word
Suicide is a viscous word, tepid with meaning. It means to remove oneself, purposefully, strategically. To make oneself no longer exist. Whoever said suicide was sexy?
A hammer and a wrench. That's all that sat in the wet, cardboard box outside the garage. He'd lent those tools to her years ago and forgotten about it. She hadn't been able to build the treehouse. Her hands were always too clumsy and she gave up too easily. The rain brought her back to his doorstep, back to the front of his mind.
The sign on the darkroom door said "You can disappear here." I shut the door and felt the blackness envelope me as if I was no longer real. At first I thought I was suffocating. That feeling made me realize how truly alive I was.
Her legs felt like jelly as she drove home. They couldn't move the pedals. It seemed as if the car drove itself and she was just a nonentity sitting there watching it curve around bends and brake at stoplights.
Print. Like a printer. Dashing off words from a processor printing them out on sheets of paper. Many sheets. Global warming. This isn't what I intended. I didn't mean to do any harm. I just wanted to write.