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...
Four minutes away from the burn point, one of the telltales switched from green to red. Tears streamed from my eyes, flowing back fast into my ears. The compression collar held my head in an unshakable grip. I flicked from gauge to gauge, moving only my eyes.
We were pulling seven Gs on the spinning turn, squeezing as much boost velocity as possible from the flyby. Apparently, the strain had been too much for the secondary backup fuel pump. The main primary pump and its backup were still reading green, and the main secondary was still green as well. The...
The disco ball was turning. We danced below it, it's light swirling in a million little dots of light. soft music guided us around. His tuxedo creased slightly where my hand rested on his shoulder. My dress had cost a fortune, and it was a little hard to move, but it was so worth it. him beaming down at me lit up the room. my heart skipped a beat as he squeezed my hand slightly as we careened gracefully around other couples. i had wondered why they bothered with a disco ball when strobe lights were the last word in...
I looked up at the cathedral door and I thought this is what it means, this is how it all culminates, in this big round arch towering above my head. It was like a mouth, opening wide to swallow me up and draw me down inside, to consume and digest me. Just like the church, I thought. This is what it does. Consumes me.
After I'd breached the threshold, the sounds of the war outside hushed and all I heard was the soft murmur of the others, deeper inside, the soft crying of lost and destroyed. Here's where we come,...
Leaving was the easiest decision to make, and the hardest action to take. Which was strangely ironic, because he was notoriously indecisive about everything. But this time, it was a clear case that he needed to get out, run away, and with haste.
However, haste was yet another thing he did relatively badly, too.
But maybe it was because it had become too entertaining to leave. Yes, he was in constant peril, but verily, the actions of the mortals around him were entertaining to the last. Nowhere else could he find people willing to do such stupid inane activities like...
There was blood on my pillow. "Oh, snap." i said. so last night wasn't really a dream, then. i actually did it. oh, well, that changes things entirely, then, doesn't it? He's really... crap."i held it... i-i did it." i said to no one in particular. i looked at my palm. it was still wet and sticky with blood. Not my blood. Honestly, did you really... no. his blood. I turn over, and with a jolt, realize the knife is sitting on my bedside table. my stomach heaved. i swung my legs out of bed and grabbed the knife, shuddering...
Light shone through the gap in the thick black curtains. I could see people sitting round the table in candlelight holding hands. I knew what they would be thinking, hoping, that the spirits would speak to the woman sitting at the head of the long table. I could easily imagine their desperation, hope, excitement.
Cassandra had been an actress before she took on this role, this deceit which gave her more money and adultation than ever before. These gullible grieving people wrote out checks without ever hearing a message, they just wanted to know someone cared, listened to their hesitant...
Whoever said a picture was worth a thousand words had never met Frank.
The man had never met a camera he didn't like, a paintbrush he couldn't weild with the skill of an accomplished demolition man. He didn't just fail to capture his subjects, he mutilated them, butchered their faces on canvas or in gelatin print to the point that the destruction itself was an art form.
Shadows cast a sinister light on the angelic face of his little girl. Brush strokes created abhorrent textures in the golden halo of his wife's hair.
Artists were said to put themselves into...
the birds on the telephone line have heard me talking
the birds on the power line have felt me typing
one bird two bird
the wind that bristles the oily feathers
the light off the moon through the black air
have all heard me
I can't remember what I've said
I've said so much
but the crows
I hear
don't forget a thing.
Leaving was the easiest decision to make, and the hardest action to take. He fingered the photograph of his wife and daughter, remembering the last time he'd held them in his arms, crying as the rain washed away his tears. He remembered the wailing sirens, the questions, the looks on people's faces - faces filled with a mixture of sadness, suspicion, and contempt.
He thought about the judge, the look on condemnation as he sentenced him, as though the loss of his family wasn't punishment enough. He visualized walking past the liquor store, his steps heavier as he forced himself...