En francais

The contents of the envelope sat on the table unread. The four children sat around the table, their eyes ever gazing at it. Gustave smoked a thin long cigarette and continually stroked his matchingly thin mustache. Orvell, the oldest took his place at the head of the table. Orvell was a self-loathing man, divorced three times, and nearly ten years senior to his siblings.

Mr. Charleston sat in his mothers bakery. As a child he'd been ever so found of his mothers bakery, her sweet sticky cinnamon buns, cakes, and of course his favorite; her chocolate croissants. The chocolate croissants were only made on Saturdays and if he was lucky he was treated one. However they were widely known by the townspeople and so often sold out so it was in fact a very rare treat. When Charleston finished school his parents urged him to go into a suitable field that would give him steady work. And since he'd always been good with numbers he decided to get a job at the bank. So for the past fifteen years Charleston had been an employee at Rich and Richardsons bank in the town located on the corner of Main and 2nd. Unwed and childless Charleston could say he was an unhappy man but on the other hand he had a steady job and a decent apartment. His parents had always been very happy in their life. He had grown up with the knowledge that as long as you had a roof and warm meal then there were things to be thankful for. The small bakery kept them afloat but on a bare minimum, this could be seen in Charlestons hand-me-down clothes often too big from his father or his older cousins. Charleston now sat on the stool in the bakery behind the register. The same wooden stool his mother would take a seat on as she would greet the customers, as her achey knees were beginning to catch up to her age. It had been a week since he'd been inside the bakery. The last time was just a pop in as he usually did to grab a biscuit for his lunch. That following day was when his parents car slipped on a patch of ice and everything had changed for Charleston. He'd been in a fog since the funeral hardly sleeping or eating. The two people he was closest to, the two he'd eaten every sunday lunch with preceding church, and the two who taught him the simple joys of life now suddenly gone. It wasn't until the lawyers had rung him that he was pulled back into reality. The bakery suddenly felt cold and bleak. No bustle of patrons, no warm smell of fresh bread, and no greetings from his parents. It seemed the place almost had a hollow echo throughout it.

Perfection is a disease of a nation

still waiting for the pain to stop. for the numbing to overcome my body. sedation. slows the muscles and the mind. the shakes in my hand. and the tragic fucking thoughts that wont stop going through my mind. My mind which at times seems so unattatched and lost. What happened to the calm, unstressed, relaxed kid i once knew. I mean i know i've gone through some downer funks. but this anxiety is actually driving me crazy. and whats worse is the feeling that nobody understands. they see the out side, that girl who bakes and cleans and keeps a clean room, made bed. but what they dont see is driving me to points which scare me. have you ever felt like you were screaming inside but the only thing people saw was a smiling face. because thats how i feel all the time. Like a fucking crazy person. i dont know maybe this is just a really bad day and this will pass.

The flowers dangled in a jar. The sun shone down just hitting the pedals, lighting up the room with a new warmth. The fresh frost holding its place on the windows trying not to be erased within the shining sun. A large green bubble formed as the teenage girl sat in the chair making an extra dramatic pop and proceeding to chew as obnoxiously as she could. "Alexandra, Ms Tate will see you now." the secretary stated with a smirk. Alexandra gritted her teeth dispising anyone who would call her anything but "Alex." "Oh and you can spit that gum out now." She said in a dry tone. Alex entered Ms Tate's office which was filled with motivational posters urging kids to "Dream big!" and "Shoot for the stars!". She clearly had a lot of work to do as her desk seemed to be sinking under a mass of papers. "Hello Alex, and how are we today?"