1.

How does a man, standing on the brink of oblivion, decide to abandon his life, his memories, and in which order - Does he toss a coin - because every day of your life is another page turned, making the past inerasable; and do you flip a coin to your bidding, and how?



Colton stood among the leaves in the quiet motion of their own, and looked…

She bites her lips in love, down upon the bed corner, knees drawn all the way up to her chin, a figure poor in dread, and rich in love with the secret withheld. Curled upon the unmarred sheets, with signs of love like little painted daubs upon her face, crimson in color and telling no lies.

She had drawn the curtains down partially, as to bring little light, hoping for twilight in her little room, knowing that the colors of love shone the brightest in a well kept…

I held the charcoal piece, knifed down to resemble, however clumsily, a magnet for all impression, fretting against the wall, almost apologetic in execution. Like a sixth finger but only with a mind of its own, not quite fitting in, or out.



The sketch looked back, feminine outlines with voids of white, curved lips and eyes with expressions standing out as all art forms spared the abuse of too much color do.



And while it stayed, however briefly, the sketch was hard to…

1

Under the pretext of writing, every writer worth his salt has come to know himself through the greater pain that drove him, the ever blind literary godhead oblivious of the pain of the underdog at its disposal, all the while knowing little of it as the hammer does of the nail.

Zoom in to read if you may, and you would know that every writer but strives to write his own epitaph,…