The mannequin looked so real, but was not. Apparently. At least that's what Mr Saunders always said, and he had to be right. He was a teacher, wasn't he? He was my teacher and, at nine years old, I believed every word he said.
And yet, every morning as I passed it on my walk to school, the mannequin - whom I had named Joyce - in the window of J. T. Kingsley's department store seemed to watch me as I went. Seemed to call to me, to invite me in. That was, after all, her job. But she did...
The bass pounded next door. pounded this door. pounded so loudly that louis put his head on his desk and pounded with it. he got up from his studying to give his next door neighbor a pound for a pound. and that's when his bed started shaking. Earthquake, he thought. and dived under his desk for safety. wait a minute, he thought, am i supposed to hide underneath the desk or a doorway. and then he noticed his desk wasn't shaking. just his bed. that is against the wall that he shares with his neighbor. then he heard the moaning...
Public Service Announcement (this has no relation to the prompt): When Hemingway (I think, but it doesn't really matter) said, "Write what you know," it was a critique of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who had said, "Write what you don't know." In other words, it would be like me saying, "You are therefore you think." It may or may not be true, but it was a critique of an idea that had been set in stone and codified. Codifying that idea, in turn, defeats the purpose.
To be more succinct, When I hear, "Write what you know," I reach for my...
"Knives."
The scientist looked up. The musician was bright-eyed, excited, although there were bags under his eyes. She replaced her spectacles (why did she always take them off for the close-up work? It didn't make sense) and gave him her full attence. "Knives?"
"Knives." He sat down on the stool, gangly, limbs too long. He was not suited for the labratory - not a huge surprise, really. "Knives are the answer. We...we cut."
It was almost cute, watching him try to describe what he presumed the scientific method was. "Do you mean dissection?"
He nodded, enthusiastic, excited. "Yes! Yes, we...
Perched upon a thin branch flailing in the wind, the owl cried out into the night, "Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?" Only the still, dead night and the rustling of branches and drying leaves responded.
I tampered with my oil lamp and let the flame grow tall, casting shadows that played hide and seek on trees. Shadows bounced off of trunks, flickered to the branches, and waned off on the broad, saw toothed leaves.
The owl's cry grew into the night, screeching to the stars, to the trees, to anyone that was willing to listen. "Who cooks...
The footprints in the snow suddenly ended. Or rather, the snow ended, suddenly and strangely. The footsteps continued, singed into the dry winter grass. Black footsteps continued, an at an even pace, all the way to the dunes.
At first, I thought that they would disappear at the sand, but as I got closer, I saw that they had continued, but the sheer heat had melted the sand into glass. Glass footsteps, glittering and shining, clearly the shape of a human foot, worked their way over the dunes, without any seeming regard for the angle of the dune. I climbed...
Sweet agony awaits me everytime I wake. Now don't get me wrong, I'm in no way a life hating specimen, you can call me an over analyzer.While the rich eat caviar and the poor beg for money, I try to see the use of my math homework. Trying to understand the use of knowing how to use algebra, speak French, or know how a global economy is set up. Somewhere deep inside I know that this school system is for my own good, and mother always used to tell me that to be someone I'd have to have a diploma....
What would happen if I just left in the middle of the night?
He wouldn't remember you when he got older.
A price would need to be paid, but I don't know about him completely forgetting.
Personally, I think you should go.
He loped into the night, thinking and rubbing his too soft hands face, never quite sure if he had been slapped in the face.
She opened the cupboard on the landing and sighed.
What hat should she wear ? There was a choice of four: a bowler hat, a large straw summer hat, a rather fetching Philip Tracy ensemble or a velvet scrunch hat.
Neither were really suitable for her proposed unicycle antics, but "needs must where the devil drives" she muttered under her breath, and grabbed the velvet scrunch hat in her favourite colour, green. Cramming it on her head, she raced down the six flights of stairs to her front door, grabbed the unicycle from its cupboard and marched out defiantly, daring...
She'd have preferred the electric chair as a pendant to the cross which she now wore around her neck. Who was it who said if Jesus was killed nowadays little Catholic girls would all be wearing electric chairs instead of crosses? But she had to wear it; Grandma was coming to Sunday dinner and the family was big on making a half-assed show of religious values. Not like anyone even went to church anymore unless Grandma was around. Nellie flipped her hair in the mirror and made a face, then went downstairs to where the rest of the family was...