As We Are

Perhaps just

The Not Me

Carrie spoke through narrow lips that looked like they were sewn on too tightly. She had the gravelly voice of a lifetime smoker, but her trembly tone and hesitant nature made her barely audible. She seldom talked to people during the support group, and if she did she never peered directly into anyone’s eyes. She usually sat near a corner of the room, always making sure to face the only door leading in or out.

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Carrie was petite and jittery. The pale foundation she slathered on her cheeks and the thick black lines she drew under her eyes did not conceal her frailty. Her dry, bleached-blonde hair tapered sharply just below her shoulders. It hung in solid-looking clumps that, like the rest of her, seemed as brittle as icicles.

Carrie usually dressed in snug, almost colorless acid-washed jeans and plain, baggy, crew neck sweatshirts in creamy tones of pastel pink or yellow. In all those faint colors, she sometimes appeared as…

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Ghost Story by Stephen

What’s reality

The Photograph Collective

We thought we’d go to the beach. We thought we’d go the park. We thought we’d stay in and watch a movie. I wasn’t there. I was there to watch. The tears in the wallpaper. The tears ripping through our home. “Lost in Translation”? “Veto”. “Brighton”? “Veto”. (We) crossed the landing. I followed silently.

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I left. I went to the park. I escaped. I’m alone now. She’s alone now. It’s okay though. I will be there by her side. Alone. While she sleeps. She’ll find someone. Somewhere. She will be loved. They will be happy. They will go to the beach. They will watch a film. “Brighton”? “Ok”! “Lost in Translation”? “Great”!

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I will hold guardian. I will let go. I will travel to my places. Exploring what there is left to be explored. I will wander silently. I will.

Stephen

turnockstephen.wordpress.com


Critiques

Aaron: I love what you’ve written, the…

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