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...
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
Listen to the sounds that the butterflies make. Listen what they say when they communicate, as they talk to each other, their little butterfly whispers, back and forth, their conversation. Through these special headphones, you can for the first time hear the conversation of the butterflies.
Sadly, twenty seven years ago was the last time we saw real, live butterflies. The great butterfly passing of 2017 was a hard, lonely time for human beings.
But thankfully, forward thinking scientists recorded every sound, every movement, every bit of data they could about 2102 different butterfly species. And now you, through the...
My throat ached from a barrage of overpriced, fried abuse. My voice was hoarse, having spent most of the day screaming on children's roller coasters and shouting Marco-Polo in the crowds after my friends. I had waiting 25 years to go to Disneyland, and I was not disappointed. Not yet.
The vengeful sun, gastronomic malfeasance, and hours outside of my normal cubicle-induced sedentary lifestyle decided to wreak havoc. I rushed into familiar territory: a row of screaming toilets and sing-song children. My friends were en queue right outside, leaning against tall hedges.
"What are we waiting for?"
"Something amazing. I...
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...
"His thoughts are too scattered, just give him a moment to collect." This advice within the high pitched laugh of a well-meaning mother. The tour guide had simply meant to ask her son a simple question, how could the guide know that the son had no intention of answering?
"Well." The guide sputtered, looking for a simpler way to ask the stubborn child with almond eyes if he liked the zoo. Finding nothing suitable, he reached into the cage behind him and pulled out a red snapper. "Here, hold it."
The child held his hands out and mewed with delight....
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...
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.
He heard two doors smash and with a loud screech and a blinding beam of light, the door to the back opened. He expected the three masked men to open, but found a woman instead. "Is your name Martin?" "Who are you?", he asked. "I'm no one, until you tell me your name." His eyes almost fully adapted to the brightness and he could now see her clearly. She was wearing all black, except for a jeans jacket. She seemed to shiver in the cold, and he couldn't help but notice, that she's kind of cute.
You had me at ox bow lake, knee deep in dark water. "It's not so bad, right?" you said.
"It's no Jersey Shore," I said, "But I guess it's not that bad."
You crouched so that you were neck deep in dark water. "You gotta get your whole body in."
Then, a gunshot. I spun around quick and covered my breasts with my forearm. I heard you laughing behind me.
"City girls. Can't take em nowhere." You leaned back and did a halfhearted backstroke. "Just a hunter probably." I sunk in a little more. "Come on," you said. "Come swim."...