Group Counselling, Day 3, Part I [Short Story – The Early Birds]

Part 3 of Group Counselling Day 2, Part 2 (Short Story)

This part can be read seperately.


10:34 am, Saturday Morning, Counselling Building’s Lobby

“…Yeah, I was diagnosed with clinical depression but I refused to take my medications.”

“Really. Why?”

“I’ve seen what those strong anti-depressants do to people. I rather be dead on my own terms, than be unintentionally brain-dead.”

Continue reading “Group Counselling, Day 3, Part I [Short Story – The Early Birds]”

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Group Counselling Day 2, Part 1 (Short Story)

The Continuation of Group Counselling Day 1 (Short Story)


 Another Saturday morning came by, Cora was infront of the sandpaper Group Counselling Building, with her dark skin shining in the sunlight, her tangled hair packed in a petite ponytail, her bleached blue jumpsuit swishing in the wind, her leather messenger bag secured across her chest, and her feet, buried in dirty-white Vans. 

Continue reading “Group Counselling Day 2, Part 1 (Short Story)”

I’m Afraid of Running Out of Ideas! (Truthful Hour)

I’m afraid that, at this very moment, my ambition is quite unhealthy but necessary because for now my artistry is my only saving grace, my only source of peace—and sometimes, my only source of self-worth (I’ll talk about this more later). But this is why I coined the term—Needy Artistry—as my blog title. My blog title symbolizes who I am at this moment—for as I write this blog post—I have choosen the path of obsession, total and complete absorption in my craft, as I’ve poetically confessed in my prior blog post, This Little Piece (Free-write Poem).

However, a horrible fear of running out of ideas has also emerged from my will to constantly create. 

Continue reading “I’m Afraid of Running Out of Ideas! (Truthful Hour)”

Toxic Games (Short Story)

The August heat had willed Joshua to tie his hair into a poorly structured man-bun, willed his fair face to be laced with sweat, willed his fairly slim build to be dressed in a white tank top and knee-length cargo. While Genet’s shoulder-length hair retained its curls, her bronze face shined, and her favorite summer dress, blue and white with slits on the sides, complemented her long legs. 

The couple were seating on a dusty bench, waiting for the bus that would take them home, dubiously, across from the Dollar store where Joshua had stolen a bag of blue marbles. 

Continue reading “Toxic Games (Short Story)”

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