I let smoke rise from my mouth, it’s kind of like holding my breath. I like watching the smoke rise in front of my face. I pass the hose. Steve makes a face as he inhales through a hose for what seems like a long time. He throws his head back and lets smoke rise from his mouth. I think Steve looks stupid. Do I look stupid? Someone enters the room and says, “Jason smokes hookah?” I’m listening to the smoke cooling, bubbling in the hookah as someone inhales. “I’m seventeen” is a thought I have. The thought becoming distant, I’m smiling a little.

She is gorgeous, like something at the beach. I’m trying to decide if she’s staring at me without looking at her. She smells like Hawaii is what it is. If I move I might touch her. A pretty face, I had hoped she would lose weight—I had discussed this at school during lunch, we all agreed she might be a “good investment.” She had lost weight. Alone in my room I had imagined kissing her, her touching my dick, her being my girlfriend. Sitting next to her, I’m noticing I don’t care—I’m looking around the room, at the TV. Around me the walls appear yellow, but I know the paint is white. She says something I don’t hear and I smile. Someone had told me she wanted me to ask her to prom.  She moves her body on the couch but she isn’t any closer. Can I really feel her trying to get closer? I don’t move. I think I know her name, but if I say it out loud I could discover I’m wrong. Continue reading


Phillip was awake. He was lying on a bed under a sheet and a blanket. Rain was hitting the only window in the room. Phillip pushed buttons on an alarm clock. He looked at a glowing phone. He had received a text message from Cindy, “I don’t feel good today :(.” He nudged the phone off the bed with the back of his hand and the phone fell to the floor. He flipped a pillow over and pressed his face to the pillow. He thought, “Am I cold? Am I warm?” Phillip was asleep.


Phillip was going on a rampage today. Not an insane killing rampage—he had considered that too. He was going on a small, personal, controlled rampage. He was bored with life. “I’m bored with life,” he thought. He was not excited about—things.


The sky was grey and bright and it was lightly raining and Phillip was walking, drinking ice water from a clear plastic cup. He was walking across a college campus. He was thinking about rampaging. Phillip felt rain on his skin and drank from the clear plastic cup. He thought, “I want to rampage now. I am going to start my rampage. What is my rampage? Don’t make weird faces; it’s not an accurate form of communication. Am I cold?” Continue reading