Gris Lee Stories

There’s a cataclysm of chaos Under the skin Kept calm As the palms of my hands  Are shaking Overthinking Drinking in the environment Seemingly silent Though I’m battered By a whirlwind Of sensory violence There are some sensations Sex Love Flowers Food Much more pleasant to my mood And yet The small things The petty things Are like hailstones Cold Hard Endless Chipping cracks  In window glass Extending the duration Of the shaking And it’s taking A long time For the storm to pass

A little taster inspired by a short challenge from creative writing class. I might expand of the idea of this one day, but this is it for now. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I feel…surprisingly numb. Time and time again in my youth I wore down the hours playing all manners of murder mystery games. I played them pretty straight faced, following the procedures laid out by the gameplay mechanics. Sometimes I felt a twang of empathy for the digital victims and a sliver of satisfaction when the culprits got their comeuppance. But those games were never real. So how am I supposed to feel when it is? The sound of static overwhelms my hearing. Through the small crowd of my class, I squint to get a better look at the half of the person I could see dangling from the window. The window itself is quite literally completely covered in blood. The legs hang limp against it. I can only gather th...