Dissolution: A Novel

by Nicholas Binge

After eighty-three years on this planet, I’ve found that, actually, there’s no need to be polite.

Sometimes I feel like I’m holding a hundred thousand balloons, all pushing to be released, to disappear up into the sky, but I can’t let any of them go.

I missed this writing

that’s the beauty of marrying someone, isn’t it? You don’t do it because you want to stay the same. You do it because you want to be better, because having an ego against which to check your id makes all the difference in the world.

This is not the body he fell in love with. These are not the hands. I want to chop them off. I want to burn them.

He knew he could have gotten something more stable, more high-paying, but every time he tried to think about applying for something, a cloud settled over him. A voice whispering that he didn’t deserve stability, that he wasn’t cut out for success.

the heart of that drive to create something strange and passionate and wonderful lies in ‘trying to heal the wound that never heals.’

<3

This world could leave you out in the cold if you didn’t have someone to give you a little warmth now and again.

Kier,

The room is sparse, decorated in that minimalist style that dominates interiors these

days, as if people are ashamed to have possessions or show them off.

“Knight to king five, old friend,” you whisper. “Check.”

Is this actually Jacques?

Stanley scrambled over, blood spurting out of Raph’s neck like a fountain. Jacques put his hands over it, but a jet shot into his open mouth. He fell back, spluttering and coughing, Raph’s blood spilling out of him, dribbling down his lips.

Jesus

I’ve never been able to think about you objectively.”