One Page Stories

Attraction. Distraction. In two words, has never been, a closer connection.

On the dance floor instructed by the best of DJ guru's you can reach the higher planes. As long as you are not dancing in NYC, where people only spiral downward. Sarah swayed from side to side, feeling the energy feeling the vibe. Behind her closed eyes, stars

I drafted a man without enterprise whose sole purpose was to play chess with God. Our paths crossed every morning, they had to -we used the same door. To my amazement, the player walked through first-every-single-day. When our morning meetings stopped it left me wondering. Should have I picked up

"I don't know, man..." "What?" "I just wake up in the morning and... I don't know." "Yeah. I know. I know what you mean." "Right? Like everyone's like out there... doing their shit you know.

The raspberry jam tickled her curious mind with its most peculiar taste. What is it? A smile of the lover in the white sheets draped in the sunrise warmth? A spark flowing in the current with every jolt of the tongue? The one hungry winter night at the morgue? Now

Skin melted. From pale white to the oversaturated red and final crisp darkest black. Skin perceived. Her image of herself changed forever. Beautiful in its uniqueness, shunned by the public eye. Skin embodied. It is I in this body, not my body who is I. The deep cuts had barely

Alora. Sintinare este mifiacco. Me rinticcio ponto eeee... ponto este morivente. Fantago ismo tristo velaveste. "Si." Prente, mi amo. Ovente e ti miento bene a porlevisiante. "Eeeee... no. Ti vene insignito." va ne mi erda esmuta si vi claro en mento. O-ti cal mare ten i

Welcome to my life with APD, alias hear all the conversations happening at the same time and totally don't get confused by it and be absolutely focused on the person you are speaking to. When your mind is louder than the bustling cafe, you stop to think: "

Why is the women's touch as tactile as a razor's cut and a feather's tail? Where along the way a request came for a nail to puncture a blood's veil? Which of us have the skin, plated this deep thick, to be

Does little regret mean I've lived too little? Done too few mistakes to learn and grow from? Why is the drama so much more enticing than a calculated approach? I instinctively answer my own question: "Because boring is boring." How am I to treasure my life,