.3entries / week

on this day 15 years ago

Raymond wrote about bulb
“Dig the bulb up and transplant it while you can. If you wait much longer, it won't take. Trust me, I've been there. Seriously? Did you just reduce my love life to a gardening tip? Hey, if yo…”

the words Raymond reaches for

meannowsurehalfcarefinalfamilycoursebeganhomerestmatterheardstepsimplydone