http://slow.writerscafe.org/SeanPatrickGray The original writings of author Sean Patrick Gray en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776010115 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 In constant fear that monsters are waiting to take his daughter, an overprotective father shields her from most of the outside world. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/2012354/ I’m sosorry. I wrote a poem once.               It was about you.               It wasn’t very good.  S.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368625/ Here. We. Go.  “Chief.” My words were poignant. My eyes werefilled with emotion and I tried to keep from swallowing. My journal tremblingin my chapped hands as I walk down a small corridor and into the last room onthe right. “Chief.” There was .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368621/ The Post Office is Where I Go.  I write the last few words out in my journal,close it, and then scribble “To my darling wife and son” across the front ofit. I think it might be time I finished up here.I have a drink of whisky and then chase it wi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368619/  Epilogue ofBlood andBones  I was losing more and more time now. Blackingout.“Help us!” Echoes from the back seat of thevehicle and I cringe and fight the urge to sit down, Indian style, in themiddle of the road.“Where is she?” M.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368618/ The Mystery Woman:(Orat least someone to talk to.) There were nights where I just sat back in mytruck and faded away into the cold air, becoming nothing more than a whisper ofbreeze catching itself on the naked branch of an old oak tree. I wanted to cut myself off from civ.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368616/  Chapter 45  “Sir?”I’m in a small general store just outside oftown called Oat’s Wine and Spirit although I highly doubt this place sold oats.I’ve always assumed the proprietor had shared a similar last name, regardless;it’.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368614/ I always need extra napkins.            I wrote a poem once.            It was about you.It wasn’t very good.  She sat on the edge of a queen-sized bed. Herhand on my foot .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368613/ ATruckWhich SpillsBlood             “It is twenty eight degrees outsidebut the wind chill tonight will make it feel more along the lines of negativeten.”  The man on the radio is going onabout .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368610/ A Side NoteFor You Don’ttake this journal as something negative.Don’tfeel sorry for me. Don‘t feel worried.Ineed this. To keep sane. Tofind a shred of happiness.I’mthe last firefly to flicker out before the winter. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368598/ My Routine & Kitchen Table It’s the next morning now.             I know this because the sun hasbeamed itself through the window in my bedroom and kicked me in both of myeyelids with blinding bright b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368597/ This is notchapter one               I couldn’t tell if there were threeor four bodies this time. They were all smashed together like ripe tomatoesinside of a crushed, black and silver sardine can. Some.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1368596/ A very sincere thank you to my Mother and Father http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/1046655/ When a small town fireman loses his family he turns to alcohol and his journal to try and cope with a life filled with death, despair, confusion, and talking kitchen tables. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SeanPatrickGray/998108/