Contemporaneous: Chapter 1
I sit in front of the computer, typing these words without much idea of where they’ll go. Not that there aren’t ideas. There are always ideas. I’ve never had any problem with ideas. But they came with the promise of anticipation. Two published but underperforming novels later, that anticipation isn’t so buoyant anymore. It’s a jaded and resigned prick – if it was a barfly, it’d be the old drunk who rambles about how good things used to be, and sees no merit in the future. Procrastination’s easier too. Check social media that doesn’t need checking. Play 2 on 2 Open Ice Challenge on the PC arcade emulator that sits…
22
I wake to the dream I’m in a world of broken glass. It’s everywhere: glittering slivers wafting in the air I breathe; jagged shards cobbled in the path I stand upon; serrated flakes that are tiled in glimmering fields, before rising into precariously stacked mountains; and a sky that might be a shattered mirror. I’m twenty-five and going through my second serious bout of depression, struggling to find functionality and purpose in a life that feels like it’s irreparably breaking. It’s not surprising to be here. Part of me, I think, abides here, and it’s a case of just how present I am. Now I am wholly here. Every step…