

Story 'no title'Prolouge- Regarding the City of New York My father is standing at the foot of my bed, gazing at what he must think is my sleeping figure. This strikes me as odd, because hes been dead now a few months. Ah, must be a dream. Yes, its a dream, because this is simply too weird to be real. Too weird. Yes, its a dream, because its blurry, and yes, its a dream, because thats not my father, but some odd skeleton. Albeit, a skeleton that looks like my father, but its not him, its just not. At any rate, it doesnt matter-the whole things a dream.Story 'no title'