I'm dead. Really dead. Not int he " there'll be a twist int he end and ill be saved kind of way. Just dead.
Something things you just know, and I knew by the growing pool of blood that it was over. Dying doesn't t hurt like you would think. I mean, yeah, it isn't fun, but the pain from being wounded, it dissipates.
I can't talk anymore. Breathing is sort of hard, and I can't lift my hands, but I can see, and I can hear, and I can hear the squeaky little cries. I can see my sister,...
afraid I can't follow the prompt
it's entirely outside my area of expertise
guess I could make it all up
but that's not my thing today
thought I would be writing truth
and deep strongly held beliefs
but the prompt about news reporters
and grabbing for glory
doesn't sound like my kind of story
glad for the time limit
as it ticks away I think
at least I will not be verbose
and yet there is something
I really wanted to say about
praying for peace and going to war
and fighting terror with terror
that niggles at my gut...
The moon would never be the same again.
I could tell as I looked out my window tonight that now that he's so far it just, would never.
They all say "Looking up you are staring at the same stars so he can't be far away", yet still in my deepest fears I've realized tonight happens to be a blue moon and the stars have already begun to change without him by my side.
How could this be happening when we said we'd be strong?
I love him.
But i supposed In essence I killed him.
I encouraged him to...
"Okay now, keep steady on the horse." John heard these words and almost groaned with pain. Oh, wait, that was because his horse was trying to run away and bucked up into his crotch. He'd learned to ride one damn day ago and was still hungover from last night's king cup of peach-mango margarita.
"Calm down," she said, "you look stressed." No crap, John thought. He looked at the crowd of people across the water, just standing on dry land, in their bare feet and loose white clothing, chatting and smiling. A few of them were even holding their own...
i held it at arms length. my best friend told me it wasn't going to bite, that i should try it on. i responded by dropping it disgustedly on my dresser and hiding it under an old gum wrapper. "But it's jewelry!" she protested. i didn't care. it was from him. that lying, cheating snake of a guy who had once told me i was the only one. that was before i discovered that he'd told her that too. i opened it, then jumped back like a viper was going to leap out of it. all i saw was the...
"Your team is to find the contact code-named Scurvy."
"Scurvy? Boy, he sounds pleasant."
"Actually, she's quite humorous and accommodating. You'll understand when you meet her."
"What time should I set out."
"Now."
"Great, thanks. I'll take my own rig."
At 0800, I landed on the beach where Scurvy was waiting for me. She didn't seem particularly pirate-like in any way. I handed her the documents, she scanned them, then threw them in the air and set them aflame with a snap.
"So why do they call you Scurvy?"
She stopped mid-stride and leered at me. Hilarious, indeed.
"We've got...
Well, I'll have a go. I said, That's fantastic, you wont regret it I promise, it really helped me. I thanked Chris, I felt a bit anxious about him being so enthusiastic. I hate letting people down, including myself but I wasn't bothered about that right this minute. I left Chris to his Hot Chocolate, which was probably Luke warm by now.
In a few minutes I was out on the street, a breezy day in June. I was looking for a quiet bench to sit down and write a few bits down in my notebook. I don't know if...
The city was empty and so was she. There was an echo in the quiet streets and an echo in her ear. She had heard this sound before--this sound of nothingness--and it reminded her of something. That vacancy. It made her think of her marriage. That was the sound of her marriage, that emptiness. She felt comfortable in that sound. Above her a streetlight snapped on with an almost audible sound. She could hear the click or maybe just imagine it. The electricity lines opening, sending current to that one lamppost so that it could shine with its weak light....
It seemed a good idea to tell the kids to hide behind the bars when the boy went berserk. Glue sniffing was the first suspicion but when we found the numbers appearing all over his skin, a priest was summoned. 666 isn't the kind of thing you normally expect to see on young skin, measles, chicken pox, blackheads, sunburn is a yes. But numbers? That was plain weird.
The exorcist prayed, sprinkled holy water and blessed the boy by putting his hand on his forehead. 666 kept appearing until there wasn't a millimetre of untouched skin.
Then, just to confuse...
We almost died on the way to Guayaquil. I think we would have been more worried if there hadn't been a near-accident. Back in San Juan, we showed off our dismissive gazes and new fedoras to anyone who condescended to notice. We are the hip. We are the elite. Our Che shirts are the only ironic Che shirts south of Belize. We are sexy Ecuadorean hipsters. Fear us.