“I looked back at the boy and his father. The man was holding him close now, his arms wrapped tightly around him as if to shield him from the cold. Their laughter echoed down the street–bright and fleeting, and full of something I hadn’t felt in years. I wondered if that boy would grow up to feel the same sting of disappointment I did, if his father would one day become a stranger too.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“Maybe she was better at pretending than I'd given her credit for. Or maybe I was the one pretending.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“I was sober enough to have a conscience, but not sober enough to actually use it. Trapped in this numb body, floating somewhere between clarity and oblivion.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“It wasn't the first time I had relied on her in our strange, undefined 'relationship.' Late-night texts, spontaneous meet-ups, testing boundaries—most of the time, she did bite. But this? This felt different. It wasn't just curiosity or intrigue anymore. I wasn't just waiting to see how far I could push her. I needed her. I wanted her in a way I couldn't fully explain, in a way that went far beyond anything I'd felt before.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“The rest of the evening unfolded in a gentle, unspoken rhythm. We didn’t rush through anything. We didn’t need to. There was comfort in the quiet moments between us. I didn’t feel the need to fill the space with words, and neither did she. I didn’t have to be anywhere or do anything right now. For once, I was just... here. And that was enough. The world outside continued to spin, I let myself sink into the moment, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and for once, I didn’t have to wonder if I was doing the right thing. I just had to believe it.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“I deliberate on whether the morning would bring a golden sun, melting the thick snow at the foot of the house, turning ice to rivulets down the stone steps. Or if winter would keep its hold, the chill climbing steadily up the windows, pressing cold fingers against the glass, trying to find its way inside. I wondered if the frost would cling to the dubstep or if it had already settled within.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“I love you."The words slipped from my lips into the cold air—small, fragile, real. Her breath hitched, the first real reaction I'd received from her all evening. My heart hammered in my chest, as I waited. Half of me was hoping she'd say it back, but the other half was terrified that I had said it too soon. Perhaps I had—perhaps I had ruined something. But there was no doubt in my mind. If there was one thing I was certain of in this world, it was that I loved her. Completely. Undeniably.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“And something—something was terribly, terribly wrong.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“The call came early in the morning with news—the kind of news that doesn't wait for a more convenient hour. It didn't surprise me. It should have, but it didn't. I don't know why, but the only thing I felt at that moment was the cold press of the phone against my ear, a lifeless object relaying lifeless news.” LossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary FictionMelancholic Author:Sasha Harding
“Even with the weight of it all—the distant phone call, the pooling rain, the quiet ache in my chest—the world kept spinning. Indifferent, relentless, and unchanged despite all it had lost.” LossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary FictionMelancholic Author:Sasha Harding
“Her words lingered in the air, mingling with the salty tang of the sea breeze, until they became indistinguishable from the whispers of the ocean itself.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“The world, it seemed, had no interest in change. It was the same as it had always been, with people waking up each day only to go through the motions, drifting through their routines like the walking dead. Nothing truly shifted, nothing truly mattered.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“You always hear that crap about "kill them with kindness." Fuck that. Honestly, genuinely, truly—fuck that. As long as you let shitty people get away with shitty things, nothing ever changes. Why should I let them insult and degrade me and still grace them with my pearly whites? Why should we let ourselves get worn down by human garbage? It doesn't work that way. It can't. It mustn't.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalExistentialismLiterary FictionPolitcs Author:Sasha Harding
“That's the difference between us. He kissed ass, and I worked. And in this world, that's what gets rewarded: not effort, but obedience. Not integrity, but submission.” PhilosophyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary FictionPoltics Author:Sasha Harding
“In that moment, I realised I wasn't just mad at the laziness or the disrespect. It was something deeper—another cycle had started, yes, but more importantly, I realised the world would be better off without those who only knew how to make a mess of it.” PhilosophyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary FictionPoltics Author:Sasha Harding
“The hamster wheel keeps spinning, no matter where you stand on it.” PhilosophyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“The world is a joke, really—a sick, repetitive joke we all pretend to laugh at while it grinds us down. If this is the one we get, why do we spend it like this? School devours the first two decades of your life, conditioning you to sit and follow orders. Then comes work—a relentless grind that strips away what little freedom you thought you had. Want a house? A holiday? The illusion of comfort? You'll need more hours, more overtime, more bending over backwards for people who don't know your name. And if you're lucky, you'll retire at 65, when your body's too tired and your soul too drained to do anything with the time you've finally bought. By 75, if you even make it that far, you'll be a burden. Some poor nurse or relative will be wiping your arse while they try to keep their own heads above water.” LifePhilosophyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary FictionPoltics Author:Sasha Harding
“It was in times like these I wondered if dying could be a peaceful thing. I'd been cooped up the last few days, struggling with the flu—or at least, that was what I thought it was. My nose felt like a delicate piece of china, one sneeze away from shattering me completely. My throat? Violated. And not in a way that could be mistaken for pleasurable.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“The thing about studying ancient history is that it rips away the comforting illusions of progress. People love to think we've evolved, that we've left behind the savagery of our ancestors. But have we? Sure, we've built taller buildings, faster machines, systems so complex I can't even begin to comprehend them. But at our core, we're still the same selfish, short-sighted creatures we've always been.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyHistoryRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“Maybe that's what makes us human—the fact that we know how broken we are, but we keep playing the game anyway. Maybe that's what the ancients were trying to say all along. Life's a tragedy, sure, but it's also a comedy. And the only way to survive was to keep laughing, even when there's nothing funny about it.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“Halloween was the worst offender, the one day of the year when people revealed the faces they wished they could wear every day. Heroes, villains, sexed-up archetypes—costumes that screamed what they wanted to be, what they couldn't admit they were. It was funny how the tide had turned. Growing up, we cheered for the heroes. They were brave, just, and invincible. But now? Now, everyone rooted for the villains. Villains weren't born evil. They were shaped by pain and rejection. They were the ones who had suffered, the ones people could relate to. Heroes endured tragedy, but villains were tragedy. We could see ourselves in their fractures.” PhilosophyRelationshipEmotionalHeroIsolationExistentialismVillain Author:Sasha Harding
“I reached out, pressing my fingers against the cold surface of the mirror. For a fleeting second, I wondered if my hand might slip through, might fall into whatever world lay on the other side. Would anyone notice I had gone? Would they even care?” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“But I wasn't there. I wasn't anywhere. Not really. And I pondered how long my mask had been fading for...” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“Tears began to fall, hot and relentless, tracing tracks down my face. I didn't even try to stop them. I didn’t even know why I was crying. Maybe it was the pain. The tears kept coming, a relentless tide. My throat ached, my head pounded, and my body felt like it was caving in on itself. For a moment, I hoped that I might just pass out. Anything to make it stop.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“There once was this man who found himself talking to his son. He had often told the boy stories of heroes and villains, good and evil. He began by saying that all of us—even himself—had these two sides of ourselves fighting with each other, these two wolves. And these two wolves? They're always fighting. One was all that was pure in the world—the light, the hope, and the sanctuary. The other was all that was bad in the world—the dark, the despair, and the revenge. This same fight is going on inside of you, son... and inside of every other person on this earth. And this fight isn't just once; it's constant, happening every day." Her voice softened, and I could almost picture her sitting cross-legged on the floor, her expression thoughtful as she relayed the story. "What happens after that?" I asked hoarsely, my chest still tight but my mind began to quiet, drawn into her words despite myself. "The little boy in the story asks which wolf wins," she continued, her tone, a warmth so faint it was nearly imperceptible. "And his father looked at him and says, 'The one you feed.” PhilosophyRelationshipEmotionalStorytellingIsolationExistentialismLiterary FictionTales Family Author:Sasha Harding
“She walked with such grace—never brushing shoulders with anyone or awkwardly squeezing herself through. The world seemed to fall in line with her, and though she was most certainly aware of the power she held, she never became greedy with it. She didn't fade into the background, like I did, but she never demanded to be admired either. That, more than anything, made her impossible to ignore. I'd always thought she was attractive, but now I knew it was more than that, I worshipped her.” LovePhilosophyRomanceRelationshipEmotional Author:Sasha Harding
“I realised the hardest part wouldn’t be facing them–it would be facing myself.” PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction Author:Sasha Harding
“I don't know if it was the flu or something else weighing me down. Depression? No, I wasn't exactly depressed. At least, I didn't think so. It's not like I was crying all the time, but I wasn't smiling either. I couldn't stand being around happy people, but I couldn't stand sad people, either. I didn't fit anywhere–not with the living, not with the grieving.” PhilosophyEmotionalSadDepression Mental Illness Author:Sasha Harding