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

Friday, October 14, 2011


Alistair, who once won advertising awards and is now constantly anxious, ducks around the corner to smoke a large bowl of crack. Sweating, he returns to his spot on Queen Street and delivers his speech for the 100th time that day. He eyeballs people going about their business. “Our time is up. Do you know who I used to be?” He spits menacingly at all who would avoid his gaze. He used to be the small boy who’d fall asleep with his head on his sister’s lap, he remembers. But Julie was taken away somewhere because dad molested her and Alistair hasn’t seen either of them since.