The Slob

by Aron Beauregard

an grimy

Grammar error

You can’t change what cloth you’ve been cut from but you can at least try to wash it.

My once frequent contact with Caitlyn diminished, and before long, we were more casual classroom acquaintances than the gossipy girls we had connected as initially.

At kindergarten age? Wat?

“Parents aren’t supposed to die before their children. It’s not a natural cycle,”

Eh? I think this is an error...

Terror in itself is a helpless feeling that is usually injected immediately into our systems. Almost like it’s just sitting dormant, filling a needle that is already poking into our veins. It’s waiting for the perfect moment for the plunger to be pushed.

I’d never had a chance to smoke in my life and I was kind of regretting it. Some secondhand intake when I was around my friends in high school was the closest I’d come. From what I understood, these were the situations that people smoked because of. It was a random thought but I would’ve given anything for a cigarette.

When he began to close in, I thought that bedroom was where everything would end for me. For that moment to be my definitive one would be a fantasy I could have only dreamed of. My nightmare was only just blooming.

It was their own maxed out macabre version of primitive black magic.