Don't Blink 2.0

There are many things that make dead bodies preferable to live ones: They don't have facial expressions, so there's no worry about mistaking a smile for a smirk, or any of that nonsense. They don't get bored if you're hogging the conversation. They don't care if you stand too close of too far away. They don't talk about you when you leave the room, or tell their friends how annoying you are. P.S. In my case, machinery. - If I know I feel it, that's what counts. Don't you ever look at someone who's hysterical in public and wonder if it's because they really feel miserable or because they want others to know they're miserable? It kinda dilutes the emotion if you display it for the whole world to see. - Jacob Hunt

I was eleven, fifth grade.  He was still alive and well, as fit as he could ever be. He had a lovely family, a beautiful son they'd just welcomed. It was that festive time of the year again and so we would visit. It was an annual thing ever since the boy was born. At the airport, their faces when they finally meet again made me envious. He was thirty. That night, fireworks rose from the garden. I was only a few feet away, staring right at the empty can of coke they used as a stand. A lighted matchstick went near the tip of a firecracker stick, and instantly sparks flew. The cracker made a sound as it shot upwards and into the distant darkness, then bright lights danced across the sky. It was amazing and I was amazed. The night sky came to life for the first time in my life. The light patterns were far more different and realistic than what I've seen before on television shows. I was too little to comprehend what the adults were discussing about amidst t

Being as unbiased as I could ever possibly be, I have to ask: Isn't it only right if manners work both ways?    I don't understand my parents.  I don't mean it in a rebellious way, but it's so true. I do not comprehend their emotions, I can't translate their anger into sense, I can't put myself in their shoes and live in their thoughts. Trust me, I've tried. And tried. And tried again. Take the following as an example: Me: (asking cautiously) Hey mom, are you kinda - going to be free after the haircut this weekend? Her: (Looking at me cynically) Didn't you just tell me you wanted to shop? I thought we agreed on that? Me: Yeah, exactly. I was thinking of heading over to*name of a mall*. Can I? Her: (tone raised) No. I've got grocery shopping to do. We're going to the market. (turns and walks away) Me: WHAT? Really, I can't imagine how I'd live with this everyday. It's unnerving. I can be entirely myself in front of m