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Tag: bullet
Viewing 1 - 5 out of 6 Blogs.
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11
May/2008
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Mister Mean #6
I’m sitting on a beach, watching the waves as they crash in with the tide, and wondering exactly how I got here in the first place. The last thing I remember is heading back for my hotel, the softness of the bed as I sank into it, my thoughts drifting to my marriage, the dream, and the events that have transpired in the last few weeks leading up to this point. And then sleep had fallen over me like a shroud. Maybe this is more of the dream. “I’m not sure... Read More
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11
May/2008
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Mister Mean #5
My vacation’s over, four days shy of two weeks. The dream hasn’t gone away, but only seems to be coming more intensely. I’ve tried drowning it out in a haze of alcohol, designer drugs, and endless debauchery. Rio’s a great place for all of the above. I had no intention of ending my vacation early, but several factors have come into play. This morning I awoke to find that my ticket home to Ibrium City on Luna had been canceled. ... Read More
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11
May/2008
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Mister Mean #4
I’m lying on my back on the bed, my dimming eyes having caught a slow panorama of the wall at the head of the bed, and then moving up along the ceiling. The back of my neck is warm, wet. There’s no pain, at least, although I am registering quite a bit of disappointment. It was supposed to be instant. Maybe I did something wrong. I can hear one foot drumming a spastic tattoo upon the bed. The bedroom door is opening. Som... Read More
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11
May/2008
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Mister Mean #3
Standing in front of the steam-fogged bathroom mirror, I see only the barest outline of myself. My eyes look haunted, empty. My head is gleaming, almost polished; this is the first time in my life I’ve ever used shavepaste everywhere. Even my eyebrows are gone. My face is slack and expressionless. What expression known to man could possibly convey this feeling adequately? There†™s nothing left for me now. Nothing, tha... Read More
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11
May/2008
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Mister Mean #2
I awaken, sitting bolt upright and choking off a scream. Nothing’s changed, despite my week of therapy and the drugs Dr. Mulkavey has prescribed. I’m still having the dream every night. The last thing I remember before I wake up is the taste of oiled gunmetal upon my lips, the tensing of my finger upon the trigger of the pistol, and then the blast which is meant to end everything. And I’m still no wiser as to why I would even want to do such a th... Read More
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