To some, each day is a struggle. To others, every day is a gift.
One Vibewire Contributor speaks poetically of their journey toward positivity encouraged by the challenges of a serious illness…

A vague outline of a boy sat nearby, but it wasn’t Jimmy. He knew instinctively. The boy’s head was down; he was so still and so dark, as though he were made from the purest black.

Ronny’s breath misted in the air, steady puffs in and out, slowly accelerating.

Neither of them moved.

He thinks about it for a sec. He thinks about his shitty apprenticeship wages and working the night fill at Coles every second day. He thinks about eating the same bloody peanut butter sandwich for lunch every day. He thinks about the fact he could be fired at any time. He thinks about how things were before the kids – sex, sleep-ins, fun times, zero worries.
He takes a knife from her.

She looks down and sees that her hands are bloody, broken, beyond repair. Her pen which was previously tracing along the paper, is now digging into her forearm. Blood seeps from the wound and she is aware that if she removes the pen then the dam will break and it will begin to pour out of her. The pen ink appears to filter into her, the black spreading up her arm and racing its way to her neck…

Hector didn’t move. As Tom drew closer towards him he realised that both of the man’s eyes were made of glass.

He turned to see a man who looked exactly like himself standing with a surgeon knife. The fleshy, naked form of Hector was intact on the floor nearby, cemented with clay. Tom shook with fright and asked with a quavering voice,

“Who are you?”

Girl with plasticine leg bludgeons fiercely with a hammer, mashing apart her limb, shouting,
“BLOOD-GEON… BLOOD-GEON… BLOOD-GEON!”