God, everything has become so grey all the fucking time. I hate the way other people push me to the back of their lives. Feels like I'm a tissue that just gets tossed into the waste basket after one dry sneeze. "Robot" isn't an apt description, because they still eat, breath, feel. Yet their heart…
Darrell is just like anyone else. He has an apartment, takes the bus, listens to The Beatles and wears the skulls of his enemies on a lanyard. Really great guy. You could come to Darrell with anything. "My girlfriend has started hanging out with other guys, and isn't spending much time with me any more."…
A producer dies and goes to heaven. Time to produce.
It was a somber night. One full of dread, depression and fear. Being so alone for so long wasn't the issue. When I came home to an empty apartment every night I wasn't a whimpering sack of shit. No, I made dinner, watched some TV and went to bed; then I'd do it all over…
With every glance Eric was losing his foothold within his own mind. The appearance, the noises, the odour acted as fish-hooks, rending and striping away his grounded consciousness. "This isn't happening." Paraded through his psyche with less effect on the maelstrom of madness, swirling and churning through his mortal shell. Eric could feel the walls folding…
This is the excerpt for your very first post.
ofwhatmusing 