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It was a late night, and I could not remember where it was that I had been prior, but I remember that I had escaped from extreme violence- (perhaps the reason I couldn't remember?) In retrospect, I do, honestly, remember what happened prior, but at the time I didn't, so for the sake of letting you experience the narrative through MY shoes, I did not, in fact, remember.

If cleanliness is emptiness, then Apartment # 17 was spotless. It was located in a solitary building that occupied its own lot at the corner of Forest and Canal streets. Neither the scenery nor the waterways for which the streets were named were in evidence. The lot, however, did sport a drab plumage of tall grass stunted here and there by half-hearted attempts at maintenance, and the city it was located in had a river that ran through the center of it, a wide belt of deep, dirty water that…

I wake up because I really have to pee. Sliding out of my bed, I sneak past my roommate and into the bathroom. I'm really glad I woke up to pee. I always do, but not being able to wake up from deep sleep to pee is a symptom of frontal lobe abnormality, a symptom of maladaptive social behavior: antisocial. It's funny how so many people use that word incorrectly; the words they mean to use are ‘social anxiety’ when they say antisocial, because antisocial is the psychiatric and correct term for…

Its been eight minutes since I sent my message. Seen, but no reply. Something must have happened. Maybe he's hurt? It's not unlikely that he tripped and hit his head. His apartment is a mess after all. Maybe he's simply ignoring me? No, of course not. He's not like that.

As a kid, I loved the Toy Story film, and you know what else I loved? The Genesis game. Played that game every time I got back from school, before I went to bed, every time I got a chance. A fantastic game. It was pretty much Disney's answer to Donkey Kong Country.

I am awake. I don’t recall falling asleep and am not real sure how I got into bed, but I am awake now. There is a very distant ringing in my ears, sort of like the aftermath of a concussive blast that makes you deaf, only this ringing seems far off inside my head. Must have had a rough night I suppose, although honestly I can’t really recall the previous evening or any evening for that matter. Yep, must have been one hell of a night.

Often when my wife and I go to bed at night our dog ends up sharing the bed with us as well. He is a black dog that weighs about 100 pounds so you can imagine that he takes up a good portion of the bed at night when he decides that he wants to sleep with us. Since we have black sheets he tends to blend in with the bed making it hard to tell if he sneaks up there before us.

Do you know about the monster under your bed? How it wasn’t there when someone would look for it? Or was your monster behind the curtain, suddenly gone when you asked someone to check behind it? Some of them used to hide in the closet and like all of these monsters, were gone when someone else tried to find them.

Hello, my name is Alice. This is my story. No no, Not the cliche story of falling down a rabbit hole into a mysterious unknown land with a Red Queen who cuts off heads and a man in a ridiculous hat who has tea parties. No this isn't like that.

When we were kids, we'd always spin in circles. The more we spun around, the more dizzy we'd get. Sometimes it was a challenge to see who would fall over or who could stay up right. When I was young, seven or eight, I remember this would be all I'd do with my time, spinning, spinning, spinning.

It was perhaps my eighth birthday when it all started. It’s hard to recall from this far in the future. My grandfather, a gentle old man, bought me a doll to play with and together we sat around a small cake with only four candles upon the top. They weren’t the fancy candles that you see on all the cakes now a days. We didn’t have the money for such fanciful things when I was a kid. No, they were just small nubs of candles that were nearing the end of their usefulness.

The chairs were the old school folding kind, brown metal with tan cushions that were almost comfortable. They were usually folded and stacked neatly against the wall in the basement of the church on Dionin street. Three times a week they were unfolded and made into a circle: once for bible book club on Monday afternoons, another time for prayer group on Tuesday mornings, and then every Friday night for meetings.

The scene: An idyllic houshold, with no peculiarities. The cast: A traditional nuclear family, living caricatures from a Norman Rockwell piece. The parents make small talk as they all eat a breakfast of bacon and eggs. The children hurriedly scarf down the meal, eager for school. The mother picks up the dishes and together they walk out the door to begin the day. Their footsteps make no noise as they walk on the black dirt where grass grew once upon a time. The father takes a whiff of the…

This isn't actually my story. It was related to me, a while ago, by an elderly gentleman that frequented a convenience store I worked at. I think back to that night where I followed him to the junkyard, and my hair still stands, along with that quiver of gooseflesh that has nothing to do with the temperature.

There is a village somewhere in England that has not been inhabited for over twenty years. It has long since been forgotten off of most maps, and only has one road in and out of it. If you manage to find it, it will seem a peaceful enough place, the derelict buildings being overgrown and nature taking back the land for herself.

I'd like to tell you a disturbing story I heard from people I know or have met. I was living in the southern part of Sydney four years ago in a big house. One day, I advertised to share the house so I could save some money. The next day, a young Indian-looking guy around thirty came to the house. However, he wanted to leave quickly after I showed him the spare room.

We were told to stay clear of the well. Most of the time, we did. No one knew why, and no one cared. Down Innsmote Road, the long abandoned row of crumbling houses on the way to school, it lay beneath the shade of a droopy branched willow, in front of the old Leibowitz house. The house itself had fallen down years ago. The expansive section was now consumed in thick weeds and wild flowers, but we seldom played there. We didn't like being amongst the derelict homes and the decaying foundations,…

“Ladies and gentleman, members of the Board, I have two wonders to share with you tonight. First, allow me to present the next evolutionary milestone of our species – immortality.” Ever for theatrics, Dr. Monroe says this with arms outstretched, his burgundy dress coat flowing with every gesture.

I live in a small town in upstate South Carolina. Nothing much happens here, so it seems with every story’s beginning. Nevertheless, it’s normal... right? I mean, the most spectacular thing that’s ever happened here was probably when there was a new stop sign put up near Deerfield, or perhaps after the Masons started up a new church. Not much I guess. My neighbourhood is pretty quiet. I guess it’s because there was no other kids around but me. I don’t really mind it though, besides, I’m a…

Something occurred to me today: If there is really is something that could be called "the soul", and it was immortal, then that would mean that you could live...forever. Limitless possibilities come from this point, and it really makes me think: did I do the right thing in my life? Were all the things I did worth it, the things that those people hate me for? I remind myself that it was for the betterment of my people, and my family.