The Author

The author, in his work, must be like God in the Universe, present everywhere and visible nowhere. Gustave Flaubert
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The Pirate and the Girl with stars in her eyes

He was a pirate. You could see it from the sword in the one hand and the patch over his eye. He told everyone that one day he would be the most fearsome pirate to ever sail the ocean. His tiny little brain was packed full of treasure seeking adventures and of fighting bandits on the seven seas.  A few days after his eighth birthday, five people broke into their house. They killed his father and brother and raped his sister and mother, before they finished them off. He was hiding in a pretend cave under his bed when this happened. When they left they also killed Billy, the dog. Cut his fucking head off.  After that he didn’t want to be a pirate anymore. He was forced into an orphanage where he got into a lot of trouble all the time. He hated the mass produced food, the cold rooms, the colder people and the occasional insults from the older boys that eventually turned into inappropriate sexual abuse. He went from being a straight A student to failing two years in a row. Then another year and then — fuck school. Fuck the system. That attitude came with new […]
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Dead Zone

As I take the call, I step into a puddle of water, maybe it’s piss, maybe it’s blood from a mutated rat — I don’t bother to look. It’s after six and past my afternoon confession time with Jomo, and his generous hand.  I try to shake whatever I stepped on from my boot but it sticks like bloody fingers.  Makes me wanna get to Saint’s even quicker, so I up my pace. Time to drown my sorrows or perhaps I’ll meditate on the insignificance of life. “You know how it is Coldman,” the Captain continues on the other side, running with the stupid joke I have heard so many times.  “Crime don’t got no time.” I know that, just like anybody else in this godforsaken city, on this wretched planet.  “I’ll be there in an hour,” I say. “Make it thirty.” We settle on forty-five, which gives me half an hour with Jomo. Thirty minutes to knock back a few. Thirty minutes to give him the lowdown on all the nasty shit I encountered today. The Cap had said that this one was especially hairy. I forgot to ask him if he meant that literally. Like I need more […]
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