Tag: kindredspirits

Glen called in sick. It shouldn’t bother you. It’s just a shift. Just a night like any other. But as you sit at the desk alone, the monitors flickering, the quiet stretching longer than it should, you realize how much you’ve come to expect him…

The cold set in early this year, painting the city in shades of blue-grey, frost clinging to the windshield in stubborn patterns. Glen’s car—a beat-up sedan held together mostly by rust and hope—rumbles to life reluctantly, the heater whining in protest. You rub your hands…

You don’t remember who suggested it first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But at some point, one of you had leaned over to the other and said: “We should totally get high on the roof later.” And the other one of you…

You run your hands down your sides and let them settle on your waist, lifting a heel and turning sideways. The uniform still doesn’t fit right, but with the help of a few online tutorials you’ve managed to alter it enough that you don’t look…

His name is Glen and his Instagram is @glengendary, a red flag that both alludes you and somehow endears you to him at the same time. You’ve spent the last week working overlap shifts with him. He seemed the least creepy which was his defining…

The uniform is baggy. Unreasonably so. The kind of baggy that makes you question if they even make women’s sizes or if they just handed you the smallest thing from the men’s pile and called it a day. You stare at yourself in the mirror,…

Your life fits into three boxes and a garbage bag. Clothes. A few books. Some things you don’t need but can’t bring yourself to throw away. You pack methodically, without looking too closely at anything. If you stop, you might start thinking. And if you…

You lean toward the mirror, tilting your chin, dragging the black pencil along the edge of your lips. The colour is deep, matte, perfect. You press them together, then pull back to admire the full picture: dark lashes, shadowed eyes, skin made ghostly under cheap…

You sit on the curb outside her house, knees pulled to your chest. The air is heavy, thick with the kind of summer heat that makes everything move slower. Her dad is inside, packing up the last of the boxes. The moving truck hums low,…

It begins in the heat of summer, in the long stretch of days with no plans, no obligations. The kind of days where time drips slow, pooling in the creases of laughter, dust kicked up by running feet. You find her at your front door,…