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Dip Dyed Dilemma
Emilia sighed as she adjusted the cannula over her ears and changed the channel of the tv.
Being stuck at home sucks. She thought, her chest rattled as she breathed in, making her uncomfortable.
The sound of the front door closing alerted her of Nathanael's return from work. He walked down the hall and into the kitchen which viewed the living room where Emilia was currently sitting. He threw the keys down on the bench, along with his messenger bag and retrieved two glass bottles of coke from the fridge. He walked into the living room and gently kissed Emilia's forehead.
"Hey there, robin." He said, using Emilia's pet name.
Emilia reached an arm up and held Nathanael's face for a moment. "Hello."
Nathanael sat down with a heave after passing a coke to Emilia and opened his own.
"I still don't understand how you acquired that nick name." Emilia said after a while, turning the volume of the tv down so they could talk.
Nathanael's shrugged, taking a swig of the drink; "a red breasted
The journal of Aaron Shafir
Pain. Lets talk about pain today.
Pain is a natural part of growing up. Growth pains, getting struck on the backside for disobeying parents, scrapping a knee after falling off a bike, even getting into a few school fights. Pain is normal. Pain means you're alive.
Does that mean I'm alive? I haven't felt pain for a long while now. Maybe because, for my own safety I cannot leave my hideouts, but the inability to feel as much pain as others still makes me think:
I've always had a higher pain threshold to Ian and Libby, especially Libby as she's only young, but a simple pin prick would still hurt. It doesn't any more. My calloused fingers won't allow it. Does that mean I'm no longer alive? I'm not dead, I'm just a robot.
Wake up, hide, relieve self, hide, eat, hide, sleep while hiding. A robot. A mechanical routine that never changes. I'm not as alive as anyone in this house. I'm closer to death than they, and not because I'm a Jew.
It's because I'm a robo
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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