I was my own villain my own devastating ending
The back of the car has not been cleaned very well, candy wrappers, a dogs toy. None of it speaks to me today none of it means anything. I lie here and imagine stars, the smell of campfires, oceans, sex.
I was my own Hero
The parking brake sticks sometimes the left turn signal works but you can't tell from inside. Let it drift down the big hills, brake pads aren't free.
Run your finger on the fake wood grain, pray for rain, pray for peace. The trick is to let...
The children were not at school.
When the bomb went off, Mrs. Stevenson's grade four class was on a field trip to the museum. Luckily for them, the museum had a bomb shelter underneath, paid for by a very wealthy and very paranoid patron.
The parents all rushed to the school, frightened out of their minds. All the other kids were delivered safely to their families, but all the parents with a fourth grade student waited anxiously for their children who never showed up.
The principal tried to comfort the wailing mothers, while the fathers were standing around angrily, blaming...
He’d always thought of Malory as a cat person. She referred to cats in conversation energetically and often, so when he visited her apartment he expected to meet a few. Malory set him straight. She was two when her parents gave Bo and Greco away. Mama and Dad, three children under four, an ailing dog and two cats were too much. They could not all be borne. Rip was on meds for anxiety, his pee pooling in the old floorboards. The cats threw his kibble at him and shed disdainful tufts. When Rip and the baby both stopped sleeping through...
"Everyday has promise."
"Everyday?"
"Yes, everyday."
"Well it seems that the first day of the year has more promise then the rest."
"I suppose but I will certainly take it as a good sign that you are at leasting embracing the possibility of promise."
"I am sorry for so much, life as usual, for far too long." She looked at him then. It had been so long since she heard something deeper in his words then the surface of day to day. He didn't see her looking of course. His eyes were on the news so she turned back...
The dream was better than waking. I floated, all the past troubles seeming to dissipate before my very eyes. Luke was nowhere to be seen, which was a relief, because in days past he had haunted my dreams mercilessly. I noticed that there was no one else in my dream, just a thick, white mist. Like a feather bed, i laid in the unusally substantial mist, in a mystical dreamlike state. I saw a shape, a dark figure coming through the fog. It was Nyxie, my facility director. Her red hair floated like me, but she kept to the ground....
Wine. I knew that the Prosecco was cold enough and I was nervously stepping all over the apartment waiting for her to show up.I loved her. She knew that, but all she could give me was her frienship she said. Oh How much I hated that phrase, it kept pounding on my head like an hammer. I had the wine, sparkling Prosecco. If ...maybe....I was dreaming. I met her when she was very young. She was as beautiful as a star in the dark skies of Arizona. She wanted to be an actress..I was going to help her with my...
He ran into the room, his heart pounding, and his clothes soaking wet.
"What's wrong?!" she asked him.
He ducked into a side room away from the windows in the door. "The police are looking for me. They think I killed someone," he said.
"Oh my god! Why do they think that?"
"I don't know, but I didn't do anything."
"What happened?"
"I was our for a walk when the storm started, and I knocked on the door of the nearest house where I saw lights on. There was no answer, so I opened the door to see if anyone...
Vanquished. Again.
How many times is this going to happen, just in the course of one day? How many times can you suffer defeat at the hands of your enemy? Even if that enemy is your coworker, how can you really stomach it happening over and over?
It's such a small thing, really. Who will empty the trash doesn't seem like something that could cause so much strife, but you're not going to do, and he's not going to do it, and it's just not going to get done. You keep looking up over your desk to see if it's...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She had just made it home. It was 11:58 p.m. The night would end in a couple of minutes, and with it, her glittering ruby gown, the silken slippers, and the jade hairpins keeping her silken locks in its elaborate up-do. But for now, she would savor the evening she'd just had: eating the most sumptuous food she'd ever had, mingling with the guests she'd once called neighbors, and most of all, dancing in the yellow throne room with the prince's half-brother.
the pumpkin