Been thinking all night about the reason. No answers. How absurd is life? I struggle to find a reason to wake up. I sleep twelve hours a day. I lie in bed until my back hurts. I ignore the pain for as long as I can, then I roll out of bed. I put on clothes, but I don’t know why. My apartment has become my world. King Stillman rules his kingdom of crumbs with an iron fist. God damn it I need a beer…

Shiv’s car was an older model Cadillac. It was painted shiny black with silver rims. We rolled through the streets listening to the sexual rhythms of hip-hop. We talked about nothing important, just life, love, and the street. After I had met him that one night in the ghetto-mart we had become friends. Together, we cruised the street, down the dirty alleys that sprang from High Street. He understood that violence was part of life. I was just beginning to realize the reality that he lived in.

It is amazing how fast life can change. Like a toilet flushing, it all just swirls away. One day you’re a moderately successful college student with a fuck buddy and a refrigerator full of beer. The next you’re barricaded in an apartment searching for a crowbar. There are no guarantees about the future only odds. If I was a gambling man, I would have never bet that Bethy would be dead by now. Like I said, toilets flushing.

How does one deal with the emotion of love? More importantly what is the definition of love? These thoughts troubled my mind as I was walking toward Bethy’s dorm. We had dinner reservations in about an hour, nothing too fancy, just the local Don Pablo’s. This would be our first official date, and I didn’t even remember agreeing to go. For the past month, our relationship was based solely on sex, the physical act of love. Now she wanted something more. I had the sinking suspicion that she wanted a commitment.

It’s the African American Heritage Festival. A time when the white kids flee back to cookie-cutter suburbia, afraid of diversity. If there was an Italian American Heritage Festival do you think all the white kids would flee? What about the black kids? At The Ohio State University diversity is a hollow word. It’s become a corporate buzzword used to attract more money. When a real opportunity to experience diversity presents itself, the piss-ant white kids hide under their mommy’s skirt. I have a dream that someday you jackass white kids will realize that the black man is not your enemy. Until then I live in a nightmare of buzzwords and contradictions.

At the corner of 15th and High, I walked by a group of protestors. I was headed home to refill my flask of whiskey for the second time when I stumbled into this craziness (a day of classes is a tough thing to deal with while sober). These two groups were standing a few feet apart, one supporting Palestine and the other for Israel. In what country, other than America, could these two enemies stand side by side without tearing each other apart?

My name is F. Stillman. What’s the ‘F’ stand for? Fuck you. These are my notes. I’m just calling them like I see them.

This is an archive of the first 10 Sentence Story. The premise was to write a story in the forums using ten sentences or less per post, with no consecutive posts.

It was obvious to all of those present, except Bob, that this was a loss. I tried to tell him to give up and go back to his hotel room, that it was over, but he wouldn’t listen. Must have thought he still had a chance. I was there though, and I know better. I watched it all standing right next to him. I even winced when he took the final blow and fell lifeless to the floor. That was one of Bob’s peculiarities, he thought everything was a game, and he wouldn’t quit playing until he was forced to.