They did not know where they arrived, the landscape was strange and different. The last days was mixed up as the food on the lifeboat had been gone for quite a good while when they finally reached this shore.
Maybe they where in the afterlife, he had no idea and neither had Marc that was with him in the lifeboat. Marc was one of the sailors on the ship that he was traveling with, hunting for inspiration to write new rhymes about ancient mariners.
Now in this shipwrecked state he somehow had saved pen and paper. So important for him,...
The audience stared open mouthed at me. The excitement of their shock rippled and fizzed through me as I beamed at them, arms spread wide.
I'd been acting in the same play for what felt like aeons and it had begun to wear on me. Each line felt like a chore and I had said so to a friend of mine over coffee.
"Do something new, then!" he'd said, "Do something exciting!"
I'd pondered this suggestion as I dragged myself into my costume. The most wondeful idea hit me and acted my part better than I ever had before, buzzing...
Lost, without a hand to hold. That sounds about right. I never thought about it that way, though. To me it's more.. lost, without a sight to see? I don't usually think of people as guiding me. Especially in terms of being lost. Usually, it's my surroundings. This can be taken at face value - if I were lost somewhere in a city, I would be looking for landmarks to guide me. It has a double meaning though. If I feel lost, as in lost without a hand to hold, that means lost in life. To me. I suppose lost...
Janet said it was good to write to Santa, so that he knows what to bring on Christmas Day. I did do it once before, but Daddy took the letter and later, it was in tiny pieces in the bin. I told him Santa won't know what I want, and he slapped me hard on my face and told me to get him another beer or there wouldn't be any bloody Christmas.
Janet says this Christmas will be different from all of the rest, because Santa always comes to her house and I sleep here now. Janet says I can...
When I took the photo it was still light. Tom threw his arms around me and twirled us both around, our shrieks and laughter echoed on the mountain. Ten minutes later he was dead. Torn to pieces by an unexpected pack of hungry wolves. None of them touched me. They circled, growling but left me alone. Even when I ran to the trees and attempted to climb, slipping back down the icy bark. Ignoring screams, snowballs I managed to throw. Dragging Tom's body away they left me alone to my grief, shock, sorrow, disbelief and paralysing fear.
I'm in love with a robot, but he doesn't know. Yesterday morning when he brought me my coffee, I dropped a less subtle hint, something about pressing each other's buttons. But it didn't register. Or if it did, he is playing hard to get. Why should this one be any different? Maybe it wasn't the best idea to name him Rosie, but that's Hanna-Barbera conditioning for you. The warranty says I'm good until next June, so I suppose I could register the unrequited feelings as a defect in workmanship, but I don't know that it would fly. Rosie in all...
There were times like that, where even if it was something relatively mundane, he could stare long and hard at it and still have no clue what it was. Sometimes it worried him. One, it meant his vision was probably steadily worsening. Two, that he would imagine up something else in the place of an everyday object did not bode well for arguing his sanity. On the other hand, he could just say that meant he was ten-fold more creative than the average person.
A lot of the times he managed to draw up something quite unsettling though, and it...
Candace wants all her glasses to look half-full, but Martin can't stop complaining. He's tried to keep his mouth shut when work is too busy and when he gets cut off on the road, he sometimes count from ten out loud.
But generally, Candace is too fat (thick!) and their house keeps feeling smaller (cozy!) with all of the things she hoards (collects!) that he's prone to throw some of the junk (trinkets!) at the wall in hopes that they shatter. When she sweeps up the mess, she hums the chimney sweep song from Mary Poppins.
Once a month, she...
then the cold
A wet cold that moves through you that clings to your insides
A cold that whispers soft and true
_You will never be warm
Smile and huddle and see that here too in this fog, this unrelenting mist that covers everything
Here too is warmth, here too is a God
The tape has been cut. The mayor has let crowds of tiny white men swim into the formerly closed building. The building was opened before overseers of its construction had planned, even approved of. Business seemed to be booming, all these men trampling one another to get at the precious items of the store. For one reason or another, most rejected the product. Some found it too expensive, some got lost in the labyrinth of shelves and whatnot, I even heard that some were trampled on the way in. But one man out of all of them, millions of them,...