Sweet [43]

The scent of you is sweet, and it is hell to be away.

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365 is a hypertext fiction project. One piece of writing every day.

Early to Rise [42]

In the morning he rose, said his prayers, and set to work on the robot. When he had completed the day’s work, he returned to bed without a thought for that immortal man in the sky. He had given his robot a sliver of divinity.

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365 is a hypertext fiction project. One piece of writing every day.

Philosophy [41]

Gazing up at the ice-laden trees from a snow bank returns to me the vigor of youth and the naive philosophy that the stars and clouds in the vault are but playthings.

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365 is a hypertext fiction project. One piece of writing every day.

Talk Heavy [40]

“She never showed up for our brunch yesterday.”
“Rude.”
“Not even a phone call.”
“Disrespectful.”
“I already had everything prepared.”
“Miserable.”
“Not an email, not a text, not so much as a ring.”
“Awful.”
“All the food, to waste.”
“Unthinkable.”
He turned away from the women’s conversation and gazed out the train window, longing for noise-canceling headphones.

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365 is a hypertext fiction project. One piece of writing every day.

Bartend [39]

He rolled the glass along the bar counter until it slipped and he caught it with index finger and thumb.
“You ready to settle up?” the bartender had already removed the glass from the counter.
“Settle up, settle down. No.” He said and slammed down a twenty.
The bartender snatched the bill and withdrew to help another customer.
“I wasn’t ready,” he said.
“I don’t think he cares,” a woman said, blowing into his ear.
He spun around to find her, but she was already grabbing her coat and hat.

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365 is a hypertext fiction project. One piece of writing every day.