I like the peace in the backseat; where our seatbelts are the only things keeping us from melting into eachother entirely. You talk and I listen. Somehow my hand becomes fused with yours. I just stare at your thumb slipping slowly across the back of my hand as you talk about personality tests and music. It wasn't planned and you're still wearing your tux. But that only makes it more wonderful.

About today.

There's something about spending an entire day reading. It's wonderful. You still get that sleepy feeling after, but it's not the same laborious droning buzz you get after a day of TV. It's different. It's light. And if you keep your window open, it feels even lighter. Summer is perfect for this interminable reading.

I wrote a short story.

The sky of downtown New York City looked like a dead TV channel as it loomed above the over-crowded streets. William Burdet, a successful man of business, ran his fingers through his dark hair impatiently as he moved through the massive swarm of pedestrians. Checking his watch, he swayed in the cattle-like throng. “Late. Late, late, late!” he muttered, and shouldered a red-haired woman in order to make a crossing light. “It’s only fair,” he justified. “I was cut off myself at the last light. It’s my turn.” Cars - adding to the ridiculous amount of people - roamed behind William’s heels as he stepped onto the curb.

William trudged on the other side of the street. Immediately to the left of him, a man dressed as Santa rang a golden bell for charity. The tinkling of the bell sounded like clanging to William’s agitated and headachy mind. As he passed, he was full of contempt. Suddenly, Santa collapsed. William was caught underneath him and used his shoulder best he could to hoist him up. Stumbling under the man’s substantial weight, he quickly and awkwardly glanced around for help. But the crowd just moved past him in a single body, like a river flowing between the buildings. Looking down at Santa’s face, William’s surprise and embarrassment turned quickly to distress. The man’s milky blue eyes were wide open and dead centered. His face was a greyish and pale blue, as if all blood had suddenly vanished from inside him.

“Help! Someone, this man needs help! Somebody call 911!”

No one responded.

“Sir, can you help me? Can you help him?” he pleaded, grabbing the long black coat of a man passing by. As if William’s hand were a nail the coat had momentarily snagged on, the stranger unhooked it and shoved past. Every human racing past seemed perfectly unaware of William’s continued shouts, or even the man in red, slumped on his resting place of cement. Giving up on the oblivious mass around him, William quickly thrust his hand underneath the plastic white curls of his beard. No pulse.

William cursed the phone he left on the table in his rush to leave the apartment. Who was going to call the police? Anyone? William’s head swam. “There is a man laying dead on the sidewalk next to me...” his dry lips bobbed up and down, unable to make sense of anything. “For no reason at all.” He choked. “And nobody can see him but me.” He stood up, putting his hands behind his head and staring with trepidation into each face as it passed him. “You’re all human, aren’t you?” Without warning, a woman’s face fell from view.

City noises blurred in William’s ears as her body met the pavement. Same bloodless face and wide eyes looking at nothing. Dropping like she was suddenly made of lead. No blood, no wound, no contusions or signs of failure. Nothing but a comatose pile of limbs. Then a small boy, only feet away, fell as well. His sister followed, flopping over like a rag doll. Then another, as if it’s heart and lungs ceased to exist. One head at a time sank in the black sea of coats. One head at a time, William scrambled from human to human, shoving his fingers on warm dead neck after warm dead neck. “How is this happening? How is this possible?” He said over and over, growing increasingly breathless until the words could only be mouthed. He licked his dry lips once again, thinking of nothing and everything all at once. The once tamed curls on his head became mangled by his hands. People walked. They stared right past him, rubbing his sides as they traveled. Some dropped, blue and warm. Some kept walking. William began looking for some sort of pattern telling who would drop next, but it was purely unpredictable. As he peered over the multitude of heads, a man fell dead at his feet. As he looked down, he heard a sickening thud ahead and looked up. Right, left, front, behind, up, down. “This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening!” Grabbing a random stranger by the arm, he pleaded with her. ”Please,” he said pointing to the nearest body. “Tell me you see that man right there, on the ground. Right there, see him?” The young lady he had grabbed remained composed in this sudden disruption of her life. Tilting her head, she claimed calm and simple tones.

“There’s nothing there, sir.”

“No, there is a man and he’s dead! Look at his face, he’s dead!”

“I don’t think so.”

William roared and shoved her aside. Grabbing another woman, he yelled “Here!” and pulled her down to meet the corpse on the ground. “This man is dead. He just dropped.” The woman stood right back up, brushing off her skirt and muttering something about psychopathic idiots. William’s eyes followed her in amazement as she walked away, joining the concourses of walking and dropping people. He screamed and pivoted when she dropped too, the freshest corpse.

Taxis began careening as their drivers died as well. One forehead fell flat on the horn in a never-ending note. Then another joined in harmony, until vehicle after vehicle added to the blearing chorus of car horns. William began running in circles. Some people he shook madly in the direction of a body. Others he clung to, begging for help or signs of his sanity. Then be began holding people on the street. He held them until they dropped. Talking to them.  Weeping when they suddenly shrugged lifeless in his arms.  He got to know a few, if they let him. And when they yelled, “Hey buddy, get offa me! What’s your problem??” he could only hug tighter. “Don’t drop,” He’d sob, “Don’t drop.” One woman tore her pepper spray from her purse before diminishing to the sidewalk beneath them. Another hugged him right back, almost tighter. The car horns didn’t stop.

Hours passed. Numbers of those walking became acutely scarce. The buildings seemed to grow taller and more ominous as night came, like a secret police for New York. Heaps of black and blue bodies rounded the once geometric streets. Sometimes after a person slipped from William’s arms, he would sway in place, catching himself at each angle and staring at where they had been. He was now unable to grasp the sheer number of souls he had watched snatched right out of their cases. How many people no longer existed? No matter whom he followed with his eyes, they would eventually drop and there was nothing he could do. Mountains of coats and human appendages formed what was genocide without cause. He closed his eyes. It felt as if he hadn’t closed them in days. He didn’t even know where in New York he was, now and he didn’t care. It was near silent now, apart from a couple car horns left sounding. Traffic had stopped completely and taxis ran idle with their senseless passengers vibrating along with the engine. With his eyes closed, he knew how apocalyptic the scene looked. He had watched it unfold. It looked as if he were in some movie or nightmare: real and unreal at the same time.  Most windows were unlit, for pretty much everyone had deceased before it became dark enough to flip lights on. Only a few automatic streetlights illuminated the forsaken roads and barren faces. The January air, once filled with the balmy breath of human life, had gone cold. Imagine: a place ever restless, resting. Like a star that has no more will to pulsate going dark, leaving a wounding and ghastly void.

For the first time in his life, William felt like he belonged with everyone that was dead. Dragging his reddened eyes from the concrete, he set their steady gaze on the equally gray and flat sky. It was beginning to let snowflakes fall. His ears longed for the sound of footsteps. He strained. He searched as he had for a long time. But he knew he was now the only one who hadn’t fallen dead. Was he above everyone else in some way? What was he supposed to do? No one was left. Nobody. He is King of the Dead. Lord of the Dropping Like Flies. He certainly didn’t feel exalted. William sat sagging in his skin on a curb, as if he would decay at any moment; more ready for death than any of the thousands he had watched die in the past 12 hours. His head hung weightily with the burden of living. How lucky everyone else had been to slip so promptly and painlessly into death.  They were welcomed by it, while William now had to beg. He stood. He did this without fully recognizing he was the only man on earth who could. But somewhere, he felt it.

“This isn’t fair.”

Doctor Who

Around 11, my phone started ringing. And I danced to my ringtone for a while.... Then I remembered that I'm supposed to answer it when it does that, and I answered just in time. Over the line, I heard Kresten's voice say "Outside, your destiny awaits you *click*". I stupidly said "See ya" and I ran outside where there was a big white car thing in front of my house... It was a weird vehicle. It was also Kyle's. And  Kresten, Kyle, and Gavin came to give me more Doctor Who to watch! :3 MY WEEKEND WILL BE ADVENTUROUS AND 3D.


PS, if Rory dies one more time... I'm gonna throw a chinchilla to Saturn. Or something.  

Some people are inspirational.

"I am the only person that can make me miserable. I am the only person that can make me sad. I am the only person that can make me happy. So maybe instead of fixing everything else: I should just fix myself?" - Sam 


I hope you don't mind that I'm quoting you. 

Hello, 1 AM.

You know those days where you just kinda feel sad for no reason? Yeah that was today. Well, there are smallish reasons, I guess. And they are indeed very smallish.

But the littlest things... when they're on your mind... they seem to kind of fog everything up. And slowly weigh you down. It just hangs there in the front of your mind and you can't shake it. ...It's like when teeny tiny things get up really close to your face, and you can't see anything else but that thing. It looks big and blurry and ominous, but it isn't. Not in reality.
Rawrgh. This is hard to explain.

I just hate it when I'm lame enough to focus on my small sadnesses. It makes it hard to see the bigger picture.

I feel like writing something. Anything.

Hey. I'm just going to write. I don't know what about yet. But I'm just going to keep typing and see what comes out of this brain of mine.

So today it rained. It rained a lot. And for the first time in months, I slid my window open and rested on my window sill. Let the rain slap me in the face. Have you ever payed attention to each individual drop as it hits your skin? You can feel each one, really sort of sharp and cold. I like how rain wakes you up like that. It's like somebody snapping in your face while you've been sleeping. But for some reason you like it, and you get up. You'd think that the relentless pitter patter would become bothersome, but somehow, it's refreshing. It makes everything newer and brighter. Not darker and grayer. In fact, one of my favorite things about rain is that when the grass is pale and yellow, it sort of turns it into a deep gold. The white sidewalks become dark mirrors, too. You can look down into it and see your misshapen and dreamy reflection, and it doesn't look like you but at the same time it does. Then the rain slowly dampens you until you've finally realized you're soaked. But you don't really care. You just go on sitting in it anyway. And the way it smells... who would ever think that wet dirt and concrete could smell like that? Oh, and the best is when there's thunder. I've always compared it to the bass at a concert. How you can kind of feel it in your throat and your bones. It makes your heart beat faster when it rumbles really low, like it's hungry or something. Then sometimes it'll attack you with a sharp crack. I think that's why little kids are scared of thunder, cause it sounds like it wants to eat you. It doesn't scare me anymore, though. I mostly just soak it in. Let it shiver in me. I like shivering, cause usually that means it's time to go inside and make hot chocolate. And maybe a fort. Watch a movie or two. I like getting warm, afterwards. Like falling back asleep after the rain wakes you up so earnestly. Speaking of sleeping, it's almost 11:00... And I'm guessing that my brain still has a lot of thoughts to cover before it'll let me sleep. So I better get in bed. Night.