Death is a disease growing inside all of us. We aid it by every day, smoking, fucking, testing the chances of our limitations, seeking thrills but finding only the cold, bony hands of the Grim Reaper to guide us into Hell. It's a cancer that festers inside our very souls, it gnaws at our insides, and we feed it. I see it every day, walking the streets. I see it in the mutilated remains of a dog that's been run over in the street, I see it in every news report of a downed airplane, I see it s...

A darkness unfolds. I see only you standing there, amidst a mist of clouds and fogs. Worms dig in the Earth and I can hear them. Ground, cement, rough pebbles and only a grey concrete to comfort me. The moon is half-crescent and the crickets chirp, a silent chorus for a meeting with just the two of us. Eerie breezes, blowing from all directions, glimmering twilight, the horizon expanding just beyond where I can see, the endless expansion of the nocturnal sky, whose stars never stop shin...

(It is a bright and early Sunday morning. A church, sparsely but ornately decorated. The floor is a glossy shade of gold, looking freshly waxed. Towards the back, a stained glass window. A few rows of benches line the church. A medium-sized altar to the side. Two men, Cane and Abel, sit in their seats facing the front. They continually stare off into space, their hands on their laps, dressed in brown rags and beat-up hats. Finally, Cane speaks.) Cane: What day is it? Abel: Sunday. Cane: Wasn&...

Myself, Tom, Stan, and Theodore stood at the edge of the universe, watching the swirling galaxies, the stars, the suns, all of space. Stan sat crouched on an asteroid, his hands to his chin. "Earth, what do you think that is?" he asked. We all looked around for a minute and it became quite obvious. "Well, Stan, everyone knows it's a planet," I guffawed. "No, no, no," he shook his head, "I know that. But what genre would you classify it under?" "Genre?" Theodore questioned. "Yeah, yeah, genre...