Travel light, but take everything with you. Don't check bags in for the flight. Have everything in a small case you can take on the plane. That way there could be no lost luggage. No waiting an hour after the flight had landed for a bag that might have been used as a punchbag by some snotty flight attendant. Despite this, air travel was exhausting.
He should have known it was coming. Fatigue setting in. No doubt due to the lacing of his shoes and rethreading his belt into his trousers for the third time. Collecting of belongings from conveyors...
We sat silently in the bunker. We received the call a few hours ago. HQ could not send back up, and the horde was descending on our location.
We held a massive attack on the base last week, but after that was thrown at us, we lost too many men to stay. But we did, as our orders were to do so.
Those bugs just would not stop coming, and apparently they hatched new creations. This time, they will win.
Julio smokes and Johnson just stares at the ground. The bunker could hold for an hour, maybe. We secured the...
Their lives were not timelines, but many intertwining threads, stopping and starting on a whim. Every moment could be a start or an end, a little birth or a little death; it happened when they woke up, after orgasm, in the park or in the rain -- a sudden reconfiguration of the world, a reinterpretation of their thoughts and feelings into something completely new. They had personalities made of Lego bricks, and they loved it.
Hats. They don't tell you all there is to hats. Hats are of course a fashionable item, they shield for our eyes, a blanket for our head. But hats don't allow your to show your self. I say "self" to describe that brilliant light and vibration that extends from every pore. The fluorescent and transcendent light that seem to be so pure in this tainted world. We all have one. But hats don't let them flow. Hats cover your Crown. Hats hide you.
You don't wear hats. That is when I knew. Your shines like a thousand suns of every...
The conversation lasted two words: "Never again." They said it at the same time as they exited the restaurant. Why had the waiter insisted on swaying them away from the salmon and toward the tough lamb? Was it deliberate? Did he know this was a make-it-or-break-it meal and was itching to break something, anything? Did he glean from their terse looks that something dire was already on their horizon, and while the kids were asleep, the exorbitant sitter keeping watch, they were out to rehash the missteps that had brought them here? Had the waiter's ex-wife just taken him for...
The disco ball was turning, splattering little dots of light around the room. James waited patiently in his carefully thoughtout position directly above it. He needed to wait until his target reached the invisible X directly under the big rotating ball of tiny mirrors. His fingers ached but soon, he told himself, soon he would have satisfaction. The man in the suit coat was nearing th X. James positioned the knife next to the rope that held the disco ball. The man was on the X. In one swift motion, James cut the rope and watched as it fell. There...
Turning the copper penny over and over between his fingers, Miguel slowly let out a long sigh. He stared at the penny that rested upright between his middle and pointer finger, perfectly round, and now perfectly worn, so much so, that one could barely distinguish Abe Lincoln sitting in that giant chair, save for honest Abe's long beard.
Miguel walked on through the dusty streets of a town that sat on the border between his country and the golden land of opportunity. The burning sun started to set, slowly making its way down the flat horizon, setting fire to everything...
Peasants. The term had only been approved by the Officals a few weeks ago and now, everyone of my Group was referred to as a Peasant. Grandmother used to tell stories about the people who used to be called Peasants. They were basically slaves and very poor but that was hundreds of years ago. Today in 2796, the Officals won't allow anyone to accuse them of abusing their citizens so we are provided with enough food and shelter and clothes to stay alive. Alive. No, that's not right. We survive. Here, we don't really live. At least, not in the...
The pidgeon man rolled off the sky-scraper. Thousands of birds flew with the updraft, gaining momentum as they hurled their bodies into his back. The crawling taxis below wailed insistently. Pedestrians opened their umbrellas, one by one. Sunset embalmed the towers in reflective flame.
The pidgeon man did not see what was beneath him. He only and always looked up.
His shadow grew on the pavement. He was seconds away from landing, yet the birds continued their sacrifice.
I don't like this piece at all. It is a depressing photo. :(
Read something else.
Spinning. The whole world was spinning.
And not the good kind either. The ground was pitching backward under my feet, making the sky wobble on its axis and vault over me as I hit my knees.
It was so hot... This's heat stroke?
The black asphalt, hotter still than the sun itself, scraped my skin as I went down, the color brightening and blurring across my vision into one massive kaleidescope of obnoxious rainbows, melting together. The sound buzzed unintelligibly in my ears, somehow feeling cold.
"Get out of the way! Move it!" I could vaguely hear the sound of...