Dyingalone Histoires

Basically an in-depth exploration into my really fucked mind. Call it a cry for a help but as long as I post I'm still here. Trigger and every other warning please don't open if you are sensitive. I wouldn't want to cause anymore damage.

These are my version of how they were made, and I will not do all of them too. Sorry if some of your favorites aren't here

Sweet Lois Phinney hasn't had a lot of luck with the opposite sex. When her mother and nosy next door neighbor try to encourage her to get out there. Lois decides to become the master her own destiny. This is a short story I had written almost 20 years ago but continued on at the request of some amazing people who encouraged me to do so. It was partially written as a joke for my mother, who thinking I'd remain single forever, tried to play match maker on more than one occasion. Epic Fail! Posting this is memory of my Mom, who always had my back and who read this and loved it. Probably because I'm her kid, but it made her laugh and that's all I wanted. Wish she could have read the final product. Love you Mama. Votes are cool, comments are better.

He never quite belonged. Not to the city. Not to her. Not even to his own reflection. A man, nameless in his final moment, bleeds into the soil beneath a twilight sky-wounded not just in flesh, but in the quiet, constant way that life wounds the misfit soul. He is the ghost of a song lyric. A living ache. A whisper carried too far. And now, in a field that neither judges nor remembers, he waits for the last breath to fade from his chest. ⸻ Inspired by the haunting melancholy of Radiohead's "Creep" and "Let Down," this standalone poetic piece captures a dying man's final thoughts as he slips from the world-alone, forgotten, and yet strangely seen in the stillness of nature. The story does not romanticize death, but it does stare it in the face and find something quietly transcendent: the chemical reaction of blood meeting dirt. The bittersweet hope of someday growing wings. The beauty of unbecoming. For those who've ever felt alien in their own skin... For those who've ever wanted to disappear, but imagined becoming something more instead... This story is not a solution. It's a moment. A funeral hymn for the ones who leave gently, but not without meaning.