Night out on the town.
I woke up in a dream—hands drenched in blood. Eyes burning—almost shut.
Arms like rubber.
He was dead. He was finally dead.
Praise the higher power who gave me the power to end his miserable life.
Good riddance. You are nothing, just after birth. Just a mistake and you won’t replace my true friend.
You make me wish hell was real.
Bloody, red, catharsis.
No one made sense and it was all noise. I did my best and that seemed to be good enough.
Other foot is where the shoe was and it fit fine. I’d been this person before, not as myself but I could see them, struggling to find similar words and get my stupid attention.
You might as well have slapped American on my forehead, or so I thought. In many other instances people simply assumed I spoke French.
In many ways that’s refreshing. No preconceived notions it seemed and that was fine by me.
Written by Michael Lorenzo Porter
The next issue of EB Zine is upon us and here is a short story written by EB’s Jonathan Sheppard.