"What's so funny hon?" His wife, Elenor called from the bedroom.

"Nothing, baby." James leaned back, reading the paper. There it was, the story that nobody knew wasn't true. Nobody but-

"Hi." She kissed him once, leaving some lipstick on his face. "Now what's so funny?"

He gestured to the television, where the news was playing the latest story.

“James Burnham was shot and killed yesterday, by...

“Breaking news, a local man’s body was recovered from the Titian aqueduct. Reporter Powell Lyndon is on the scene with additional information, Powell?”

“Thank you, Rose, this is Powell Lyndon at the Titian Aqueduct the site of yet another suicide. This marks the seventh person to access the facility in two years. I have a spokesperson from AquaPURE Marasol Clark on vid to answer a few questions. ...

_Sucess_ he thought as he stirred in a splash of cream. His coffee was a bit to bitter.

He had perfectly staged his death. And now he would live peacefully in the middle of nowhere.

The woods of Alaska now guarded James Burnham, a supposedly dead man.

And he couldn’t be more happy. Well he could, because he had just spilled coffee on his white shirt.

But nonetheless, he thought himself a very smar...

As James continues to pour his coffee he notices something strange on the counter in his kitchen. It was a sticky note and him not being aware that it had something that could change his life on it he tossed it in the garbage. His wife gets home but doesn’t notice him, but that was normal because she came home from work and she would go take a shower not know the ghost of her now deceased husband ...

It was much easier to fake my own death and frame my husband for the murder, than to kill my husband myself. It would ruin his life and he’d suffer much more spending his life in jail. Greg shouldn’t have messed with me. *sips coffee* You know?

*You offer a small nod* I think so-?

Well I mean, he deserved this sort of criticism. He’s been living a carefree life too long....

I’m dead

To the world at least

White flames ate away at me

As I screamed for help

They couldn’t save me

I was gone

I was dead

I’m dead.

You thought I was gone

That my ears were burned to ash

Well, truly your close

Try ear hairs.

I am like a vigilante

Swift and draped in dark fabric

Eyeying the night

You don’t know who I am

No one needs to.

Not anymore....

“James Burnham was shot and killed yesterday,” the reporter on the TV says as James pours himself coffee, smirking in his dressing gown as he makes his way over to his luxurious hotel bed.

How did he end up like this? Nobody to public enemy number one; in a hotel room, listening as the news announces his death?

It all started a week ago after he’d posted some unsavoury things online and been dox...

Ha! He hates when that happens, but then again, it was just a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things. He exchanges a pleased look with his coffee mug after the first sip — it tends to lose its bitter edge post-mortem — as he starts to consider: concealing the wings will be a challenge, as usual; and he’s allergic to his own feathers, if you can believe that. It’s outrageous, an absolute...

“James Burnham was shot and killed yesterday,” the reporter on the TV says as James pours himself coffee, smirking. His new movie is coming out in five days. Looks like his agent is up to something. This YouTube channel with its fake reporter is trying to get clicks, but the timing is suspicious.

His phone rings. It’s Linley Carter, his agent. “Hello.”

“James, you’re dead according to Star Sigh...

“Good,” James thought. “Everything is going exactly as planned.”

He took a final haul of his Winston cigarette before slamming and twisting it into the transparent, glass ashtray. James glanced up as he heard the door across his cabin swing open, to see his lifelong friend, Carrie, barrel in. Her face was blotched with red and her espresso hair stuck to the sides of her face. Carrie huffed and thr...