“They’ve been sat still for 38 minutes. It’s clear they’ve just dug in to defend their flag. I say…”
“You say…” 117 interrupted his Squad Leader, who couldn’t have looked more pissed.
“John, enough of your shit!” He slid a finger across his throat in what he knew would be a futile gesture. “We’ve got the same tacticals as Red Team. We have the same number of cadets. They're boxed in. I say…”
117 coughed. “You say… er… Sir.” I think he genuinely tried not to sound insubordinate. He failed.
“All right, soon to be ‘ex’ cadet. Out with it.”...
He had climbed the steep Acropolis, seeking Athena Parthenos (the virgin), every time work or pleasure or strange fates called him to Athens. Yet today he paused by the Temple of Dionysis, only about a third of the way up the olive treed slope. One of the several custodians, some in plastic and metal cells, others, like this young lady beneath whatever shade the Gods (and strategic umbrellas) could provide. Something about her effortless attention, seeing all who paused or passed, while seemingly merged into a thick hard back, caught his attention.
She sat, regally, letting the Sun and people...
Froniga, or Fron (as most of her US friends and relations called her) was a patient sort of soul. More in touch with her forebears than many Americans, perhaps because she was closer to her immigrant roots than most. She'd married into the "Land of the Free" as much as she had been born there, not really considering where she lived as something to define her. Maybe that was the Romany spirit showing through. She couldn't tell. She didn't care.
Of course, her attracted neighbour did present a problem. She was who she was, and it was hardly her fault...
Wanted. Crib. Last one sold prematurely.
The tigers snarled at each other as they fought over the prize. Eyes narrowed, they watched for the slightest hesitation, the smallest weakness, in their enemy's eyes and stance. Finally, the larger of the two feinted to the left, then ran right with his booty. Quickly, the other followed as the world waited with baited breath.
Then, it happened. The great tiger leapt away from his pursuer, seeming to soar. The buzzer went off a split second after the ball dropped into the net and the crowd roared as the score changed: 63-59.
"I guess not everything's better in Metter,"...
Absent. The perfect word to describe the situation.
Paul and Maria Strickland sat at their kitchen table eating breakfast, as they did every day. Forks scraped against plates as they lifted their scrambled eggs to their mouths, chewed, swallowed. All in silence. They'd been married for twenty years, eating in silence together for fifteen. Eating in silence was the only thing they ever did together anymore, except take care of their son, Mark.
The boy watched them from the den, where he'd taken to eating alone as he watched TV, a tray attached to the armrests of his black Quickie...
Behind me, the world caved in. There it goes, I thought. There it goes at last. I emptied my pockets and threw my hands over my shoulders. I remember the sun was descending but the moon was so bright the day wouldn't leave. Night whined and nudged but the day wouldn't surrender. You are confused, moon, I yelled over my shoulder. Fade out, lady, I shouted over my other shoulder. Another ending of another world.
I had always wanted to win. Something, I dunno; life, a contest, sports day. I craved to see my luminous ego reflected in stainless steel, with others around me cheering me on.
Not today though.
Today, I looked into the trophy, but didn't see my reflection, didn't see the holy glow of my inner glory.
I thought it weird no-one was acknowledging me, but I guess now it makes sense- I lost.
I lost the minute I thought I could achieve anything, the minute I decided to try for once. The moment I begged and would've sold my soul for...
Down six steps and under the fire escape.
Don't knock on the door, follow the hall to the end.
Go through the curtain and around the corner.
Follow the music.
Yes, just there, through that door.
Don't speak. Find a seat, even if it's on the floor.
Yes her voice is real, though you expect wings to sprout from her back at any time.
Put down your phone. This isn't for the masses. Did they make the pilgrimage? Did they risk the dank, dangerous streets?
They don't deserve to hear it. The phone won't capture it anyways.
Just sit. Listen....
Three new followers, this morning. Steady growth. Not YouTube Channeller level. Not like millions of subscribers. But that was to be expected.
A few more Views. Five new followers. Already! She was clearly having an impact, this quiet young woman, not wanting attention. Not seeking the lime light. Just tryng to escape a stalker. Not a regular follower. No one listening. No one to help. Safety in numbers?
Two more following. The blind leading the blind. Not even "word of mouth". Just trying to make her way in the World. Just trying to survive. And yet they saw. They saw...