"Hello?"
There was nothing on the other end of the line but silence. "Hey, can you here me? Is anyone there?" Martin waited. "I didn't imagine it, did I?" He hung up. He grabbed his bag of food, and went outside, when he stopped for a moment, then turned back to the cash register and emptied it. Besides about $200 there was also an old picture inside, showing three women. Martin inspected the time stamp. Sept. 20th 1922. Just then, he heard a "BING..." as the atomatic doors opend.
AwesomeAwesome. The goal is to write like the wind? I think not. Friday is a black day for productivity. This is illustrated in our hero, Freewrite. Optimism is a dying breed in Friday, where nothing gets done, and we must relax. we are constricted by it. Freewrite goes on a quest, to the edge of Friday, on a sacred quest to find Work Ethic, said to redeem the last Optimisms in the land. But the victory, my friends, is that Work Ethic is not found, but made. Hard work redeems Optimism, comrades. specially on a Friday, when I could eat...
"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...
Headphones on, gazing far out into the horizon, the tops of the Adirondacks at her feet, flowing out into the valley like waves, going for miles. He was behind her. Her father had fallen on the path up to this point. He had clutched his chest and complained of shooting pains down the arm, but she hadn't listened. She was at that age, the precipice of adulthood teetering before her, and she was certain she no longer needed to listen to her father, not about this, not about anything. But when they reached the crest of the hill, she looked...
She'd always come running when I called. I could have called her to come get a splinter out of my hand, to help me with my homework, to get me out from the tree in my backyard, or just so I could see her smiling face for hours as we talked. I was so use to this that the idea that some day she wouldn't come running when I called never even crossed my mind. I loved her with every single particle that made up my body.
At this exact moment though the only thought I could think was that...
"Saranghae."
His words made my heart stop.
"What did you say?" I whispered, not daring to look back at him.
" I love you Hye Jin. I said I love you. So please..Come back. Be mine." Sae Joon reached for my hand, but I quickly slapped it away.
"No! I..I'm not good enough for you. I have to leave. I have to get out of here." I stepped towards the plane entrance and held back my tears.
"You can't please!" Sae Joon fell to his knees and hugged my leg.
"Joon..Please don't make this harder than it needs to be....
Fault.
It wasn't mine. Maybe I lost the idea of whose fault it was when the map flew over the side of the ferry. Yes, it started to rain, and yes, it was I who had forgotten the umbrella at home, but it didn't matter, Damn it. We were going to have an excellent time, through no fault of my own.
The day went off as uneventful. We disembarked, walked along the road through town to a nice shanty-like restaurant on the water. We could look out over the marina and the moored vessels and smell the brine and brackish...
Taste is a matter of where and where you grew up. I am lucky enough to be born in a Country where taste can be seen and savored on a daily base and almost everywhere. Italy is made of taste; great taste, not only concerning the food, but it applies also to cars, shoes, clothing, manners and beautiful ladies. We all know what a man should do to make a lady feel great, isn't that considered taste? When we eat at home or at the fanciest restaurant on the coast do we know what wine is to be matched with...
I held it at arm's length, pressing the butt of the gun into my shoulder. It was heavy and my muscles screamed and burned with the weight. "Almost there," I thought to myself. A strand of my hair fell into my eyes but I ignored it and kept my focus on my target. Carefully balancing my weapon, I raised a hand to still my partner walking behind me. Three of my fingers held up for him to see.
Three.
Target in sight.
Two.
Ready.
One.
Run.
We ran across the bright grass, firing endlessly in the direction of our intended...
Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty. And it was very hard for her to. What, with her being overweight. To people of this society, fatties are not pretties.
At least, that's what her father has always told her.
But right now. Standing here right now. Before him. He, who can't seem to look away.
She feels like Halle Berry.
In a simple pair of blue jeans, and a T - Shirt, she walked outside to get the mail. She forgotten that her sister was going out with a bunch of her friends. Assuming she wasn't invited on...