One day. They
got out of the car and drank from the icy stream. The water was cold and sweet.
Across the road was an endless field with acres and acres of tall sunflowers
staring at the sun.
Dear friends,
Have you ever had this sort of panicking realization, that
you’ve reached a certain age, but all that you’ve accomplished is nothing but
circling around, aimlessly, fruitlessly and pointlessly?
I haven’t finish anything in two
months. At first, I felt kinda nervous about it. But then, I just felt plain exhausted.
At certain point, I just stopped thinking about it. But that’s not entirely
true, for something is always stirring, itchy deep down and on my skin.
This
piece is short, incomplete in a way, but it progressed really slowly when I was
writing it. I started it on April 24, didn’t finish it till June 6, and it’s
only a couple thousand words!
I
was working at a translation company at the time. The workload and exhaustion
must have affected the way I expressed my ideas. Ironically, I had long since
stopped working for the company, but now I’m not writing anything at all.
Don’t
you wish that you could just catch a break? Just finally, entitled not to care
any more? “What you own ends up owning you.” How convenient would it be, if
there were a more minute way to self-liberation, so the dramatic freedom could
be experienced and shared without burning down the house.
But
don’t you mind me. I’m just saying.
Preview- Fish
Scott climbed
out of the car, still breathing heavily. When he tried to put on his pants, he
realized there’s blood over his lower body. When he looked up. He saw a girl
killed, head twisted, limps twisted, all covered in blood, another crawling
away on the ground, naked, except a piece of cloth around her waist that’s to
be her cheerleading skirt, real or not. And three blood stained monsters
looking straight back at him, before zooming out to be his death-taking
brothers, thicker than blood.
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