“How ya doing?” I say to the empty chair next to me, like I actually expect it to talk back. It won’t, of course – I know it won’t – but there’s something refreshingly simple about being able to talk to inanimate objects and know they’ll never talk back. You don’t really wait for a response because you know one’s never going to come. It’s a known, and I find myself liking knowns more than ever. There’s a saying – better t...

The smell of oranges and roses never ceases to set me back into those years in which I thought I knew happiness. The two together are strange: their scents mingle and twist and frolic in a dance of the beautiful and the divine that I cannot find anywhere else. They weave around each other like daisy chains, flow in and out like calm streams, turn and twist and braid like the hair of a pretty girl I knew once upon a dream....

I have a weakness for pretty girls named Isabel. Not Isabelle, with two l’s slashing through words like paper cuts, nor Isabella, who’s softer sound makes me think of meek and doe-eyed children. Isadora is acceptable, but not preferable. Isabel is the perfect blend of all of these, a gentle tongue-caressing name that swirls around my mouth like pink candy, leaving the taste of sweet sugar on my lips and the scent of child...

She makes me so frustrated it’s almost inhuman. I hate that she smells like strawberries and winter and her complexion is the color of rosebuds in springtime. I hate that she looks just as beautiful in my NFL t-shirt as she does in makeup and a Prada dress. I hate the way her blonde hair glimmers in the sunlight like gold. I hate the way her sea-blue eyes sparkle when she gets happy. I hate the color of her eyes, blue and...

For those of you unaware, this story contains graphic depictions of violence. It is not for the faint of heart. I've rated it EC, but even beyond that, this is not a story that has very much censorship. It may even be a trigger for some. Read at your own risk. Again, this story doesn't reflect the views of me or of Stories Space, and this kind of behavior is NOT condoned. *** Last night I forgot to dream again. Not consci...

------------------------------------- This work within its first few lines contains language or other material which some readers may find offensive. In consideration, Stories Space has hidden the preview of this selection. By choosing to view the piece in its entirety, you agree that you are 18 or older and do not object to such content. -------------------------------------There’s a certain madness within all of us. An...