To all of my critics, both positive and negative. on URBIS   I want to thank all of you who read and critique me, both the good and the bad.  I have no one to read this and if not for all of your encouragement (that's for those of you who are giving me positive feedback and encouragement) this story (to be a novel when I hopefuly finish it) I would have stopped writing it a long time ago.  You see, I never really feel like anything I write is really good enough.  You are ...

Dewey bounded up the steps of the bus, pausing only to pay his fare. He wanted to run to the back of the bus and hide his head. He could kick himself now for going to that house. He wanted to blame Mike, but he couldn’t. He’d made the choice to go. He hadn’t promised Mike that he would, he’d only said he’d think about it. Part of him felt sorry for Mike. A bigger part of him felt sorrier for himself. He’d just seen things that he’d never dreamed exist...

“I wonder if she’s still alive.” Mariah was stretched out on the dirt floor, her arms crossed behind her head. “I wonder why he didn’t bring her here. He can’t have thought that someone was onto him, or could he?” “After our little party maybe he’s scared to.” Crazy Girl cackled, and then grew serious. “How do we even know there was another girl?” “You mean that it could have been a boy this time?” Both girls ...

 80% of the Time For bipolars, the questions of whether or not we reveal what is wrong with us (I refuse to call it a “disease”. A mental illness—maybe, but not a disease.) is no small issue. Revealing what is going on with us carries great risk, be it family, friends, or even worse, employers. Family may not understand. A lucky few will find support from a family that will do everything they can to understand the condition and be supportive. They will be the ones who a...

"Damn!" The tree root had caught Michael again. The slope of the street that led to his house was perfect for skateboarding; but the old sidewalk was lined with big leaf maples whose tree roots caused cracks and ridges which sometimes, like this time, threw him off balance. Occasionally one would provide enough of a gentle launch for a good jump, but caught unawares the consequences could be painful. He hated the thought of someone seeing him fall. He gathered up his pack, his board...

Even in my weakened state, I slept but lightly. It was more like I was in a trance, aware of my surroundings and feeling deeply relaxed. I wanted to lose consciousness, and certainly the comfortable sofa, the warmth of the afghan, and the fire which was now burning low seemed to invite it, yet somehow sleep eluded me. I craved the release of sleep, but was denied it. I wondered if this was part of what I had become. So, instead of sleeping I lay there, neither asleep nor awake, but somehow lo...

That night he dreamed he, Dewey, and Short Round were young boys. Short Round’s grandfather had been a monk before he decided to leave the monastery and start a family. Mike remembered him—a small, wizened man with bright black eyes, his face a mask of wrinkles. He and his family had fled the Viet Cong and were given permission to immigrate to America, but Grandfather Van seemed to carry Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam within him. He was fond of the boys and would feed them sticky rice sweets and ...

I belong to a group that suffers from an incurable disease. Indeed, we are not much talked about—we aren’t “sexy” enough. Talk to us individually about our stories and you will hear experiences that are as lurid as you can possibly wish for, but we still don’t draw enough headlines to create a big enough public awareness that we deserve. Because we’re out there and we’re enough of a public health hazard as any schizophrenic, socio- or psychopath. But we’re more dangerous than you realize. How...

Even in my weakened state, I slept but lightly. It was more like I was in a trance, aware of my surroundings and feeling deeply relaxed. I wanted to lose consciousness, and certainly the comfortable sofa, the warmth of the afghan, and the fire which was now burning low seemed to invite it, yet somehow sleep eluded me. I craved the release of sleep, but was denied it. I wondered if this was part of what I had become. So, instead of sleeping I lay there, neither asleep nor awake, but somehow lo...

Even in my weakened state, I slept but lightly. It was more like I was in a trance, aware of my surroundings but feeling deeply relaxed. I wanted to lose consciousness, and certainly the comfortable sofa, the warmth of the afghan, and the fire which was now burning low seemed to invite it, yet somehow sleep eluded me. I craved the release of sleep, but was denied it. I wondered if this was part of what I had become. Instead of sleeping I lay there, neither asleep nor awake, but somehow I lost...