Fault.
The window?
The guardrail that gave way?
The father who opened the window earlier?
The mother who moved the ottoman too close to the window?
The gate that inexplicably stopped being baby-proof that night?
The nanny who ran into the other room to grab his bottle?
The parents who were away at a colleague's baby shower?
The decision to buy an apartment on the 15th floor?
The gusty winds that day?
The decision to go to the party?
The invite?
Wide eyes, open and deep
Divine perfection in bodily form
An angel drawn from sleep
She draws me to the sweetest storm
There not much to say about this motorcycle that my grandfather gave me other than it's seen better days. The rust on the sides indicate multiple days and nights spent out in the rain and cold and the headlight is so dim that it must have been years since it's been changed. For me, this bike has no sentimental value, other than the value it's been given by my grandfather. He loved this bike more than anything. He would ride it across the country once every year just to see both coasts and catch up with old friends that he...
"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...
"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....
I slowly lifted my head, spat the straw out of my mouth and wondered who the hell had encased my skull in lead.
What a party!
The details were a little vague. I knew Big Dave was there and I had a faint recollection of him laying in the bath fast asleep and covered in lipstick. I laughed quietly so as not to hurt my head.
'Heavy night mate' came a voice from behind?
I responded with a grunt, the best I could manage with a mouth like a sandpit.I turned very slowly and my eyes finally began to focus....
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...
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...
Running from the larva, Nick wondered if he could stop for a second, catch his breath. He carried on, the survival persona taking over, making him look ahead at the hovering helicopter, knowing his life depended on reaching it...........
This part of the dream would never go away, he'd been recording it for years, wondering what it meant. He'd never been anywhere with a volcano, or any life of death scenarios, or had any worrying health concerns that he could recall.
Every night at three am he would wake, drenched in sweat, shouting out 'wait for me' to the helicopter...
I held it at arm's length. The talking cat. No, I'm not insane. It's voice was higher and softer than human of course, but it talked just like the rest of us in English. I did ask if any other languages were known to it, but I was told it had been brought up by a family originally from Wales that had not been allowed to speak their mother tongue in their small village in Somerset.
Bob was it's name. Jet black. Educated, knew far more than me about current affairs, history, geography and was a whizz with the internet,...