She nearly disappeared so quickly it was like she was never there, but for scent of her perfume. I knew it was her. All those years, and she still wore sweet almond oil. She was the only woman I knew who wore it.
I followed the scent, staying well back, not wanting her to see me; not yet. Oh, she thought she was safe. She thought I'd forgotten her, or moved on. She thought that now, in this new city of millions, I would not find her.
She was wrong. I have followed her. Every step she took, I was...
Cold feet. She wore pink shoes under her white gown to match the theme. Pink. Well, Blush and Bashful just like Steel Magnolias - if you asked her, she wouldn't say Pink.
Cold feet. A pink winter wedding was all she wanted; Blush and Bashful were the colors; THE colors she had to have. Muffs on the bridesmaids' hands, all in the light-colored dresses. And roses. Lots and lots and tons and tons of roses. All in pink and white.
Cold feet. She spent the last 7 years with Austin, and this winter wedding was all she ever wanted. But...
there were roses of Blue Cross is everywhere everywhere I look I could see a blue cross suddenly I noticed that 1 of the Blue Cross is this a crescent moon this disturbs me a little bit because it interrupted the uniformity of the rest of the field of Blue Cross is I was all alone so I had no 1 to complain to which is why I am completing to you dear reader of my 6 minute story see that little crescent moon it looks out of place no obviously the crescent moon is there because it marks the...
Travel light, but take everything with you. Pack your life into a suitcase. Compress a room of memories, dreams, nightmares, hopes, pain and happiness, take the few essentials and clear out.
That's what this feels like. I have to choose which of my memories are the most important to me. Pack them away into a suitcase and walk right out that door, never again to see the ones I left behind.
Clothes. A necessity. As many as possible-- I might not have the money to get more for a while.
Toiletries. Also a given.
Books? Well, with three shelves filled,...
He exited the train at Buenos Aires. This place was so unfamiliar and so new. Nothing left for him to linger around for, just this new, foreign place, with everything ahead of him.
John's life was previously tragic; enough to leave a full apartment, to take one suitcase, buy a last-minute, super-expensive plane ticket, and leave St. Louis in the dust.
The sun was setting as he walked down the airplane stairs to the tarmac; no sense of time, or anything that was going on. John knew no one. John cared about no one. The tan faces and dark hair...
Martin Adams began to type. He wasn't sure what to say; a fact that the repeated DELETES and EDITS made clear. Love letters were so much simpler in the pre-computer days. You'd write what you felt, scrunch about 3/4 of the pages up and throw them next to, if not in, the bin. Then you would belabour whether to post the thing. Sometimes you would, then regret it. Sometimes you wouldn't, then regret it. Now all he had to do was click SEND. Or not. Not click SEND that is.
Martin wished he'd managed to set up that clever thing...
This isn't right. I shouldn't have fled up here, among the scaffolding and girders. Only birds can stay perched up in these heights, gazing recreationally at the world so foreign to their own. They don't want me here, I don't belong.
I make no excuses for myself, but sometimes you just have to go. Something bursts in your head, that little reserve energy you were saving for an extra day suddenly gets injected full-force into your veins, and you take off. Sometimes it takes you to a cafe somewhere downtown. And sometimes it storms you up onto the hull of...
"Dear Mom and Dad,
I made it to Boston. I figured you'd like the postcard I picked out. The dog reminds me of Rex, be sure to hug him for me. I came here with 25 dollars and a full tank of gas. I'm going to make it here someday, I'm telling you. Tell Dad I said thanks for repairing the car, and be sure to tell him I'll pay him back with a brand new car when I make it. I'm spending the night at some run-down hotel tonight, don't worry about me. I'm not coming back home until...
It approached. The first day of writing a 6 minute story. "Excuse me? A story about a story? That's so meta", I whispered to myself. The truth is, the story is really about life, and life is both the story and the story teller.
Four minutes. Really, it took two just to write that paragraph? "It's been so long since I've written creatively", I thought to myself. It's true. It's been years. Nowadays, most of my words are shaped in the form of technical documents, twitter updates, and code.
Three minutes. Time is ticking down. I look to my right,...
He stood outside the castle, looking in. That little fence was all that separated him from the world of imagination. For the castle was filled with magic, with kings and queens. If only he could get inside, and experience that magic for himself.
When he got older, he'd realize that there was no such thing in the castle. The outside was a beautiful facade to entertain the children, but the inside was used as a storage room.