Dark Rabbit

I was thinking, again, "Hey, why not just write, like anything?". Maybe I'm just too lazy, or maybe I'm just not into it at the moment, but still, I should have written something. So, first entry. It is sunny today. I can see the hospital in front of my office building. I sit in front of the window, pretty close to the edge. Sometimes I try to see what's below and feel the urge to jump, but thankfully there's thick glass. But it's normal, I think. Turns out, this urge has a name.  The call of the void  (in French, l'appel du vide) describes this impulse to hurl yourself into, well, a void. I think that's it for today. O, I finished my task earlier than expected. And I try to not mind the yellow lines in grammarly to correct my sentences anymore, except for the red lines for my typos. L'appel du vide is a pretty good name for a book. Maybe I'll try to write that also. Yes, I know, this is how I sound inside my head, jumping around. Not in on

It was a cold night on 23rd December, marks a year since I retired as a police officer. It also marks my 43rd birthday as the son of another retired officer. We had the same problem, a drinker, insomniac, and an IED. I have tried not to be like my father. Despite that, I still respect him. He died in a massacre at the shopping mall on Christmas Eve 2 years back. Ford driver ran into the crowd, the driver doesn't stop until the car hit the road again. There's the news on what happened and they show them a week before Christmas, just like today. I was on the case for a whole year, without any lead. One of the guys nags about the case being nonsense. We can't search for a ghost forever, he said. I was so pissed, tired, and some guy has to put this on my face. So, I hit him, bashing his head at my table over and over again. I got fired because of it and stamped as a retiree, so, I did. It took my marriage, most of me. I don't know what to do with my father's death ann

Woken up to the sound of people jabbering in front of his door, William turns on his radio. It's a routine of his before taking the shower. Looking at the clock after a bath, striking seven, two hours early for the job, William takes the time to make breakfast. Smelling the beans from the grinder made him calm, as he believes that a good day starts with a good coffee on the balcony. "Julia, 22 years old, was found dead, Saturday evening in an apartment, room 3701, with a stab wound and a missing arm. San Diego Police Department officers still can't determine a suspect despite the high security. The CCTV at that particular floor hasn't been repaired since struck by a storm. A knife was also found near the victim and the size matched with the wound, says officers. Further investigation has not been released," a broadcast from the radio that William has already known. William put the salt and pepper bottle on the table, with his silverware placed next to a serving

         I always had this feeling in my soul that worries me as I grew up. I don't know, is there something that I supposed to do, or something that would boost my pride? Is it something that should be in my possession, or is it already belongs to me? The feeling that something or some things are missing and the urge to know or to feel is the one thing that keeps pushing me further. It feeds on emotions, morality, and many more that should keep me intact. I want to know more, to feel more until it becomes an obsession, much more like greed. Little that I know, the more I let it grew, the deeper I let myself fall. The more I try to let go, the heavier it gets to drag me down.                   So, let me tell you a story to get things out of my chest. Hear my whispers and let me guide you through my anxiety. Separate yourself from the known, dive into my Labyrinth of a Mind, and try to see it through. Try, try to see the world through my eyes, and you'll notice the trees