"I shot my butler." I threw the manuscript across the room. Grabbed a scotch. No. Wait. Wanted a scotch, grabbed a bourbon. Drank it anyway. What kind of a piss-poor story ends with "I shot my butler?"
It was Fight Club, that's what did it. I think. All this unreliable narrator business. The publishing world hasn't been the same since, filled with hacks trying to seem clever with these terrible twist endings. It's almost unbearable.
I polished off my bourbon. Still wanted scotch. Rang for Jeffrey. The house is too big, I can't be expected to go all the way...
"No, absolutely not!" Mama Tiger told her cub.
"But Moooooom! All the other cubs get to bring down a gazelle at my age!"
"I don't care what all the other cubs do. I'm not their mother; I'm yours. And the answer is no."
Timothy Tiger wandered off to sulk with his siblings, who were fighting over a piece of dark meat. Watching his brothers fight over a leg, he mumbled, "I bet your mother wasn't overprotective like mine."
He stopped and pondered this a moment. "Oh," he said in sudden realization, shrugged his shoulders and grabbed a leg bone from...
Once he had left it because absolutely clear that I missed him. Before he had left it wasnt so clear. Not at all. In fact, I had fully expected to breathe a sigh of relief once the door closed and I never had to look at his face again. Once it actually happened it was different. Much different.
It made no sence. Well, maybe it did. I had never been very nice. To him, I mean. The times I had snapped could be counted on my fingers. One two three four five six...
He hadn't left any of those times....
Leave me behind as you do is because of my fault. The fault you saw in me is the one you said you'd fix, it's the fault you spoke to me about while we sat on the bus, and I still had a smile, and a home, I still had ambition and curiosity as to where I belonged. I sat and stared out the spotted window and saw a man on a bicycle, and the bicycle made a sound both wooden and metallic against the side of the bus, and the lump under the wheels did not come with the...
Daring to be noticed for the first time in her life, she pushed her chair back and stood up. "Everybody take a good long look at these" she exclaimed.
Jeff turned around to see Samantha holding a rat in each hand. She was smiling for some reason. And then it happened. The rats smelled a rat. That's exactly why Samantha had brought them. She knew if anyone could sniff out the rat that was most definitely sitting somewhere in the class, it would be another rat. (To catch you up, someone told the teacher that Samantha was cheating off of...
"I hate him. He could get hit by a car randomly in the street, and it wouldn't matter to me. It would probably make my days better."
Anyway, it happened. It would. And so then the whole school was plunged into mourning of varying depths. Mourning of the grievous type, and mourning of the more celebratory kind.
Let's be honest. He made everyone's life miserable. He never bothered to even sit. His room was the hallway, not a desk.
The administrator who suspended him that day couldn't stop questioning himself: could I have done more? Should I have done it?...
The gate closed behind them and there was no looking back. What went on inside would be difficult to remember anyway; like a dream that fades after the first cup of coffee, leaving one with but a shadow of a strange feeling that lingers over the rest of the day.
Anne and Bobby had been walking in the woods as the snow fell and Boris, Anne's Laborador retriever, ran ahead. They stopped to kiss in the falling snow, and suddenly noticed that Boris was missing. Running and calling, they came upon a fence they could not recall from any previous...
Meteorites struck a Russian town today. I wondered what I'd be thinking if they hit the place I live. Probably not worrying about my hair as I am today. Nor whether to meet up with the unsuitable man that I know I shouldn't ever see again. Nor would I procrastinate yet again over finishing paperwork and chores. None of that would matter. Only survival. Family. Are they ok? None of the mindless timewasting unimportant trivia we are all obsessed with would even cross our minds in that situation.
It reminds me of the time I was stuck underground in an...
"Who are you?" Gene didn't want to know the answer, but hurled at the woman sitting across the cafe table regardless. It was because of her that he was alone, it was her fault his wife no longer slept at his side.
She sucked at her cigarette, delivering her answer on a ribbon of viscous blue smoke. "Heather. Who're you?"
Gene, ever the copywriter, bit his tongue as his mind snatched the apostrophe from her words. 'Whore' he wanted to scream at the girl who shared the bed of the only woman he'd ever fucked.
'Liar,' the little voice in...
Delia placed fifth in the science fair. For her project, she sliced a potato in half and put each side in its own tupperware container. One side, she sealed shut with a top. The other, she left open.
On the posterboard she wrote "This is what happens when oxygen affects a potato."
Michael's was next to her. He strung miniature light bulbs with wire to show how electricity works. His posterboard was the sturdy kind, with its three foldable panels. He got first place.
Delia hit puberty at twelve. Michael did not. He ate more french fries than ever. He...