It was like the time he thought that Daddy was hurting Mummy, he was sure. He was certain there'd be a Reasonable Explanation, like when Mummy shouted at God in the middle of the night, and asked Him for 'more'.
He was trying to work it out, to see what the Reasonable Explanation could be. Sometimes there isn't one. One morning when Granddad Alan was alive and he was staying at the house, he'd found his granddad eating Smokey's SuperRabbit food for breakfast with Mummy's red label milk.
He'd tried to see the Reasonable Explanation but there hadn't been one,...
We had to move quick. Aside from the smell of decay, and the swarms of flesh-eating bugs that harangued us at every turn, the swamp was cold, and Dr. Fjord's injury was not getting any better. I didn't like dragging her through the murky waters like this, but I didn't have a choice. I held her as far from the water's surface as possible, but I couldn't keep her out entirely. She wasn't doing much to help, though I could tell it wasn't by choice. She was barely conscious.
"How far?" I asked, my voice no more than a rasp....
Draya looked out through the trees to her castle. She had been in hiding ever since the rebellion had started. Her father had sent her to a place where Bishop Fenson couldn't find her. He had wanted to kill her. She was the heir to the throne. Shortly after she had been sent away, she heard the news that this bishop had killed her father because he felt he wasn't being given the respect that was needed by someone of his status. The months had been long and hard and she had waited, making plans.
Now was her chance. Draya...
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,...
What had just happened? He tried to focus on where he was but his head was aching. Why wasn't she with him?
Vivid images started to flash into his head and his limbs tingled with the sensation of cold.
The boat. It was gone and it had angrily and unjustly taken her with it. There was nothing that he could have done - or was there?
As he had grasped her wrist with all the strength in his body, he had looked into her blue frightened eyes. Suddenly his hold on her had weakened and she fell down into the...
"I gotta get out of here" he cried.
The room began to spin as he collapsed and sank against the wall. This was only the fourth time he had tried this method, and yet he was still shivering from the cold. Was only his fault he couldn't swim very well in the dark, he was just disoriented from being stuck in the room for so long.
"Now, now Mr. Stevens. No use getting all wet and miserable on my behalf." A voice softly chuckled above him.
Stevens could clearly see that the intercom in front of him was glowing red....
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....
You can count me out. Everybody knows he's not my favorite person. I'm not debating that.
Take the way he eats: He makes these noises. He SINGS the chewing. It sounds sort of charming right at this moment, but in point of fact it's gross. Nobody wants to hear a turkey dinner set to Ave Maria. Two weeks planning a meal, you want a moment of silence. Some good old-fashioned reverence. What's happened to that -- what is it -- an emotion? These days, it's gone.
As I said, I don't like the man. But I also don't like crows...
Gigantic was a nickname. Gigantic gave himself the nickname Gigantic. Gigantic was many things: loud, abrasive, blond, cigar smoker, and the worst golfer in the county. What Gigantic was not, however, was Gigantic.
Now, he wasn't the smallest guy you ever did see. Five foot three, which is not large, but you might say was the antithesis of Gigantic. But you would have to know the meaning of the word antithesis. And you don't.
Anyhow, Gigantic was the only person who called himself Gigantic. Everyone else called him by his real name, which was Smailey Bott. For some reason, everyone...