And quite appreciative we are. So please do take a look and please don't hesitate to revel in the general awesomeness that is the WhiskeyPaper as well. Cool? Cool. Excerpt? Word.
"I awake to a shooting pain in my lower back, sharp and piercing, and
my immediate assumption is that my wife is trying to stab me again.
When I roll over to face her though, she is not there, and I recall
that I am not sure whether she is supposed to be there at all.
I climb out of bed slowly, the pain in my back now paralyzing, and I
squeeze my eyes shut as little dots of light bounce across my brain.
Stumbling down the hall, the air is moist, the carpet spongy to the
touch, and the stink of the flood is still lingering in the walls. I try
to focus on one breath, then the next, lips pursed, cheeks sinking in
and out, and in again.
My wife is sitting on the couch eating a bowl of cereal in the dark,
her long hair backlit and shimmering in the moonlight creeping through
the blinds, a small ethereal glow emanating from her flawless, nearly
“Hey,” she says in her husky voice, the word disappearing in a puff of smoke even as it leaves her mouth.
“Hey,” I say, “problem sleeping?”
“Not really,” she says smiling.
“No, I suppose not,” I say, “now is that because you’re not really
supposed to be here, because I’m thinking that maybe that’s what it is.”
“Maybe,” she says, turning back to her cereal.
A slight clanking sound is emitted each time the spoon hits the side
of the bowl. She always hated that sound, but maybe that was before.
“Cool,” I say, “I mean not cool, not really, but fine. Anyway, did you try and stab me again?”
“No,” she says, “why would you ask that? It was just that one time, and that was like an accident.”
“As accidentally as stabbing someone in the back can be,” I say, not
angrily, though maybe a little nostalgic for what we once had."