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B is for The Hand of Gordon

And Gordon did smite the insect without a third thought. He pondered letting it live. It had not angered him or anything. But it bore the potential to do so. Thus the will of Gordon was now complete. For the sake of potential, the insect must die. And so he struck it with his finger. The very one that would later twirl his girlfriend’s hair. He loved playing in her hair. This goddess of a woman. The one he no longer needed but wanted with excruciating urgency.


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--> I first felt it in the shower. Nostalgia. Creeping up my leg and resting on my shoulder. Bony fingers caresses in that sickeningly sweet way nostalgia often does. It was the end of September or the beginning of October... That night in the shower when I remembered an old October, reading poetry at a wine factory; with sandwiches as big as your face. And I remembered two tables. Friends and a girl. And it was October. The sealing of fate. 2008.
Days passed but not before the memory of darkness and a knife. The surgery that changed me... And it was October. October or go to Heaven. 2007.
Time passed and so did my expectations. Fluctuations in blood flow in the head causes heart to flutter for another. Infatuation of the highest order. The beginning of tears and sighs of"it's not fair" and the wandering nature of soul; I'm done, turn me over. And it was October. All my queries I vowed to shelve. 2012.
And Sunday. When I threw the scroll and claimed I was don…