“I just don't know if I want to know it, you know?” I say this to my best friend, Mike, as we sit in this coffee shop.  We met a J.J.'s Cafe once a week, every week for years now.  We didn't always have time to hang out otherwise, but we always made a point to meet up for a cup of Joe for an hour.  With school consuming most of our lives, we both didn't seem to get out much anymore, so this was a sure way to get out of our (parent's) houses on a regular basis. “Why wouldn't you want to know what your life's purpose is?” Mike takes the lid off his tea to pour in some sugar.  He always preferred that over honey, rationalizing it by saying sugar enhanced the flavour of the tea itself.  I never argued this point, mostly because I don't really care too much.  He stirs it and takes a deep breath in, pausing with a look of satisfaction on his face.  I take a sip of my black coffee, holding it in my mouth for a brief moment, allowing the flavour to stay on m...

To be quite honest, I don't know what is happening to me.  The last two days have left me questioning my memory, and quite frankly, my own sanity.  I don't fully believe what I am experiencing is real, but the more I question it, the more I can feel my grasp on reality slipping. I am currently sequestered in my bathroom, wrapped up in blankets in my bathtub.  This is the only place I really feel safe, and I feel I am on the verge of passing out. At least I will be comfortable in my nest of blankets and pillows. This is all going to come off as the ramblings of a madman, but I need to write this down, in hopes that someone can read this as help me figure out what the hell is happening to me.  But I will start at the beginning of all of this, when a star fell to Earth. Two days ago, I was walking home from work.  I work as a warehouse manager for a facility that's four blocks away from my house.  About half way home, I cut through a park...

The night is at its peak.  The moon is peaking out from behind Earth's shadow, creating a bright white sliver.  It could be thought of as God's smile as he looks upon his creations. Or maybe it's the Devil as he looks upon our suffering?  Who's to say. The pale light peaks through the curtains into the small bedroom occupied by Charles Bradley.  It doesn't make it far into the room, just creating a slight glow around the covered windows, as if it was a doorway to the ethereal plane.  A soft green light paints his room as he stares at the ceiling.  He shifts gently from side to side, eventually  turning towards the source of the light.  He squints at the neon numbers pointed at him. 'Shit.  It's already 3:00 am.” He says this to nobody in particular.  The voice that escapes his throat is gravelly and tired.  He slowly sits up in his ruffled covers and stretches his neck from side to side, eliciting a pop as he tilts his he...