Outlast

I slump into my kitchen chair and knock the coffee cup with my elbow. It hits the floor and I watch it through a fog, like it’s happening in a room on the other side of the world. The liquid slides across the linoleum and my eyes flick back to the device.

Numbers roll and I wonder if one of them represents Hailey.

I pull my hoodie closer. My skin is clammy; it reminds me of a dead fish. I sit, rock, mutter to myself like the crackheads who live in the elbows of Dixon Bridge. I wait.

For what? Time to pass? Everyone in 2004 to die?

A voice floats into my head. You wanted to win the game, right?

“Yes,” I say out loud to the air, to my bleeding coffee, to the device sitting in front of me. “Yes, I wanted to win. But not like this. Not until I reached one-hundred and four. Not until old age claimed my organs and shut me down. Peacefully. In bed. Surrounded by doting friends and family.”





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)