Here's looking at you, kids.|
The Gift - 2"Nice to see you again, Eli," the psychiatrist, Dr. Anderson, said. She was smiling but Eli could tell it wasn't genuine. He knew a fake smile when he saw one.The Gift - 2 by TheEmptyChest
His eyes wandered from her too-white teeth to the black, cushioned chair on which she sat to her office. She was an organized person by the looks of it. There was a desk next to her. Stacks of crates were situated at the edge with papers shuffled into them. Her computer and keyboard were both well-dusted. Pens and pencils were clumped together in a utensil holder. There was a box of tissues at the ready for when he broke down and spilled his secrets. The only thing that looked remotely out of place was the evaluation sheet she had on a clipboard in front of her, ready to label him. Eli leaned against the back of the couch she’d told him to sit on and added, “Should I lie down?”
“If you want to,” she said.
There was a coffee mug on the desk, which she put to her lips before speaking. "How are you fee
The Gift - 1It was just past three in the morning and Eli stood naked in front of his bathroom mirror, examining gashes in his forehead—linear grooves etched into his skin, extending from his hairline to his eyebrows, crisscrossing and burning. His girlfriend Melinda stood outside the locked bathroom door, rapping on it, twisting the knob that wouldn't budge, yelling at Eli to let her in.The Gift - 1 by TheEmptyChest
Eli applied hydrogen peroxide to the cuts he could see, then touched his fingers to the back of his head, feeling warm, goopy blood clumping his hair.
"Eli, come on!" Melinda was getting pissed now. "Open the damn door!"
Eli washed his bloody fingers and then did as she said. It took a moment for him to register the sight of her. Her eyes were wide with anger and worry, her face streaked with blood—his blood, the droplets that had fallen from his forehead onto hers and had trailed down the side of her nose when she bolted up.
She had put on his shirt when he ran away. She was wearing it now, th
Post-It Notes to Send Back in Time (part 2)i.Post-It Notes to Send Back in Time (part 2) by TheEmptyChest
You own your own body.
Your life is yours.
And don’t let
tell you otherwise.
It’s okay to believe in God.
It’s okay not to.
And it’s okay to go back and forth
between the two
because no god worth believing in
would punish you
for doubt or disbelief.
Learn how to take a compliment.
Invisibility isn’t so bad.
When people notice you
they scrutinize you.
If they don’t see you
you have ultimate freedom.
So don’t be afraid to hide in that corner.
Own that corner. It’s yours.
Pay no heed to art snobs.
Don’t be an art snob yourself.
Remember how you were told
that every time you “sinned” it was
equivalent to crucifying Jesus
all over again
so every mistake you made
no matter how small
made you feel like you’d killed someone?
Yeah. That was bullshit.
It’s okay to not have a boyfriend.
It’s okay to not want one.
Hate is not the problem,
it’s what you h
role modelsSo there was this guy. He and my dad were best friends for like twenty years. They went to high school together and didn’t drift apart like most high school friends do. He was at our house constantly, drinking beers, watching games, talking politics. I showed him my drawings. I only did that when I was comfortable, when I trusted a person. And he told me I was a damn good artist and I sat there grinning like an idiot until my cheeks were sore. I started calling him uncle and he liked that. He liked that a lot. Said it warmed his heart.role models by TheEmptyChest
So this guy, he was a fire fighter. He’d run into burning buildings that were about to collapse and pull people out. Everybody loved him. Everybody. He even got an award once—an excellent citizen award or something like that from the mayor. People clapped him on the back, shook his hand, wiped tears from their eyes... women asked him to hold their babies and take pictures, the whole shebang. He was everyone’s hero, you know? Littl
Heidelberg, 2011Heidelberg, your streets runHeidelberg, 2011 by julietcaesar
with the blood of philosophers -
roses and rubies cascade
where they once meditate upon
the river Neckar, the pink stones
of fallen castles to be spat upon
by the people. Heidelberg,
your history outweighs the secrets,
it catacombs through snow
like coffee grains wedged
between wrinkled stones.
The Altstadt is your legacy,
an anachronism; the Hauptstrasse
rambles through like a goatherd
beating a path for sheep; The Universitat
boasts arches and sandstones enduring
on history's pedestal - now lost
in the squall of market stalls peddling bratwurst
in the rain.
Heidelberg, from the Philosophenweg
I can see autumn's shadow collide
past and present, when summer leaves
brown in fainter sunshine, curl and whisk away
to dust the crimson rooftops, the pebbled paths
that once inspired scholarly thoughts.
Under my feet they promise of snow
sleeting from the peaks
of gingerbread mountains, white
and sugary, clumped
and rolled by human hands. I stumble,
and the earth c
Will nods, and I sit down without arguing. Seems like every time we come here they seat us at some tiny, awkwardly visible table right in the middle of the restaurant.
“Ah, sumting to dreenk?”
“Just water,” Will says, still standing, and now she nods.
“Coke, please,” I put in, and she nods again and turns and leaves.
People must be staring at us. All those old fat people who demanded booths. Probably think we’re a gay couple or something. But we’re not. We’re just roommates.
After assembling a plate of mostly noodles and veggies I slog back from the buffet counter and sit by my Coke, and Will’s already shoveling food into his mouth, and after a while he pauses to chew and sits back and stares vacantly over my shoulder, past me.
“So,” he mumbles through a mouthful of crab rangoon, “that crazy guy at the mill today, the vice president suspended him. Means he’s probably gonna get