I read through the latest version of a manuscript I am working on. I divide the page count and the number of words, and somehow get 3.14, which is Pi. This is odd, but I am drunk so it seems to make sense. I hear voices outside on the street, but when I look down from the balcony there is nobody there. It is cold and windy, but strangely silent. A few cars pass by in the distance. I go back to the screen. Apparently I was looking out over the city for longer than I thought, because the screensaver is on: A series of images of fish float by slowly. I look at them for a moment. Suddenly I begin to hear rain falling on the roof, and as I look towards the window an enormous flash of lightning tears through the sky only a few blocks away. The bright white gash is immediately followed by the thunder as I see ghosts of myself, reflections in the window glass of the mirrors behind me. I turn off the computer, and going back to the bed the cuts on my stomach hurt a little which makes me smile. I lay down on the red sheets; thankful they still smell of her.

— J Lundberg


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