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in case of fire

“in case of fire, do not use elevator.” my brother didn’t. he used the stairs, like all the signs told him to. he ran down ten flights of stairs in his underwear only to find that the door leading outside was chained. from the outside. he kicked and screamed and tried to force the door open, but to no avail. he suffocated.


my sister told me this story the other day: when her previous boyfriend told her that he wanted to fuck her, she wasn’t surprised. she could see it in his eyes. so she told him that sure, he could fuck her, but he had to be protected first. he had to bring protection. the next night she heard a knock on her door, and there he was, her boyfriend, along with two goons in sunglasses and spiffy suits. “protection,” he said, patting both of them on the back. she left him a week later.

you shouldn’t tell

when i told her i liked her, her skin grew pale. when i told her i really, really liked her, her hair began to fall out. when i told her i liked her more than anyone else i’d ever liked, her clothes began to tear apart at the seams. when i told her i loved her, she crumbled into dust and drifted away on a north-easterly breeze.

daytime dilemma (dangers of not knowing what to name a story and thus having to steal one from the song you’re listening to at the very moment you decide to post it on the internet)

i haven’t got the energy for this shit anymore. i’m dissapointed in you, you know? i really, really am. i don’t know which one of these you forgot: the hours we spent lying in bed in our underwear, stoned as all fuck; the days we spent bumming it out on the streets of KL, filthy and unwashed; the money we spent on paint and furniture and upholstery, trying to decorate our apartment and the fun we had doing it; that policeman we beat up in that stinking alleyway, all because he’d looked at you funny and so on and so on. and then there was that promise you made about how, you know, i was your “bestest friend ever” (you were drunk, i was drunk, who gives a fuck about grammar anyway?) and how we’d always “stick together.” i didn’t think you’d forget. i thought you meant what you said. yeah, my mistake, sure, but it was a mistake i only made because of … well, because of all of the above. i should’ve known. two days after you met her you told me you loved her and you moved out, just like that. you left me all alone. i haven’t heard from you in a year. maybe longer. i don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but if you do, i hope to god you’ll be able to smell what i’m smelling right now. i hope to god you’ll be able to smell that sweet, sweet scent of burning bridges.

Categories: prose and poetry
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