The spotlight travelled the circumference of the room in search of a victim, looking to curb its own discomfort by persuading the unwanted attention on to another. Beneath its bright glare the chosen individual trebled and froze, as if caught in headlights. Then, becoming aware of the line of eyes, the press of bodies – waiting, watching, for her to spring into action, to move, to come alive – she lifted her arms, stretching them out, inhaling deeply.
Her performance opened with a slow dance, the words of a song low and soft on her breath, barely above a whisper....
It rose. She held his hand and it felt like grass. It was grass between her fingers; but for all she cared at that moment, it was his brown hair.
She had always promised to watch it with him. To let the gold clothe their bodies slowly as they sat together, her tousling his hair. She leaned her back against the cold, flat stone behind her back and stretched her legs.
She smiled. She was happy for the first time in her life. She had fulfilled her duty to him, her last promise. Her head told her she should feel...
Nostalgia. Oh, how I love the feeling.
Staring across the dim room at my parent's house is where it began. Noticing the wooden draws that I painted a warm orange in primary school strengthened it. Opening the bottom-left draw, revealing my well-loved Nintendo, Nokia, and iPod is where it ended.
Nostalgia. Oh, how I miss the feeling.
I ran my rough fingers across the chipped edges of my iPod, drumming my fingers across it's back as I remembered the Beyonce songs that would blast through my little ears every night, while singing, or rather, screaming, the lyrics to 'Halo'.
Nostalgia....
Augustine - certainly not a saint at this point in time - sat in the garden reading. According to the custom of the time, he read aloud. He read his new passion, the letters of St Paul and the Holy Gospels. Today he was reading in Galatians. Freedom was God's gift to the Christian. Augustine searched his heart and his body. He was not free. He was attached: attached to his mistress and his son, named ironically Deodatus (God's gift); he was attached to the enjoyment of sexuality; he was attached to his comfortable lifestyle. He was imprisoned by his...
"Wait, so he hit you?"
I nodded furiously, still trying to chew what was left in my mouth before retelling the all-to-famous story of how "Yes, he hit me." No one every seemed to believe me.
But it happened. No kidding. It really happened. He hit me.
Not that I would tell anyone. Ya know, other than my best friends.
Okay, so a lot of people.
It's not a big deal. I swear.
So this is how it goes. Or at least, how I remember it. . .
I was in the backyard, wading my feet in the pool...
After a quick twist, the silver top was back on the salt shaker, diamonds hidden underneath the large white crystals and put back into the kitchen cupboard.
Simone Chandler didn't even break into a sweat. She turned around just as her husband strode into the room and shouted down the phone receiver. 'You better find those goddamn stones or else!'
'Still no sign Rory?' she asked, busying herself, pouring a strong cup of coffee and putting it onto the black marble worktop.
He didn't answer but gulped the scalding liquid, not seeming to notice the heat.
'I'll kill Johnson'.
Simone...
It’s like each of our lives is played out alone, obedient to the rules of a separate game board, the ladders, the squares, following the thread of a unique tale, a tail that curls around until it meets up with its maker, its head, forming a neat ball (transparent, weightless), floating effortlessly on the wind, drifting along alongside billions and trillions of other small balls, all caught up in their own complex narratives.
Yet interestingly, while it is easy enough to peer inside each of these other balls as we pass by them, (noting, as we do so, what its...
I have been frustrated for weeks. Can't come up with any ideas about 3d printers - articles or fiction I've been asked to write. Suddenly I realised a way around this. I sneaked out some brain matter from the lab at work and re-created objects on the machine that I then used in a way I cannot explain (for legal reasons). Hence I had my own neverending supply of ideas.
The website editor was beginning to get overwhelmed by the sheer volume and creativity I was producing on a daily basis. I managed his frequent questions as to where I...
The sound reverberated through the streets. Chant. Gregorian. Darkness illuminated by thousands of candles, human snakes weaving their way through the streets. This was the first time I'd visited Taize but knew it would not be the last.
Simon did not feel the same. Hated being surrounded, enclosed by people. Unnerved, anxious clinging onto me like a child instead of a man ten years older.
I felt at one with the crowd, heard the repetetive words flow through me, part of me for evermore. Tried to shrug away the insistent pulling at my coat sleeve, ignore Simon's shout in my...
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.