lit fic

Realizing you’ve been accidentally masturbating to yourself for the last five minutes would be a disturbingly Dorian Gray situation for most, but for me it was a weekday in June, alone in my apartment.

Down the mountain stood the boy who stood there every morning. Every single morning.

The thick rug warmed under my criss-crossed legs. Pins and needles descended down my legs to my feet, prickling them, though I dared not move. The room was as still as stars, crystalized in time, fragile. I heard my father breathing through his mouth as he always did. A low, yet consistent huff sound like

The hot June sun beat down on the rippling lake water, which in turn beat against the sandy shoreline of the lake house’s property. Birds dove in between the lime green foliage up above, and bees hummed back and forth between the endless bouquets of flowers. People lowered their voices to a whisper the nearer they got to the coffin, Henry noticed, though he never quite understood why. As perhaps unsentimental as it sounded, it wasn’t like they could hear you.