He forgets things, because when he remembers it hurts. He isn’t sure about whether something has happened or not, whether it was a dream turned in to reality, or a reality turned in to a dream.
His understanding of deja vu is limited to knowing this:
“The feeling that you are involved in an event that is repeating, which has not yet occurred”
It’s vague and weak, but it is enough to deter him from wanting it to happen often. It stabs his mind like a knife in a slab of meat. Piercing the several layers of flesh, and forcing itself through until...
Twist the teats for more
James stood at the train platform. It was dark, and musty in odour. He was used to the foul unrecognisable smells from the train station. By the time he used to get home, he’d end up sneezing, and clearing out his nostrils.
The tissue would be left with a black, power dry residue. Today was no different to any other day. Tired from a long day at the office, Jason often tempted fate by standing as close to the edge as possible, rocking back and forth on his heels, laughing to himself as he did. He was often told off by...
Twist the teats for more
I’m not a writer. Don’t let this little site fool you. I’m very much a pretentious, arrogant, irritating bastard. Saying I like to write is perhaps a disguise for the fact that I am not human. Fuck knows. I certainly don’t.
Over months, perhaps years? Fuck knows. I’ve tried to write, and sometimes I wrote stuff and threw it away. I wonder if I still have my suicide letter/novel. It was something I wrote that I gave to someone in the hope that I would be dead. A friend took it and added a critique to it. It was a relief...
Twist the teats for more