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Lainy held her cup of coffee to her chest, tried to trap its warmth inside her body. She should've dressed warmer. Autumn had arrived and it was forcing its chill through her body. Logan was twenty minutes late. She tried not to hold it against him, but her nose was starting to run. They had matched online, exchanged only a few messages before he asked her out on a date. It was bold but he was attractive enough, plus the cafe was filled with people. What could go wrong?

THERE EXIST such places where every fragment, every corner is pierced by pain, suffering, darkness, and oppression. It is so dense and stifling there that in some places it makes you want to vomit. The mind is drilled through as if by an auger, and every second of drilling feels like an eternity. It is as if someone has sat on a chair full of spikes in a dark, merciless torture chamber full of cruelty, blood, and pain. Time is not measured here because time does not exist here at all.…

Psychology bones - They sound weird, right, but I can feel my own psychology bones and other psychology bones in other people’s minds. Psychology bones aren’t bones for the body, but the mind, they are extremely flexible and cannot be seen by the naked eyes, they are constantly breaking and forming back together and breaking again. They make up the mind and they determine what sort of mind you have and why you think the way you do.

Nobody in the street took the warnings seriously. Not until the insults started. It began just after midnight in a quiet neighborhood outside Cape Town. People were woken by banging bins, dogs barking, and a strange little voice yelling from outside. At first, Mr. Daniels thought it was drunk teenagers. He opened his window and shouted, “Who’s making all that noise?” Silence. Then from the darkness below came a raspy voice. “Go back inside, you old fool.” Mr. Daniels blinked.

December 10th, 1935. The sound of the aggressive wind blowing the rigged trees to bend like wire.  Little snowflakes drop on the green grass to cover them in nothing but pure white frost, a wooden cabin lives beyond the woods. The roof was drowned in snow, ice sickles hang from the side. A man named Frank Williams and his boy John Williams lives in the wooden cabin in the woods. Frank Williams used to live in the town of Tapperson, where he owned a carpenter shop, selling his handmade furniture…

The year 1985, a year of the things that brought us joy, a year that life was really going somewhere, a year that Dads were Dads, Moms were Moms, children were in process of life, plenty of time to grow. A year most can agree was amazing, but for some, 1985 was the year that turned me into a mad man, my mind tricking from my left and right, but I think I know what I saw.  I was only 12, I lied about where I went. Places that should have been, the school, friends house, ect.  Only instead to…

It's 11:11, a time for a wish as nightly thoughts dip into the dark abyss... Nightly Thoughts are wishes and dreams written with a dark red ink... Nightly Thoughts are poems left to rot, during the moonlit night... Nightly Thoughts are stories no one reads during the morning light... Nightly Thoughts is our artwork made with ink and dried rose petals... It's 12:12, a time for a wish, to dream of far-off lands and space that no one dares to face....

The room smells like stale iron and wet earth, but I don’t complain. I haven’t complained since the funeral.

This was supposed to be a radio documentary.

Tap. Tap. Tap. My footsteps echo through the dark hallway. I swallow hard as I get close enough to the door. Damnit... Does it really have to be done? I can feel my arms tremble. Just before coming here I dressed warmer, but the cold is still entering my body. "Come on, come on." I whisper trying to get some motivation into my body. One minute. Two minutes. "Fuck..." I press the doorknob down and look down the stairs. I have no choice but to go down. Step. Step.

The email from Becca arrived at 3:14 AM, blinking on the screen like a dying pulse. It contained a single, corrupted video file and a trembling plea: “My little sister Kaylee went missing after she found that tape. Please... find her. Don't let them put her to sleep.”

The sweltering summer is especially unbearable for me, not to mention the endless rain, which is slowly driving me insane. Savage pains torment my body. Everything inside me swells and bursts, so violently that sometimes I simply pass out. Every step I take feels like a thousand nails being driven into my flesh. My calves explode, oozing meat and fat, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it. But physical suffering can be endured. You can switch yourself off for a while.

The first time my neighbor asked if I was new here I said yes. The second time I told her she'd already asked. This started in the parking area of an old apartment building. It was evening and my cousin and I were sitting there talking about random things. The building was old. The paint was faded. The balconies looked worn out and there were cracks in some of the walls. Nothing looked scary. It just felt strange. And it was very quiet.

Pentimento I spent two years working on a single sentence.

One day, four teenagers went to the mountains to have fun. One of the teenagers said, "How about we go to the Zagros Mountains, kid?" The teenagers suddenly panicked. One of them said in fear, "What about the Zagros Mountains? The natives there, the Lor people, believe that a demonic creature called Krazenglo lives there.

I remember being in my young teenage years and I was always dreaming about becoming batman. Me and my two friends were avid comic book readers and we loved superheroes, it didn't matter if it was from DC comics or marvel. My friend Harold wanted to be Xavier and martin wanted to be Spiderman. We all use to dress up and pretend that we were the superheroes and I also remember at that age, we actually believed that the three of us would actually become superheroes.

A few years ago, I had returned from Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida and I nostalgically wanted to watch some old Mickey Mouse shorts for VHS. Among all of the other Mickey Mouse tapes, I noticed an out-of-place Mickey Mouse tape labelled, "Mickey's Book". What was odd was that the tape's date was 01/29/1995, even though old, black and white Mickey Mouse shorts were being produced much earlier.

It's loud and crowded in the office today. I don't know why, but honestly I don't really care and just continue with my work. Suddenly someone taps me on my shoulder and I look up. It's Jimmy, one of my colleagues. I quickly look away again, ignoring him and continuing my work. "Hey, I want to talk to you about something." "Sure." He sighs, seemingly annoyed about my answer: "It's something I would rather discuss in private."

There's a name tattooed on the inside of my left wrist.

They tell you nostalgia is a warm blanket. They lie. Nostalgia is a rotting canvas, and the paint never quite dried.