The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

I am not very good with technology, so when Google Now updates things without my knowledge, it scares me a bit. At first it was only routes and nearby eateries. Last month, while leaving work, it showed me a different route home. Assuming heavy traffic on the usual route, I took it. It took me about an hour. When I got home, the news channel was flashing with an accident on my usual route.. from five minutes ago. The other day I was out shopping, when Google Now alerted me of a florist nearby which sold bouquets especially for funerals. I brushed it off as a promotional offer. That very day, I received news that one of my friends had died from sudden kidney failure. At her funeral, I saw many floral bouquets from the florist from Google Now. Now, as I’m sitting on the bathroom floor, run out of my depression medicines, and wondering why Google Now didn’t remind me to buy more, I watch as it updates itself again. Google Search results for Quick, painless ways to kill yourself. — Credit

It’s scary when you realize just how sharp the razor in a safety razor is; sharp enough that you cut the back of your head shaving and only know by the bright red slash of blood you see in the shaving cream you pull off with your blade on the next pass. No pain. No feeling of bleeding. Nothing. Not even the feeling of a little “nick” as the blade sliced through your head and opened your blood vessels. Just blood. And it’s your head, so it bleeds quite a bit for even the smallest of cuts. Terrifying is when waking up and realizing that you’ve been sleepwalking again for the first time in 20 years. The mirror was in front of me and the nightlight showed just enough for me to see that I had been shaving my head in my sleep. Thank God I use a safety razor and not a straight razor like I originally wanted. The cuts were bad enough and the blood covered everything. Waking up to see your reflection in the mirror, its face covered in rivulets of pouring blood is startling to say the least. I

Gun toting cronies of the government don’t scare me. They have been trying to stop me for two years now. The neighbourhood watches formed to prevent me from practicing my art are a sham. Most of the neighbourhoods that I have left my mark on have preferred to stay indoors after dark. The announcements of the rewards, the planned combing operations, the expert trackers, the dog squads don’t deter me at all. I like the epithets they have for me, monster, cold blooded child killer, psycho and my favourite “The ripper”. My lust for human blood grows every day. I have always liked hunting. I always chose the weakest targets. When I was a younger it started with small animals, defenceless, weak. I never killed them at a go. They always had to bleed, had to try to escape, had to put up a shammy resistance. I like my victims to think they have some hope, that they can escape, that someone will rescue them before they die. I have always killed my victims very close to their houses. The young gi

Hi everyone. I’m a teacher, and I’ve spent my summer vacation staying up late and reading many of the stories here. I thought you guys would enjoy hearing about something that happened to me when I was just starting my career. After I graduated college, I had trouble finding an opening, and just when I started to give up hope, landed a spot at a little school about 20 miles outside of town. I wasn’t really familiar with the rural lifestyle, but I figured, “kids are kids” and full of confidence, I jumped into the year, eager to make an impression. After a couple of years, it felt comfortable and, though the kids weren’t all the best and brightest, you could count on them to show up every day, and there was always a parent to talk to if there was an issue, academic or otherwise. The parents weren’t necessarily warm, but you could usually count on them to listen and they were around, if nothing else. It was August… back to school night, the whole place smelled like cleaning solution as t

She sat on my wife’s lap, our little girl. Hannah wasn’t quite a year old but she was sweet, social, a happy little thing. My wife would sit on the couch and play with her for hours at a time. For months, she would pick up her hand and shake it at me. “Hi, Daddy,” she would say. One day, out of the blue, Hannah did it by herself. My wife had finally taught her to wave. Not long after, my job required me to go away on a business trip in Singapore. This wasn’t unusual and my wife and daughter looked forward to the nightly Skype chats we would have. I think it made her less lonely, my wife. The night before I was due home, I video-called my wife to finalize the plans for her to pick me up at the airport. She was beautiful, her tired but happy face filling my screen. Little Hannah was in the background, playing happily. My wife was telling me a funny story, something about the neighbors. Hannah stood up in her playpen and began to wave in the hallway. ”Honey, is someone there with you?” I

My husband had been a godsend since I got sick. My doctors were really stumped at first, but we figured it out. The doctor prescribed me a medicine to take every 6 hours. It’s supposed to help with the pain. My husband is an excellent nurse. At first, I hated to have him do it. My illness was turning me into a person I didn’t recognize - moody, temperamental and very impatient – but my husband just kept going, giving me the tiny blue/green pills that would cure my ails. But my symptoms worsened. My nose started to bleed profusely. My husband left a message with the doctor, but no response. I started developing bruises and my stomach was always upset. The doctor apparently thought this could be solved by an increase in medicine, so I began taking it every 4 hours. I smiled pitifully at my husband, thanking him for his devotion and swallowing that bluish pill. He ran a gentle hand through my hair. A fistful of hair had come out along with it. I cried and cried, but I really just needed