Charlie had a taste for bad liquor, the kind that tastes of old socks, the kind that burns the lining of the esophagus, the kind that makes you WANT to pass out, the kind that was offered to him by his cheap whores, the lowest of whores, the dirtiest of whores, the kind of whores that would do anything for ten dollars, the whores that he found on the muck-filled streets, the streets where he resided, the streets where every day he shamed himself by begging for money, the streets where every night he lay his potato sack down for bedding, the streets where he played as a child because he was neglected by his parents, the worst of parents, the most brutal of parents, the kind of parents that would burn him with cigarettes for making too much noise, the kind of parents that paid no attention when he was sick, the kind of parents that prayed every night for Charlie’s death so they would have one less mouth to feed, the kind of parents that threw him on the streets at age thirteen to fend for himself, the streets where he dug through the dumpster every afternoon for his lunch, the streets where he was beaten by others on a daily basis just because he was smaller, the streets where he eventually turned to violence as a solution to live, the streets where he bought a pistol for twenty dollars, the pistol that he used to mug a helpless old woman, the pistol that accidentally fired, the pistol that ended the poor woman’s life, the pistol that has brought more suffering to Charlie than all the hardships of his life, the pistol that contains one bullet, the pistol that he now holds to his temple, the pistol that will now end his suffering, the suffering of his parents, the suffering of the streets, the suffering of the old woman’s image in his brain, the brain that he has splattered on the wall.

by Cory Mills

[[Notice that this is suspended by being a progression. The sentence has no single core, but moves clearly from idea to idea, with sentence transitions kept intact – and as a result, extends beyond the scope of a single structure.]]

Charlie had a taste for bad liquor,

the kind that tastes of old socks,

the kind that burns the lining of the esophagus,

the kind that makes you WANT to pass out,

the kind that was offered to him by

his cheap whores,

the lowest of whores,

the dirtiest of whores,

the kind of whores that would do anything for ten dollars,

the whores that he found on the muck-filled streets,

the streets where he resided,

the streets where every day he shamed himself by begging for money,

the streets where every night he lay his potato sack down for bedding,

the streets where he played as a child because he was neglected by

his parents,

the worst of parents,

the most brutal of parents,

the kind of parents that would burn him with cigarettes for making too much noise,

the kind of parents that paid no attention when he was sick,

the kind of parents that prayed every night for Charlie’s death so they would have one less mouth to feed,

the kind of parents that threw him on the streets at age thirteen to fend for himself,

the streets where he dug through the dumpster every afternoon for his lunch,

the streets where he was beaten by others on a daily basis just because he was smaller,

the streets where he eventually turned to violence as a solution to live,

the streets where he bought a pistol for twenty dollars,

the pistol that he used to mug a helpless old woman,

the pistol that accidentally fired,

the pistol that ended the poor woman’s life,

the pistol that has brought more suffering to Charlie than all the hardships of his life,

the pistol that contains one bullet,

the pistol that he now holds to his temple,

the pistol that will now end his suffering,

the suffering of his parents,

the suffering of the streets,

the suffering of the old woman’s image in his brain,

the brain that he has splattered on the wall.