Your favorite Life at 160 stories, freshly waxed and polished. If you are new here, treat these stories as a sort of relevant prologue to the main story in progress on the main pages.
Eventually this page will house the previously unseen, final versions the Billed Hourly saga, the Kate incident, the Polygraph brief, and the epic Blackout. There is no timeline for getting this page complete – it’s primary purpose being to prevent me from burning out on the new story. Hopefully, for the sake of the new story, it takes me a long time.
Sarah knelt on the floor and wept uncontrollably. Moments earlier, she had grabbed a steak knife from the nearby block and pushed it into her exposed stomach. There was a small pool of blood collecting on the linoleum beneath her body, but her injury was minor. She didn’t have the nerve to complete the task she so dramatically threatened. I stood over her, sipping Johnny Walker Green from a novelty mason jar.
When your girlfriend asks you to take a lie detector test, the relationship is likely already kaput. If you lied about whatever she thinks you lied about, and it takes a lie detector to get the truth out, there will be no forgiveness. And if, by some stroke of luck, you pass the test, her extreme lack of trust forces you to end the relationship.
About every six months, I do a bit of self-reflection and realize that I’m utterly and completely without any redeeming quality. Of course, rather than take the time to treat my underlying problems, which stem primarily from deep-seated issues related to my inability to get over one particular rejection and the accompanying rampant substance abuse, I generally just band-aid my problems with fleeting passion.
The proposal was not romantic. We were fighting. I arrived late to dinner, which she had prepared, smelling strongly of whiskey and another woman’s perfume. “I’m tired of this!” she screamed after a minute of discussion, and violently pushed herself away from the table, rattling the plates and flatware.
As 2010 faded, I was drifting. Work was busy and I was in a stable relationship but, though I wouldn’t describe my life as boring, I was bored. Not to sound ridiculous or over-dramatic, but writing is my intellectual outlet. It’s something, maybe the only thing, in which my skill is still supremely imperfect. So I enjoy it more than anything else.
Old Story Archive
Your favorite Life at 160 stories, freshly waxed and polished. If you are new here, treat these stories as a sort of relevant prologue to the main story in progress on the main pages.
Eventually this page will house the previously unseen, final versions the Billed Hourly saga, the Kate incident, the Polygraph brief, and the epic Blackout. There is no timeline for getting this page complete – it’s primary purpose being to prevent me from burning out on the new story. Hopefully, for the sake of the new story, it takes me a long time.
Sarah knelt on the floor and wept uncontrollably. Moments earlier, she had grabbed a steak knife from the nearby block and pushed it into her exposed stomach. There was a small pool of blood collecting on the linoleum beneath her body, but her injury was minor. She didn’t have the nerve to complete the task she so dramatically threatened. I stood over her, sipping Johnny Walker Green from a novelty mason jar.
When your girlfriend asks you to take a lie detector test, the relationship is likely already kaput. If you lied about whatever she thinks you lied about, and it takes a lie detector to get the truth out, there will be no forgiveness. And if, by some stroke of luck, you pass the test, her extreme lack of trust forces you to end the relationship.
About every six months, I do a bit of self-reflection and realize that I’m utterly and completely without any redeeming quality. Of course, rather than take the time to treat my underlying problems, which stem primarily from deep-seated issues related to my inability to get over one particular rejection and the accompanying rampant substance abuse, I generally just band-aid my problems with fleeting passion.
The proposal was not romantic. We were fighting. I arrived late to dinner, which she had prepared, smelling strongly of whiskey and another woman’s perfume. “I’m tired of this!” she screamed after a minute of discussion, and violently pushed herself away from the table, rattling the plates and flatware.
As 2010 faded, I was drifting. Work was busy and I was in a stable relationship but, though I wouldn’t describe my life as boring, I was bored. Not to sound ridiculous or over-dramatic, but writing is my intellectual outlet. It’s something, maybe the only thing, in which my skill is still supremely imperfect. So I enjoy it more than anything else.