She'd always come running when I called. That one girl I relied on throughout the toughest of times. I couldn't imagine a day without her. Beautiful tawny eyes that stared at me with loyal knowing. Full of wisdom and life. I'll never forget her.
The tousled mane of golden locks always framed her just right when I saw her. She looked delightful, so happy and bursting with youthful energy. Her smile lit up my world, my lonely, oh so lonely world.
There was no one else around me, but for her... My dearest friend. I look at her now and...
The room was dark and hazey that morning. Im sure the night before that had been filled with booze, girls and college antics was the cause of the dry, drpessed feeling.
My proffessors voice piecrced like a knife in my skull as he said "You have six minutes to write a story. GO!" My hand gripped the chewed No. 2 pencil as I scramble to write everything about nothing.
My mind raced at the pace of a hungry slug as I stamered to think of somthing to write.
My writing skills are poor, I have limited ideas and my grammer...
Have I ever told you the story of how I got expelled from high school? It all started with this asshole kid, Greg Helsprat. He wasn't called "Greg Helsprat" back then. Instead, we called him "Fistbump". He hated it, but it fitted. He used his fists a lot, but most of all he kind of looked like a fist. Anyway, Fistbump seemed to enjoy treating other kids like crap, but he always had something special planned for me. Maybe he hated funny people, maybe he had a crush on me, maybe because I coined "Fistbump". I never found out why....
"Listen," I whisper. "Hear the waves crash."
She listens, head cocked to one side. Her beautiful golden hair cascades down her face, a blonde waterfall.
"They're telling you stories," I tell her. "And you can hear them, if you listen."
You can almost hear her, the force it takes for her air-filled brain to concentrate, and listen. Now, she is perfectly poised, on the edge of the cliff. The waves break below her, screaming in her ear. It only takes a slight shove, and she topples off the edge. Even in death she is picture-perfect. For a few moments she...
You can count me out. My arms are too sore to continue. It's almost dawn and how I long to lie with my love. This meager pittance of a nights work might afford a cup of coffee and bus fare. Hopefully the driver will allow me on tonight with the tools of my trade.
Such is life for a man of little talent. I read once that in order to be truly happy your name must match your occupation. Sort of like, George would be a Geologist. Or a Dennis is destined to become a Dentist. So what was Mom...
When Martin woke up, he was still in the back of the van. He didn't know, how long he was unconscious. He couldn't see anything but darkness, but he heard and felt, that the van was still driving. After a while, his eyes started to make out some details in the dark, when he spotted a tine hole in the van, through which a little light came in. He pressed his face onto the aluminum wall and tried his best to make out some details about his whereabouts. At first, all he could see was white, but then he spotted...
"Well...that happened," thought the little pup as he watched his owner be eaten by a sharktopus. At least, he thought it was a sharktopus. His owner had been talking about it over and over again to random objects in the house like the small, hard thing that glows and vibrates every five minutes or the really loud block that holds the other block. He did very much like his owner, but he was often quite dumbfounded at his owner's abilities. For instance, whenever talking to him, his owner changed his voice as if he were someone else. Sometimes, when he...
Spinning. Spinning. Spinning. That is all she knows now.
"You'll become dizzy soon," he whispers in her ear. She smiles deliriously as he turns her around, spins her again. His hands, big and strong, fit around her waist perfectly.
"Spin," she tells him. "Spin." Again he twirls her. She is tiny in front of him. She smiles again.
The world has become a colorful blur around her. In this spinning she can forget everything. Maybe her past blurs behind her now, and all the lies blur into something deeper, into truth. Maybe this way everything can blur and blur till...
She was the most delicate girl in town. Or at least, that's what they all thought. With her prim private school uniform, glossy ringlet curls and polite smile, she had them all fooled. Everyone except me. Noone knew her like I did though. Sharing a bedroom gives an unprecedented view into a person's inner psyche. I'm not just talking about dirty washing left on the floor and mugs growing mould, though that's gross enough. It's not even just the boys, or increasingly lately - men, she would shimmy down the drain pipe to meet. It's not even that her straight...
"Two-thousand-seventy bottles of beer on the wall, two-thousand and seventy bottles of beeeeeer. Take one down, pass it around, two-thousand-and-sixty-nine bottles of beer on the waaaaaaaaaaaaaaall."
Johnny steps down from the stage to thunderous, silent applause. A few faces are comically stunned. Most are arranged in various expressions of disgust.
I'm sure the patrons of the Poet's Society were hoping for better lyrics from the Frontman of the Year. I walk hurriedly to the publicist to begin my explanation. Should I go for the cancer, the break-up, the drugs, or the booze option? I'm sure that's what everyone's thinking anyway....