Two Sentences (Ongoing)

21-30

Your wife pulls into the driveway, many hours early, and you tell the man you're with to get out of the house. He floats through the ceiling.

Unicorns are real, and I know because I can see them. But the doctors don't believe me and up my dosage.

I pick up a shrimp from my plate and pop it in my mouth. I see my body writhing on the floor, my face swelling- too bad my identical twin has a severe shellfish allergy.

One night while checking on your daughter, you catch a glimpse through her ajar door of her laying an egg. That thing definitely isn't human- she's an alien, like you.

You pick up the small animal by the scruff of its neck, like you would with a cat. Your husband starts crying again, saying, "You've already killed our baby... Put it down."

I stand in a field under the full moon, waiting for the transformation. My skin grows thick hair, my canines sharpen, and my irises turn brown; I finally resemble the human I've just killed.

The chiropractor is doing her best to ease your soreness, until she looks in your eyes. She can see you hiding within her patient.

Your kids never want to leave their rooms, ignoring you when you call them. You're surprised they'd want to stay in their rooms, especially with the smell and all of the ants and other bugs that keep getting in.

Immortal doesn't mean invulnerable, you realize as you watch her bury your body parts one by one. She might live forever, but you could hurt her, you think as you float above your grave.

I had sprinkled rose petals everywhere as she slept, hoping to surprise her. As she woke up, struggling to breathe, I held her epinephrine just out of her reach.