anotherfirename

I balance the cell phone on my palm and stare down at the menu screen. It's the only artificial light source for miles at least, but since about an hour ago the stars have been shining brighter than ever and world has been lit up like everything's been touched by some sick divine illumination. To my right the lake lies still like nothing happened. It swallows everything up then acts like it never did. I wish I could find fault in that, but I can't. I'm just too used to it by now. It doesn't matter though. I check the phone. No messages, but that's depressingly typical. I dial the first number on the list in my mind, let it ring, and wait for

It feels like there's a beat in the air with the light shining just right, and all of a sudden I wish I was playing the guitar. It's a funny sort of wish because I only played it for half a year in elementary school when I had to, and I was never very keen on playing it anyway. Yet I hold my hands in the right positions and remember the old one I used to practice on at home because the school ones couldn't be borrowed. Then, curiously, I begin to wonder. Was that your old guitar? I remember the musty wood smell and the strings that my dad flipped over just for me so that I could play it left-handed like I'm meant to. It's back in an attic s

I glance down at my work, then glance up at the corkboard on the wall. There's an old pamphlet pinned there that does nothing but taunt me nowadays. It's about volunteering with kids, and I picked it up some time back when I was more hopeful and felt a bit more alive. If I knew what changed I like to think that I'd try to fix it, but since I don't it's hard to find a reason to try. Enough of this. I roll away from my desk and grab my coat as I stand up in a half-step half-stumble towards the door. On second thought I'll probably find it too warm for a coat, so I leave it on the door-hook before stooping to pull on my shoes. I don't know whe