Audience of One

I'm no good at telling stories.

I give everyone the cliff notes because I'm bad at punch lines.

Stories get told to me. They find me, floating around like live music through your floorboard late at night. Weird voices live in my ears, strange ghosts walk through me, reality splits in two; what I'm living and what I can use later.

I hear conversations in black and white font. Things spill out of his mouth and I can't even see anymore. I read life as it happens.

His words crawl the walls in Times New Roman.

"But what's the plot?"

I wish it was that controlled. I don't know the Rising Force. I don't understand the Climax. What's Resolution? Have you ever had one?

"But, what's the hook?"

I don't know how to explain that to you. Just trust me when I say the hook's in me, dug deep in my back.

I'm more tender by the second.