 I'll confess. This is my very first blog and I don't know what I am doing. As a matter of fact, I was once offended by the notion of blogging, but now find myself in a position where I must go with the flow, as no one says anymore . . . except for Queens of the Stoneage. Consider this my first point of "selling out". Please, don't hate me. Or do. At any rate, as some of you may know, I have spent quite a bit of my youth paying for things that shouldn't cost money, such as food, education, etc. (C'mon, should college really cost all that much? I mean, I'm paying to work. It's like I'm prostituting my mind for a slip of paper, barely proving that I am competent at whatever I may dream of doing.) Aside from the rant . . . I have worked for a grocery store since I was a high school junior--something I should just omit--and all the way to my junior year at Ball State University. For me, this comes to unfortunate expense. I am a clerk. In other words, the lowest level of being a peasant. The funny thing is, though, shoppers babble without forethought. And since I work in a produce department, that means everyone who eats real food informs me of their personal lives. And, that means YOU. But, not you, Cheetos and W.O.W. man. Not you. Sometimes, I will just space out on the job. Heavy-ass box in hands, I sometimes stand to eve's drop. Sometimes I tip over. And, of course, it's not by choice. There's just nothing else to do. I mean, I could do anything in the world, but for some reason I choose to hand-stack apples and rotate cucumbers. Listening to people gossip and/or bicker is usually the highlight of my day. However, although a smile surfaces on my face as I hear the chatter, I cannot recall particular events all that well. This is simply because I enter a better state-of-mind once I clock out for the day. I repress the memories, as I should. But, when a great "convo moment" occurs, I will be sure to paste it on this blog, granted I can figure this whole website/blogging thing out. For now, go forth and loiter. Sit around and listen to others speak . . . but not directly to you. Just eve's drop. It's fun. Stalk someone at Wally World. Do whatever. But just give it a try; and don't get arrested. It can conjure light into even the darkness realms of depression. When people just chat, they can either say the most articulate, meaningful messages life has to offer, or they can just sound extremely dumb. It's usually the latter, which is more interesting, anyway. 'Til then, stay tuned. Or surfing. Just bookmark my page and come back when something important really happens. And, don't forget to listen in on others' lives.
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AboutFear, focus, and the future. C.M. Humphries talks about writing, horror, and whatever. Archives
October 2018
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Her sharp nails clench my wrist and pull me closer, until I can see my reflection. From my forehead to the bridge of my nose, my flesh melts away, developing into a dark abyss much like her own.
Akin to a knife in my chest, a stabbing pain flares my lungs with each rapid breath. I spring upright in my bed at the sound of a loud rapping. My heartbeat echoes around the room; the sound is thumping in my eardrums, as if it derives from my head.
Akin to a knife in my chest, a stabbing pain flares my lungs with each rapid breath. I spring upright in my bed at the sound of a loud rapping. My heartbeat echoes around the room; the sound is thumping in my eardrums, as if it derives from my head.
Deep breaths through my nostrils, deep into my lungs, and out of my mouth, I focus in on silencing my erratic sounds. My heartbeat becomes nothing more than an unfamiliar drum in the background. I hear the knocking again.
READ MORE: "Facade"
