I don’t usually enjoy parties. But a rave? I had to experience one of those.
Hannah dragged me down the coast to a cozy little beachside town removed from society. Cars and RVs were packed into a giant parking lot on the outskirts. People from all over came for the rave.
An unkempt and rather grisly-looking man slumped in a chair with the computer screen reflecting off his glasses. His elongated fingers began to type furiously at the keys as the clock mocked him with how little time was left.
Dear Mama,
I’m sorry. It’s cold here, the food is bland, even the wind feels listless.
March 1st
Dear Jenna,
I’m deeply saddened that you’ve blocked me on every messaging app, so I’m writing you an old-fashioned letter. Speaking of which, I think old-fashioned is a good thing. It carries traditional values and all that stuff. Don’t be upset because I called you old-fashioned. Let’s go on a second date.
I don’t trust the picture box. The people in it stare as I walk by. They want me trapped inside with them. The animals watch me too—dogs and cats, even the family fish in the tiny glass bowl. I am observed as I observe them.
Read it now
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