Marjorie was drowning. She felt the pull of the water on her legs and the icy shock in her heart. She hadn't even felt the hands on her back as she strolled along the darkened pier. She knew she was going to die and deep within her soul knew that she didn't want to. She kicked with all her might and little by little she began to ascend toward the surface. Her legs tangled up in weed attached to the piers structure like an obscene cat's cradle. She hauled at it, tearing her skin as she did so, the salt...
The year was 1986, a foggy memory bubbling up to the surface of John's mind. He felt the asphault digging into his palms as he pushed himself up to his feet. His back screamed at him to stay down, but there was no time to remain limp on the floor.
200 years, thought John. This was the world as it was 200 years ago. John smiled to himself then, everyone had told him he was crazy... that his ideas were ludicrous. Time travel?.. a concept for the inept and idealistic as one professor had put it. With the arrival of...
Fault. Not a good word. Not a pleasant word. It conjures up the idea of blame. If someone’s at fault, someone’s to blame. The same thing.
Plus it makes me think of faulty. Broken. Useless.
Like you, really. It’s your fault. You’re faulty. It’s not me, it’s you.
I can tell you now I never appreciated the blank stares, the monosyllables, the selfishness, the way you sit there every morning drinking your coffee and reading your paper, or tapping away at your laptop, or doing whatever it is you do with your phone. Facebook, maybe? Or are you on Twitter?...
I am in love with a coffee machine. A robot that makes coffee. I am giddy about it my mornings are filled with percolating robot joy. I have placed the coffee robot on the side of the bed that I don't prefer to sleep on.
The girlfriend side of the bed.
The coffee bot is not my girlfriend she is not even a girl. I can not fuck her - she is too damn hot for that. But I don't mind if she watches my touch myself. That seems okay or well not okay okay I mean you know okay...
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,...
She walked slowly, the sound of her shoes crunching the leaves beneath her. Her dark, brown curls fell on to her shoulders, and her snow-white skirt blew in the wind. To a passer-by, she was simply a stranger. A beautiful stranger, in fact, but in reality, her soul was darker than the night of a new moon. Nobody knew what she had done. The cute, innocent farm girl was not as virtuous as she seemed.
Creeping up again. That is what I thought as as I woke up in my nice but dull apartment. The life I had made for myself, without you, or her, or anyone really at least not anyone warm and willing...wet. Here i was sure, so sure this time that I had vanquished these feelings these ridiculous needs to share my life, my bed to feel your long fingers reaching in to hold me. Gah, too much whiskey not enough coffee or maybe the other way around. I needed to get up to take care of this go downtown and buy...
Standing on the ledge, it seemed so surreal to him. It was like an out of body experience. He couldn't remember deciding to go to the roof. He certainly didn't remember deciding to do what he was about to do. It was almost humorous how much it felt like an out of body experience, almost. He looked down at his clothes and thought of all the different things he could have worn for this. It's odd the details that come into your mind in times of crisis and stress. I guess the devil really is in the details. He was...
This note. This one note. This small little ticket of joy, was my way out of here. Out of this dump. Where flies constantly infest every corner of your house, where birds never sing, where dogs whimper and whine down alley ways. Where the sky is dyed a permanent inky grey. No person could ever be happy here.
Now I had a chance to leave, and I wasn't letting it slip through my fingers, not this time. I ran home. The house was empty. Thudding up the stairs, I charged into my room and slammed the door. Quickly, I grabbed...
"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...