woekitten

The opposite of life isn't underground; it's under water. It was a realization that jolted into Andrew's head the moment his body smashed into the icy water and speared down into the dark depths.  Above him was the world he knew, easily excitable, waves that never stopped dancing, the clouds that never stopped moving, the thick slap of seawater against reef and the mad pitching of the vessel he worked on, the Judith Prosperity. But under the ocean, the world was a silent, chilly tomb where nothing would be hurried. The Finger of Time rarely penetrated the milimetre-thick barrier that separated water and sky.   I see you.  Oh, don't tell me

PART ONE - JAKE My name's Jake. I shouldn't be so free with my title, but probably doesn't matter. My worst enemy already knows who I am, where I live, my favourite food, and what time I take a piss in the morning. I don't think I have much time left, honestly, and I'd like to get this all down before the bad stuff starts. I'm not "confessing my sins" or anything like that. I don't know if there's a God, but if there is, I don't think a secret confession on paper would fly with him. I was born in the land of sin and piety. I wasted enough of my youth making up confessions for big-eared Priests to lick their lips over. I'm writing this down

The towel Hailey had given Jamie was stiff and rough with overuse, so Jamie was drying her arms with toilet paper when she joined the council in the dining alcove.  The dragon-boy trailed her like a gosling.        "Sit Jamie, sit," Hailey's uncle said cheerfully.  Jamie parked herself at the last empty chair remaining at the small table, shuddering a little as she swallowed a cough.  Greasy grey smoke from cheap cigarettes filled the room like haze and drifted lazily up to the low-hanging lamp dangling above the table.  The dragon-boy stood beside Jamie and breathed deeply of the poisoned air with his eyes closed and his chin lifted a litt

I was the one who had to deliver the news to her. I took her to a restaurant. I knew it would be easier that way. "I don't believe you," she says, but she toys with her fork. Its handle bounces up and down, clacking on the table like a telegraph. I'm blunt. "When he needs someone, he's not choosy." Her face is pudgy, and her breath struggles through her slightly-opened mouth. She lifts her eyes, raccoon-ringed with heavy mascara. "No. We had a wonderful night. We talked for ages." I open my menu again, glance at the same pictures of hot chicken sandwiches and hamburgers, then close it. Our waitress starts towards us and then stops, comma