A young soon-to-be American was walking down the street of his passport country of England. He was heading from Eton Wick to Windsor, a thirty minute walk along side the road. As he walked,  he saw in the distance a man on a bicycle. He thought little of it, dropped his head, and continued along his way.

Not long into his walk, the young man looked up again to find himself nearly passing the cyclist. As he approached, he realized the man on the seat of his bike, pedaling extremely slowly, was in his early eighties. The young boy, passing on foot, turned and smiled to the cyclist. He said, a smile still upon his face, “It’s strange, passing a cyclist on foot my friend.”

The old man smiled back, bowing his head slightly. “Young man,” said the cyclist, “life is far too short to spend it hurrying from place to place.”



Story based on true events.

The Man in the Corner

There’s something in the corner of my eye. I feel it staring at me, watching my every move and learning from my every action. He knows where I am and what I’m doing, what I’m thinking and for which reasons. He knows because he’s always there, standing just outside my view, staring deep into my mind and soul with bitterness in his heart. He is my silent judgement, the voice of darkness that argues out reason and hope. He is the devil in the core of my being, always waiting, always prepared to snuff out whatever comes along shining a light into the darkness of my world.

I know he’s there without ever having seen him. I know he smiles when I frown, laughs when I cry. I cannot hear him, or touch him, or smell him. But I can taste him sometimes, a bitterness in the air that engulfs my world when I find something that makes me smile. I can taste him as he sits in the corner of my eye, seeing everything I see, feeling everything I feel.

He will wait in silence as I walk across the room to talk to girl so full of light and happiness that I’ve never met. He’ll wait as I take her number, and call it to invite her out for dinner. He’ll wait as we laugh together, as we tell stories of our past and one day begin talking about our future. He waits as we fall madly in love, as we make love for the first time, as we have sex for the hundredth time. He waits as we rent our first apartment, buy our first home. And then, one day, he starts to whisper silently in my ear.

From the corner of my eye, a devil whispers words I cannot hear. He whispers endlessly, repeating the same sentence over and over, building a fear that burns in my chest hotter than molten rock. He chuckles as I begin to flounder, to make mistakes I cannot seem to stop, all the while continuing to whisper words of silence that push me towards the end. And with every mistake I make, with every word he speaks, he sits in the corner of my eye and watches as the light that burned inside of me slowly begins to fade. Then, he laughs as the fading light that brought me such joy vanishes from this world, leaving me alone and empty and dark. And the man in the corner of my eye stops. He smiles as I frown, revels in the darkness that’s inside me.

There’s something in the corner of my eye, and it lives because I cannot.

If I Were Asked

If I were asked, I’d say that it must be like buying one of the first televisions ever invented. As the family sat down and gathered around the tiny little screen, they must have been so fascinated by the world trapped within it. There, in the large brown box that held the insignificant screen, danced images of grey from all over the world. The family must have watched in silence as they witnessed something so far away, so distant, so beautiful from the comfort of their own home.

And as they stared into the gateway of the universe, they would have seen things that they had never seen before in their lives; Mountains in distant lands, beaches in tropical locations, the world beneath the sea, the universe beyond the stars. And they would stare in awe, having never before seen such incredible images flashing before them as if they were real. It would become a sensory overload, something so completely fixating that there’s almost no way to escape it. But why would you ever want to escape?

Instead, you would sit back and let the images flash before your eyes, let the pictures capture your mind and soul, pulling you in deeper and deeper until you’re so lost in the unimaginable that you forget what life was like before the tiny box appeared in your home. It becomes a staple part of your life, something you look forward to every day. It makes you happy, shows you the world, and promises to always, always keep you entertained no matter how bad your day has been.

If I were asked to describe the impossible, that is what I’d say; If I were asked to describe what I saw in your eyes.

All of His Friends

1            In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. It is unlikely that he knew the grand implications of his decision at the time, because how could he? Omnipotence only extends to the borders of all knowledge, and how could God see beyond the point that he would no longer be able to think? It was a simple error, and one he could never have expected being unable to see the outcome for the first time in his eternal existence.

But that was probably the greatest appeal for a creature that knows everything that time and space have to offer; to start the project that would ultimately lead him to a question in which he didn’t already know the answer. For eternity, God has known everything that could ever happen, past, present, and future. He knows everything for all of time, in every possible and impossible scenario. He has done everything, seen everything, and been everywhere. He is everything. Continue reading

Dream Weaver

Aron parked his car on the side of the road in a few blocks down the street from one of Chicago’s largest homeless shelters. It was already getting dark, and he knew that if he didn’t find his way to the line, he’d be stuck going another night without a dream. His head was pounding, a pain that grew from a tiny spark in the back of his skull and flared up into a burning fire behind his eyes. It was a pain he had become familiar with throughout his life, one that had started destroying him since he had turned twenty one. Now, seven years later, he had learned how to control it. It had almost been the death of him several times, slowly growing night after night until the cells in his brain started to shut down in a desperate attempt to be free of it. And then he’d sleep with people waiting by his bed, knowing that this was the last time they might ever see him again. And then he’d wake up, and the pain would be gone, and there was one less person beside his bed, one that he knew better than anyone else in the world, and yet one that no one would ever remember.

Walking to the back of his car, Aron popped open the boot and pulled out an old and tattered jacket. It was cold enough that he would be wearing it all night, which meant he had no need to shake the perfectly white undershirt that so clearly gave away how little he belonged in the shelter. He walked to the back of the line and stood in silence, listening to the queue of struggling and desperate people coughing in the cold as they waited in hope of getting a bed to sleep on for a single night. It didn’t take long for Aron to reach the door, and as he walked into the shelter he turned to see the people behind him being turned away. Continue reading


The bullet careened off the kitchen counter top, making an almost inaudible ping as the sound of the exploding gunpowder rang in Derek’s ear. He shuddered as he grabbed the sushi knife off the side that his wife had bought him on their anniversary. There were screams, those of his children perhaps, or his wife, somewhere in the house just outside of his reach. The intruder stood between him and the rest of his house, pointing the barrel of the gun straight at Derek’s torso. He didn’t have time to be concerned, to fear for his own life. He lunged forward, the knife extended as he took the first of three needed steps to be within reach of the intruder.

The sound of the gun shook the walls of the home once again as the intruder pulled back on the trigger. This time, there was no sound as the bullet veered off course, no ping as it slammed into something metal, just an enormous force in the lower portion of Derek’s chest. The impact forced him backwards, but the adrenaline pushed forward. The gun echoed again, a bullet slamming hard into his shoulder causing him to spin sideways. He started to fall, but as his body toppled forward, he thrust onwards with his shaking leg left. The knife entered the intruders chest, slipping neatly between two of his ribs. Continue reading

405 Leadrig Drive — Donna Phillip

The lights of the ambulance were casting the usual and uncomfortable glow of alternating red and blue as Donna sat crouched over the body of an old woman. She was filling out a form while her partner, David, was taking care of the body.

“So you found her?” asked Donna, looking up at a man standing in the doorway and staring blankly at the body of the old woman.

“Yes,” said the man, still staring without blinking at the woman.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Michael Benson.” Continue reading