Category: ‘short story’

death. 14 of 22.

January 6, 2011 Posted by the writer

death

Accepting it does not solve matters, as one might assume.

Shortly after I left Anthony’s, I was more confident than ever before. Contrary to constructing assurance, this broke down everything I wanted to believe.

Deep down, I always wished to be normal.

I accepted this would never be. I realized complete surrender was my only chance of survival. This was a difficult task for me. Certainly you have heard the common saying, “The truth will set you free.”

I could not imagine a more deceitful phrase. (more…)

the hanged man. 13 of 22.

January 5, 2011 Posted by the writer

the hanged man

Our business brought psychological comfort to myself, Anthony and our clients. When Anthony could tell that I had accepted mediumship he asked me a question that altered me all over, “Do you know who it is that you’re hearing?”

I wanted to tell you in a different way…

It was my father.

Anthony supported this fact with more details. He taught me about guides, unseen spirits. “They come and go you know,” he preached. “You don’t have the same one all of the time. Your father has always been in and out of your life, you could always tell, I’m sure.”

He was right. (more…)

justice. 12 of 22.

January 4, 2011 Posted by the writer

justice

You must know that I wanted to chase you. Follow you off the train. Tell that dreadful red-head beckoning you to seek other interests.

Tell you all of this then.

But that was impossible. Too many consequences.

I was concerned you might mistake my keen balance of emotion and rationality as being phlegmatic. I sent you three dozen long stem roses with no card. When you asked the red-head who sent them, you received a bashful smile and eye-blink in return.

Knowing that didn’t make me jealous. I am not a jealous person.

Do you understand our history in this city yet?

I wanted to tell you sooner. (more…)

the wheel of fortune. 11 of 22.

January 3, 2011 Posted by the writer

wheel of fortune

I was not expecting to see you that day, riding the subway, sitting across from me.

You are one of the only things capable of truly surprising me.

I tried not to stare at you. I nervously tapped my foot. I pretended to read. I acted like I wasn’t eavesdropping when someone with red hair leant in close to you and said, “This feels like it’s taking forever. How many more stops?”

And you said, “Only a few more darling. My place is on Orchard Street.”

Then you looked at me while the stranger bit your ear. You were surprised that neither of us looked away. You tilted your head to the left.

I did not smile. I did not blink. (more…)

the hermit. 10 of 22.

January 2, 2011 Posted by the writer

the hermit

During the four weeks prior to moving in with Anthony I only left my apartment a handful of times. I stayed inside reading books and sitting in silence. Although the silence I refer to does not fall into any category of isolation’s hush.

I was listening quite closely.

I would have stayed if I had known. I would have been more careful.

I read books by Richard Cavendish and Aleister Crowley. I listened to Tibetan chants. I fasted for days at a time. I considered approaching you.

I knew where you were. Closer than ever before. (more…)

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    FollowMeToNYC is a creative processing ground which expresses individual ideas that often change with the tides. Naturally, these ideas do not reflect those of any of my employers, or anyone else you might see me wandering down the street with one day.
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