I realize that I know nothing of the situation and I don’t want to. I let them inject more, as the liquid goes into my body nearly twenty four per seven. I don’t speak I only cough when my body feels like it. I stroke you, running my hands over the pages receiving a papercut. Now there are bloody stains as the nurse makes out a big fuss out of it.
The blood doesn’t stop. I wait for the doctors to call my parents and say that their son is going to die. I stare at them, wondering if they’ll bite my finger off in order for the blood to spring out with the liquid swimming around in my body who knows why.
In the end they manage to stop the blood, as the nurse strokes my hair. I stare at her puffy lips, wondering her age and if she has a boyfriend. I yank myself from her touch, as stupid possibilities of me dating her once I get out flood my head.
But isn’t that what are life is around?
Flooding our head with stupid adventures, luring ourselves into danger we create ourselves? Create a problem out of nothing and see it unsolvable to cry into our crush’s chests? Isn’t it about it?
Because if that’s not what life is about then about what is it?
To shove our tongue into somebody’s throat?
To have babies?
To –
To-
Just do something.
---
I got dragged away into Script Frenzy and forgot about Wednesday.
I'm very sorry, but now well, tomorrow is the last ever chapter of Paperbag Writer, unless something changes, the Exit prologue will be posted this week and the short stories/poems on Wednesday will be resumed as usual.
Noah is one of my favourite ever chracters, so it's hard.
Grand Finale
The blood doesn’t stop. I wait for the doctors to call my parents and say that their son is going to die. I stare at them, wondering if they’ll bite my finger off in order for the blood to spring out with the liquid swimming around in my body who knows why.
In the end they manage to stop the blood, as the nurse strokes my hair. I stare at her puffy lips, wondering her age and if she has a boyfriend. I yank myself from her touch, as stupid possibilities of me dating her once I get out flood my head.
But isn’t that what are life is around?
Flooding our head with stupid adventures, luring ourselves into danger we create ourselves? Create a problem out of nothing and see it unsolvable to cry into our crush’s chests? Isn’t it about it?
Because if that’s not what life is about then about what is it?
To shove our tongue into somebody’s throat?
To have babies?
To –
To-
Just do something.
---
I got dragged away into Script Frenzy and forgot about Wednesday.
I'm very sorry, but now well, tomorrow is the last ever chapter of Paperbag Writer, unless something changes, the Exit prologue will be posted this week and the short stories/poems on Wednesday will be resumed as usual.
Noah is one of my favourite ever chracters, so it's hard.
Grand Finale
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