1) That feeling when you stub your toe that makes you wish you didn’t have a pinky toe

2) The double checking you have everything you need before leaving the house only to realize you forgot at least one thing five minutes down the road

3) The awkward silence of walking with someone then say goodbye and walking in the same direction still

4) The walking into one room only to forget what you came in there for so you walk back through the rest of the rooms to try to figure out what you went in the first room for

5) The waiting to open the microwave until the very last second.

6) The trying to balance the light switch in the very center. (That or else flicking it on and off to annoy someone)

7) The way you flick a light switch on and off like ten times before leaving it be when you don’t have any idea what light it turns on and off.

8) The way you read and write like that’s the only way you will survive

9) The staring at the three dots in messages when someone is typing until they stop and you jump to conclusions.

10) The walking toward someone walking toward you and the awkward shuffle where you both step to one side and then to the other until one person concedes and stands still while the other passes

* I had no time to edit this for grammar.

The funeral was over. It was time to head home, but Before Sam Smith did, the pastor had a word with

him. “ Your brother was a good man. I am sorry it had to happen like this.” Sam nodded his head slowly.

With his last relative dead, Sam’s life was empty. He walked away from the pastor and loaded up into his car without saying anything. He had nothing to say. The lonely man carefully pulled into his driveway and sat there for a

minute. His head tilted forward and spilled onto the steering wheel. His body shook with fear and depression, as he choked back the tears. Slowly, he unbuckled, and slipped his hand around the door handle. Sam walked up to his house with his shoulders slumped, and entered through the front door.

The next few hours were not very kind to him. The sun slipped behind the earth as he lay on the couch, drinking.

It was dark. It was lonely. It was haunting. He had to do something. Sam woke up with a start; his beer hit the floor and the drink ran everywhere. He was sweating wildly. His breathing was at top speed. He could feel his heart beating madly. He glanced over at the seat next to him. He had downed an

entire six pack, and he could feel it.

“ I have to go somewhere. I have to get out of this haunting house. I have to go on a walk. Maybe I can find the pastor; he is my only friend. He can help me”

Sam lumbered out of his front door and tripped into the driveway. Awkwardly, he made his voyage down the sidewalk. Step by step, getting closer to his destination. He staggered into the church parking lot. The buzz had hit him hard. He could no longer feel his legs. He could barely control his movement.

He stumbled along towards the graveyard, Or at what he was pretty sure was the graveyard.

He heard movement next to him, it must have been a bird because he heard creaking from a tree right next to the noise. It was so dark; he could barely see anything.

“ I have to find the pastor. He is my only hope. I need to talk to someone, or at least be close to my brother.”

He stopped suddenly, and squinted his eyes. Could that be his brothers grave in front of him. It looked something like it, but he could barely see or think for himself. Suddenly, he heard a muffled yelp from

behind him. He swirled around and tripped over himself. His body crashed onto the floor like a lightning bolt.

“ who’s there?” He asked aloud, though it came out more like a mumble than a question. A haunting reply followed.

“ Its happening! I can feel it. MY MIND IS LOST AND MY BODY IS TRANSFORMING”

“ I SAID WHO’SE THERE”

No response came. Sam tried to climb to his feet, and leave this horrid place. Erie silence filled the room. He screamed again.

"HELLO"

THUD!

Sam’s body sunk back onto the floor.

The next day, Sam woke up in a torn and bloody mess. He was barely alive.

“ what happened to me” he thought to himself as he looked at the ceiling of a church building.

“ No, it isn’t possible.” Suddenly, Sam understood what had happened the night before.

He had never made it to the graveyard. He had heard a door creak as it swung open and he was lead

into the building where he was trapped, and all alone. He had been cornered by a visitor. That was the

“bird” he had heard. Then he remembered the voice that had called out and warned him that it was

transforming, and had already gone half evil. He recognized that voice. Where had he heard it before?

It does not matter, before he died, Sam realized that only one man had the keys to the church.

My name is Brandon Lake, and I am a normal person. I work a 9-to-5, just like so many other people are forced to. It’s not glamorous or interesting, but hey, money is money. I own a small apartment on the third floor of some building in the city - again, nothing fancy, but I’m happy enough just to have a roof over my head and food on my table. I’m just handsome enough to be a mostly successful flirt, but average enough that I don’t stand out in a crowd, which is how I like it. Yeah, that’s me. Average. Everything about me is no different than anyone else.

On this particular day, I feel a little more tired than usual. Nothing major - it happens from time to time, days when my desk chair feels a bit tougher, my paperwork feels a bit more unbearable. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed by treating myself to a few drinks at some bar down the road.

Sighing, I switch off my computer for the day and heave myself out of my chair. I automatically return the distracted waves of my few remaining coworkers as I pass by their cubicles on my way out.

Exiting the building, I am swept up in a wave of people on the sidewalk during rush hour, desperate to escape from the prisons where they’ve spent the past eight hours or more. Across the street, a neon bar sign catches my eye, barely visible in the slowly darkening evening. Why not? I think to myself. Maybe I can have a little fun.

The first hour is a blur. A few coworkers show up, and I talk with them for a while out of courtesy. The popular, beaty music pounds in my head. Then I see her.

She’s pretty. Young, blonde, alone. Perfect. I manage to catch her eye from the other side of the bar. I buy her a daiquiri - my favourite. We talk. She tells me that she’s an English major, graduating next year, and that she’s originally from a small town about two hours away. We exchange a few witty remarks, and I start to enjoy myself. She’s interesting.

She seems uncomfortable with the idea of coming back to my place, or of me going back with her, so I suggest taking a walk in a nearby park instead. She seems relieved, glad to know that I haven’t been talking to her just so I can use her once or twice, then abandon her.

We talk for what seems like hours, sitting near a small, artificial pond, gazing up at what we can see of the stars. I smile, a genuine one for perhaps the first time all day. I’m starting to like her.

I’m not really sure what I do to freak her out - maybe I laugh at something I shouldn’t, or maybe I don’t when I should. Maybe I let something slip by my carefully planned responses for these situations, or go too far with a joke.

It doesn’t matter now. The mood has been killed.

She inspects me closely, suddenly uncertain about talking with a stranger in a park in the middle of the night. I can feel her growing distant.

What’s the matter, I ask her. She doesn’t respond, and pulls herself to her feet. I ask again.

She turns to leave, telling me over her shoulder that she feels creeped out all of a sudden, and gives some half-assed excuse about having to work tomorrow. I can tell she’s lying.

I ask if I’m the reason she’s leaving. She hesitates. I know what that means.

She thinks I’m a freak.

My hand closes around the nearest object, a heavy grey rock lying on the ground near me. I stand in one fluid, practiced motion, clearing the short distance between us by the time she spins around to face me again. I can see the whites of her eyes, open wide in fear, as I raise the rock clenched in my fist above her head.

She doesn’t have time to scream. The only sound she can make is a small exclamation of shock and pain that is quickly drowned out by the sickening thud of the rock crashing into her skull. She falls limply to the ground, and I continue to bash her head, over and over, until she’s no longer recognizable, until I get sick of the nauseating squelching noises that accompany each blow. Finally, I straighten up again, surveying my work for a second, the rock, now slick and red, still in my hand.

I stand next to her bleeding, broken body for a few minutes, looking up at the stars, barely visible behind the glow of city lights. I sigh heavily.

Great. So much for my relaxing evening.

I drag what’s left of her into the pond, dropping the stone in after her, and scrub the blood and brains from my hands. My movements are practiced, robotic, as if I’ve done this a hundred times before.

How many times have I done this, anyway?

I leave the park swiftly, walk a few blocks away, then call a cab. Luckily, I’m able to use my coat to hide the remaining bloodstains on my sleeves and chest.

I return to my apartment and change clothes. I go into a nearby alleyway and gingerly place my ruined garments in an old, metal trash can that the homeless in the area often use for warmth and set it alight. I head back home and settle into bed.

As usual, morning comes far too early. I unwillingly trudge my way back to work yet again. When I open the door, my office is silent. My coworkers are all standing, transfixed, watching the news on the television. A reporter in a royal blue suit is talking about the body found in the park earlier that morning, her eyes full of sorrow and concern. She says that the victim has been identified, and a recent picture of the girl I had spent the night before with flashes up on the screen. I stared back at her.

A shame. She really was quite pretty.

My name is Brandon Lake, and I am a normal person. I’m an office worker, enjoy a good daiquiri after a hard day, and don’t really get the appeal of loud, repetitive dance music. Like anyone else, I have certain likes and dislikes. I’m perfectly normal. And I fucking hate it when people say that I’m not.

Roses are red

violets are blue

your oozing blood's

a tantalizing hue

that makes me lick

my lips in glee

anticipating

the taste of thee

that bewitching sight

your pulsing vein

the beat of life

I seek to drain

each ruby drop

ahhh, heavenly bliss

though it marks your end,

alas, our first -and last- kiss

I find myself trippin’ over the words I love you

It’s like everlasting love grew

In places where there were voided muse

I’m hesitant yet steady

I want to say the words

but I’m failing to get them out of my head

My only worry is not hearing them back

Separation anxiety whispers daily by my side

“He will leave”

“This won’t last”

“Leave him alone, this is too good of a match”

and yet here I stand hand in hand

As I stare blankly into space

You’re my perfect person

I feel the love with all good intentions

I come back and it’s you right by my side

I want to say the words

but I’m hesitant

daffodils,

you picked a handful of them from the earth,

and handed them to me,

i always wanted someone to give me flowers,

so i was ecstatic when you did,

but now i watch the small petals shrivel,

and fall to the floor,

i am left with a stem,

reminding me of what we once were,

- the flowers cease to exist.