Welcome. Anonymous Author holds a mirror to the face of humanity, asking what it really means to be human,

and in doing so blurs the line between what is good and bad writing.

Follow AnonAuth on Twitter

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


The seats of the car smell like the promise of childhood. During those early endless summers he can’t remember it crossing his mind that he would like to be a father. Now it is such a responsibility. It daunts him daily. He wonders if his father thought about the things he does now. If so, he never let on. Simon remembers John always just getting on with life. No soul searching or crises of confidence. He recalls once reading a pejorative reference as to how an idle life can too easily descend into the existential and the metaphysical. He sees those philosophies as an ascension, a positive. But if that’s true, he puzzles, why does abstract consideration of past and future render the present terrifying?