For some reason, I couldn't stop staring at the picture. It was... gorgeous, sure. The colors were somewhat exaggerated, leaving me with the sick feeling you get when you eat something that's got so much sugar in it, it might as well be syrup. The writing at the top is what really got my attention. I never really understood the whole point of Christ.
I mean, here we are, a bunch of people living on this planet that God created, and we're all pieces of crap destined to go to hell because we're just that bad. And along comes Christ...
Time to empty his pockets. Small knife worn ebony handle, three cheap plastic lighters, one engraved silver lighter, crumpled receipts, loose change, reading glasses, two cell phones (one pink). Notebook of newspaper clippings, photos, poems, doodles. He didn't know what to do about it. Recalled the shivery feeling when he looked through it, read the threats within the pages.
Kleptomania could be an interesting condition to have. Usually he was thrilled by his daily haul. Not today. Wondering if his conscience would make him warn the subject of the notebook.
She looks beautiful. Innocent. Unaware..
"You can count me out."
"What? Why? Come on, it's only one little job. The last one we'll ever need."
I looked at him warily. "I don't even want to know. Just let me go back home. I'd really rather not get involved in this."
"You're the best hacker we know."
"EX-hacker," I growled through gritted teeth. "I'm done with all of this."
"You're not done. Your heart is racing. You remember the thrill of a job."
I couldn't very well say no to that point, at least. My heart was pounding in my chest. I could feel the blood...
The pistol was cocked, ready to go. Aiming at the highway man was easy, pulling the trigger was the problem. I couldn't do it no matter how much I wanted to. His dark brown eyes bore into my soul, that's how if felt at that precise moment. My body responded, unexpectedly, primitive feelings, not appropriate for this situation. My older, pregnant sister and I held up enroute for our summer vacation.
His long black hair fastened by a long navy ribbon, his light mahogany skin, full lips smiling at me was all I could think about. The right eyebrow raised,...
I jumped.
In a few years time I would be able to pin down the thought processes that had led to possibly the most insane decision of my life, but right now all I felt was the surge of adrenaline as I took that leap of faith and laced my fingers with those of the man next to me. The almost stranger, the man who'd watched me across the room for the past month. We'd barely even spoken until two days before yet here I was, my hot sweaty hand in his, leaping into the unknown.
I couldn't help it,...
(Author's Note: To read Part 1, follow this link: http://sixminutestory.com/stories/somewhere-better.)
Green.
All around her was greenery, stretching beyond the horizons, undulating and flowing. If she had ever been outside the confines of the busy city, she might have compared it to endless fields of gently waving, emerald green wheat.
The city. Where had the city gone?! She had been there just a moment ago... Hadn't she?
She liked the city. At least, she thought she did. It was familiar. It was comfortable. It was scary at times, and intimidating, but it was a fear she *knew*, one she had always...
I shot my butler. His name was Greg. I shot him because I don't think butlers should be called Greg. They should be called things like Alfred or Jeeves or Cadbury or Pennyworth. Not Greg, who was from New Jersey. He didn't have a British accent. He lisped. And he was a dwarf. And his armpits stank. And he insisted on working naked. That wouldn't have been so bad if his scrotum hadn't been seven feet long so that it dragged behind him when he walked. True, it helped keep the marble floors a little more polished, but grandma kept...
I couldn't believe what I had just done. I ran outside the school, my breath coming out in raspy gulps. There was not even a chance of going back. I ran to the closest store I could find and loaded up. It was going to be a long trip.
I never thought that would actually happen to me. It only occurred in movies. Real life was never that interesting- or miserable I guess. I knew stopping and sitting down wouldn't be the smartest idea, but I couldn't stop myself from pausing for a second. What would I do with my...
Sitting at a desk with pen in hand. "It's us against the world." "Watch out, America."
The circle of faces tightens. The air seems heavy. No one breathes. This could be the start of a new world era. One wrong word and it could be the end of this one, and it is impossible to say which outcome is worse.
Moonlight drips in through the window. "Just start it," someone whispers. A hand reaches in and drops the precious sheets of paper on the desk. Only two. One chance to mess up, and that's only if the writing is small...
I always felt like I was stuck in a bubble. Like the Pope in his vehicle. On display like the Queen of England. A goldfish in a bowl. Maybe it was my shyness or my wart on my left cheek. Maybe it was the lisp that made everyone return my greetings with a "What did you say?" Maybe it was my slumped back, the hump that made shopping for blazers so difficult.
"Who's in there?" small children would say, peering at me on a Sunday in the park. "Don't bother that nice man," their mothers would say. The mothers were...