steviemchugh's profile

My life was never the same after being invaded by the first of several supernatural experiences. I was a 21-year-old college student working at my part-time job at a 7-11 convenience store. Not long before that day, I’d tried to fill the emptiness that seemed to be swallowing me whole by doing some things I was ashamed of. It was out of character for me to be involved with casual sex and with drugs, and I was devastated that I’d done both of those things. That’s what was on my mind as I swep...

Followed the chalky lines -- alert to signs of poetry amidst black rubber spheres and growling diesel engines -- to a boxy Houston sky scraper that reminds me of the Jetsons and a windowless office twenty-one stories high. From the ground floor during lunch hour stepped outside and heard unseen birds in a row of nearby trees over the rush of air blowing around me. The birds cawed, sang, cajoled exuberant trills, stark contrast to honks of SUVs. At work day’s end, headed to my metal ride, libe...

Stinkhole, a black and hairy depression demon, elbowed eerily silent Loneliness and jiggled its wicked aura inside Jack’s brain. “It’s noon, you tub of lard. Wake up,” Stinkhole hissed. In Jack’s mind, it sounded like the prodding of depressed self-loathing. Needing to pee was the greater motivation. He clomped his feet on the floor, and cold chills jolted some wakefulness into his marginally flabby body. “I-hate-my-life,” Stinkhole chanted with each step Jack took. The demon had an agenda f...

Stinkhole, a black and hairy depression demon, elbowed eerily silent Loneliness and jiggled its wicked aura inside Jack’s brain. “It’s noon, you tub of lard. Wake up,” Stinkhole hissed. In Jack’s mind, it sounded like the prodding of depressed self-loathing. Needing to pee was the greater motivation. He clomped his feet on the floor, and cold chills jolted some wakefulness into his marginally flabby body. “I-hate-my-life,” Stinkhole chanted with each step Jack took. The demon had an agenda f...

Stinkhole, a black and hairy depression demon, elbowed eerily silent Loneliness and jiggled its wicked aura inside Jack’s brain. “It’s noon, you tub of lard. Wake up,” Stinkhole hissed. In Jack’s mind, it sounded like the prodding of depressed self-loathing. Needing to pee was the greater motivation. He clomped his feet on the floor, and cold chills jolted some wakefulness into his marginally flabby body. “I-hate-my-life,” Stinkhole chanted with each step Jack took. The demon had an agenda f...