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No Exit To (II)

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  II. Through the Eyes of Someone Else  Wednesday, May 22 nd , 2019 The scatterbrain of a leasing agent that showed me around decided to wait until the  end  of the tour to inform me the room wasn’t available anymore; it was mid-process of being leased out as we spoke on that porch. I bit the inside of my cheeks, exhaled a frustrated sigh. She had wasted my time. I wanted to lash out but didn’t because it wasn’t worth it. “We have a waitlist. I-I can put your name down, if you’d like.” Batting those cute doe-like eyes at me was pointless on her part. I was aware of what the leasing agent was doing. Damage control. The frustrated anger on my face was clearer than the moon on a night without clouds. Being able to mask my emotions wasn’t my best skill.  “Don’t worry about it.” I declined the suggestion, huffing. It wasn’t the end of the world. I would just look elsewhere. The woman received a begrudging  thank you  for her time. I immediately headed for m...

No Exit To (I)

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  Preface The title of this story is in reference to a play written by Jean-Paul Sartre called  No Exit.  The play is about "three characters who who find themselves waiting in a mysterious room. It's a depiction of the afterlife in which three deceased characters are punished by being locked into a room together for eternity." It sounds comical to say but then again, I've never read the play or watched any of the movie adaptions. I read the play's synopsis via Wikipedia; I also had no idea who Sartre was prior to reading about him.  There's a famous line in Sartre's play, "Hell is other people." I believe I heard this line on Criminal Minds. You know how at the beginning of each episode, it starts off with one of the characters reciting a quote? I was intrigued by the phrase because I thought it was pretty clever.  For those who've never read the play either, you're probably wondering what Sartre meant by this quote. I found the answer h...

The Girl in the Wych Elm (XVI)

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  XVI. Sins of the King. Grief of the Father.  The day of Apollo Hightower’s funeral had arrived. A somber air had settled upon the estate. So heavy it felt like treading through sludge. The service was in the next hour, but Solomon was at Josie’s mausoleum instead of getting ready. The black blazer was draped over his arm. The white shirt he wore was untucked and partly buttoned. Puffiness from all the crying he had done the night before had settled heavy on his face. Solomon was the epitome of a broken man shattered by yet another tragedy. A father crippled by unbearable grief over the horrific loss of his only child. He groveled before Josie’s statue, pleading for forgiveness over Apollo’s gruesome death. Shortly before Josie’s own death, she told her husband to make sure their son was always cared for.   As he reflected on the conversation from the past, Solomon wondered if Josie said those words because she had sensed her own demise around the corner. Nevertheless, h...