Whenever the mailperson knocks
They deliver to us a new box
I don't know from whom
But I wish for their doom
On all of their houses, a pox
The force pulled me off the ground against my will, I found myself sucked into the base of the UFO and into a large silver chair, restraints locked, eliminating escape.
Darkness, few bright pulsating lights in the distance, piano music filling the space. Terrified I tried pushing my wrists against the metal knowing it a useless waste of energy.
Loud whooshing sounds like an ocean in my ear magnified to unbelievable levels. Shutting my eyes expecting death then opening to find myself in bed alone.
The out of body experience manual beside me.
It worked.
If there's one thing that Marie Antoinette had wished for, it would be that man never discover the sciences involving time travel. Her court was over-populated by not only all of the great people of the twenty-fifth century, but they had filled their quotas by stealing the best minds throughout the previous centuries. The time travel business seemed to be booming, but in its wake came a lot of discord. The leader of this ragtag rebellious group who sought nothing but to make a mockery of her policies was none other than - Katie Fucking Couric. "I'd like to shove...
I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead.
I'm not truly Welsh of course, being that my Great Grandfather's Mother's second husband was from Scotland. A secret shame that the Family has bourn quite well, considering. When questioned over my flame coloured Ginger hair, relatives successfully hinted at the local milk delivery representative as explanation. An obvious solution, except for the fact that her hair was clearly and obviously dyed, but there you go.
So, our family are what Cwm-yn-Canu locals would call "incomers", not...
My sleep was disturbed. I hadn't eaten after a long day trekking across the desert. Weak and faint I lay down and fell into a troubled sleep where images of food flitted through my dreams.
I hungered to eat and in lucid cravings ate all that flew towards me. My hunger so intense now I turned upon myself. I can eat myself I thought, then I will live and tomorrow I can begin again.
I felt my hot breath on my head as my mouth turned upon myself...my wet tongue licked the side of my face as though anticipating...then in...
It was warm and dark, inside the riduculously large cave. I looked at huge stalagmites jutting up from the floor like spears. I saw a man, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the cave, a fire burning beside him. I smelled something I couldn't quite place, something delicious. "Hello. What brings you to the cave of the shaman?" he said, waving me closer. I took a single micro-step forward, puzzled by this strange hermit. "I'm here for the Meaning of Life. I was told that you held it here." i said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yes. But first,...
"The proles are revolting" the minister shouted. "They stink on ice" chimed another.
The prince stood montioned for silence and spoke. "My Grandpere was a prole which makes me 1/4 prole and I'll have no such talk in here." "Now if theres no objections let's get the hell out of here!" "The train for Geneva is leaving soon, Proles be damned!"
The lamp wouldn't turn on. Lucy shifted, humping herself up on the mattress to look at the actual location of the light, fingers searching to see if, perhaps, she just hadn't hit the right button. But it was still there. The cheap lamp she had bought with her sister at Target while decorating the apartment she hadn't wanted to get.
"Unf," Lucy muttered under her breath. Light bulbs. She had no clue where light bulbs were. Forcing herself up, she headed out of her room and into the bathroom, flicking on the light there. But still, there was no light....
I rolled down my window. "Can I give you a ride somewhere?"
"Ditch the car."
"I thought you wanted a ride." I had pulled over. I'd been trying to help her out. She had green hair. Green, then, white, then medium brown at the roots, but it looked passable on her.
"You are ruining this city. This city is a tomb, because of you."
"You're a sweetheart, aren't you?"
"Fuck off."
But I was worried about her. "Hey, where's your mom?"
She didn't move. I waited. "Where's your mom?"
Frozen. I backed up, signaled, parked. It was so bright I...
She should have been writing. Instead, she watched the time slide away from her.
5'44". 5'32". 5'11".
What was this? she asked—not herself, but God, the heavens, the hall monitor, anybody but herself. Was this paralysis?
No. This was a choice. And even though she closed her eyes, she still couldn't get away from that.
4'09". 3'58".
Why not write? There was the prompt on the page. She could do this. She was good at this. She always had been, always, always. Write on command. Paper comes back; mark at the top.
She didn't work hard for years and take...