Numb Surrender

Shootings, drone strikes, starvation, rape—distill them as facts to read with coffee and statistics that defy genuine comprehension. Too big to grasp. In the USA 2,000 children go missing every day. Can you graph the mothers' torments with the decibel of their groans? Please, say it in data. Please don't let me feel them. Don't make me think of one missing child and of...

No.

Please, tell it with theatrics: with villains and heroes and tell me when to cry.

But don't.

Don't make me feel.

I can't.

Encumbered by all unutterable terrors of the world, how should I live?

The Shriveled Academician

An old, red Volkswagen Beetle drove down between his eyes and stopped before his mouth, forming what would be called a nose if it weren't so voluminous. Hair seemed to grow out of his head in two symmetrical, glossy black leaves.

It's thought that he was born with wrinkles. And maybe a tie. Therefore, his age is incredibly challenging to decipher, but surely he's deceptively young. He often chuckles but never laughs. It's a hollow snickering that serves only as an attempt to satisfy an audience. He's a people-pleaser for his own benefit but consequently becomes increasingly impossible to like.