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You might hate my first story, but maybe you’ll like the next. Sub to my raw stories at Substack: https://bit.ly/3tnf6lU. Say hi at: greysonferguson@gmail.com

I want to stay with you as long as you’ll have me.

This is specifically for you.

If you’re reading this it’s because you’ve taken the time out of your busy day to read other works of mine and have decided to follow my profile.

First of all, I just want to let you know how meaningful that is to me. The fact that you’d read my work and often comment really means a great deal. We may have even shared a few back and forths in the comments section (and if I missed some of yours I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. …


No, really. Kick back and listen while I read my stories to you.

Who doesn’t love a good audiobook?

I know I sure do.

And even when I love to read, there’s just times I can’t get to it. Or I can’t concentrate. Or I just want to pop on something I can fall asleep to.

That’s why I’ve decided to start recording some of my own stories, just for you.

No, I didn’t use any text-to-speech bot, or pay someone to do it. The voice you hear is mine. I do add in some sound effects and music for atmosphere (because I love when audiobooks do that).

The three I’ve prepared for…


I intended on leaving it buried.

Lights dimmed to twilight overhead.

The cabin disappeared into a constellation of attendant call signs.

Just after midnight, the jet engines yawned awake, stretching their wings.

I leaned back into the window seat. Little to see but glowing red batons in a sea of black, I slid the shade shut.

The steward directed the attention of passengers to monitors on seatbacks. Seat belt fastening instructions for anyone who hadn’t been in a motor vehicle since the 60s.

I closed my eyes, wishing for sleep, but knew it wouldn’t come. I never slept on flights. Not well, at least. A man…


For anything new to begin, something must first end.

Coldness reflected off the gray paint in the bedroom.

An empty room, except for a lonely bed.

An empty bed occupied by myself and my thoughts.

Wrapped in white bedding, I hid my head from the void around me. I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to accept. I didn’t want the life I now lived.

Clouded sunlight from the window above failed to warm the blanket. The open window letting in a Michigan January made sure of that.

Suddenly lost in a very real reality I didn’t know what to do. …


I needed it to be different.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.

I nodded swiftly, a reflex before my brain could catch up.

If I let myself think, If I let myself sift through memories, my entire body might shut down.

My bare chest pressed against her exposed skin. She lay there, calm, looking at me. My body shook From fear. From excitement. From a bottleneck of emotions, I didn’t fully understand.

A sliver of moonlight sliced in through the lone window above the bed. It caught just enough of her eyes. I looked away. They weren’t the eyes I knew. The…


Sometimes you don’t know what you missed until it returns.

The woman excuses herself, pulling the shopping cart back to open the walkway. She laughs, but I cannot see her smile. The lines of her lips, the swelling of cheeks, the blushing of skin. All of it hidden by a mask. Her exposed eyes meet mine before drifting away. A gateway to the soul, but the mouth is a gateway to emotion.

I continue with my own shopping, passing person after person. Mask after mask. A sea of eyes perched on the fabric walls containing their emotions. Blocking away their feelings. …


Let the passing of time smooth it all away.

Time erodes all things.

It passes like a dream on the other side of memory. Impossible to recall and yet it left its mark. Time moves about you, circles you, smooths you, hardens you. Anything not interwoven into your very being may break free under the constant current of time. Ideas, thoughts, passions, relationships.

Some are slowly sanded away, grain by grain, time smooths away the unnecessary as it cuts its own path. Other times, the break is sudden, violent, damaging. A tree giving way on the edge of rapids, giving itself up, its roots still stuck in the earth.


Here’s what you can do.

A few months back I published a little article titled, “Medium is Dying. Follow Me.”

The basis of the article was two-fold. First, due to changes within Medium, the powers that be were having certain publications prohibit, or heavily censor, many of my stories.

At the time I had two stories run back-to-back that net about a quarter of a million views, and within those views, some less than pleased heads were turned. That lead to a phone call from a higher-up, and an essential blackballing for an extended period of time.

Not liking the new direction, I wrote that…


According to me, a single dude.

I’m a middle child with two sisters. Growing up I regularly came in contact with their boyfriends and, frankly, I regularly came in contact with boyfriends I didn’t like.

Perhaps I was overprotective mentally of my sisters. Maybe I knew they could do better. Whatever the reason, few crossed my path that I cared for. Throughout my adolescent years growing up around my sisters I tweaked and finely tuned my d-bag meter to the point I believe it’s extremely accurate.

Following high school, I’ve only made one real lasting guy friend. Guess I never found the need to add to…


Love lost for some is love found for others.

Nothing.

I felt nothing. Nothing but the cold twisting around my neck. My waist. An unwanted dance partner pulling me into its cold embrace. It chilled me, and yet I did not feel it. I shivered, an attempt to throw off its grip, but it would not let go.

The fog surrounding my mind didn’t mind the cold. It distracted away a million thoughts floating about my skull, yet none stuck.

Gray clouds blanketed the sky, keeping the sun to itself. The world around looked flat. Shadowless. An unfinished painting without highlights or contrast. A bland existence. I continued on.

Greyson Ferguson

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