The footfalls and whisperings grew louder.

It was our stories that kept us human.

Gina was the worst gift giver ever, a title that was solidified when she presented her alcoholic cousin a bottle of expensive booze and his anorexic wife a workout video for overweight people.

They were both delusional, so in their minds their dysfunctional relationship was a fairytale romance.

I wondered about the multitude of people passing me by as I made my way through the terminal and began to make up stories for each of my fellow travelers.

What started out as falsehoods eventually came to pass leading me to wonder if Lily was just a lucky liar or psychic.

Liberty was an ideal the government celebrated by keeping its boot heel firmly on its citizens' necks. 

The old motel got a second life after the double murder thanks to the thrill-seekers who wanted to stay in the room where the terrible crime had been committed.

She didn't particularly like heartaches and hangovers, but they came hand-in-hand with her love for country musicians and whiskey.

The lines only got longer. 

The indignity of working for a man 40 years his junior was only matched by the fact that it was his ex-wife's new boyfriend.

The young pups nipped at the old man's heels but none were tough enough to face him like a man.

I picked up the ax and walked towards them, my hands seemingly acting on their own as my brain screamed "no, no, no."

The seeds of our destruction were born that night: two wailing, dark-eyed boys who would turn on us at the first opportunity.

Years later, she wondered why she had stopped making art, something she had loved so dearly. 

The jets dogged the refugees as they scurried across the scrubland looking for some type of cover.

The boys joshed and jostled one another trying to shame someone into entering the dark tunnel on which "BUM CITY" had been scrawled in spray paint.

They patted each other on the backs but stayed alert lest a knife end up there.

He knew his father only through legends, tall tales, and fragmented memories.

It was the poorest of us who celebrated the holidays with the must gusto and joy.

The nitwits and wingnuts ruled the day.

At 90 she felt like she still hadn't discovered her purpose in life.

I was a liar who lied for the pleasure of hearing the words slip from between my lips.

The old bones told a dreadful tale.

It was only at night that Irene truly felt alive.

She deserved to die, but I knew she would walk since she had important friends and a way about her that made you think of summer mornings and puppies.

When Theseus retired, gods and demons alike breathed a bit easier.

It turned out Brad was the last man on Earth and Betty, sticking to her guns, still wanted nothing to do with him.

As I lay looking up at the passing clouds, my life slowly seeping away, I couldn't help but think that perhaps I should have chosen a different profession, one with less risk of being shot.

"Hooray," they shouted for the returning heroes who they would later turn their backs on.