The argument that had started before they left the house – before, even, they had learned that they would have to leave the house at all – continued as they drove. Jacob gripped the steering wheel with white knuckled hands, channelling his anger into the car instead of out at his wife, Barbara.
Barbara sat next to him, seething silently, her own hand wrapped together, her own knuckles just as white as her husband’s. One would soon break the deadlock, but neither wanted to be the first. The air was heavy with upset.
Jacob broke first. “You still not speaking...
As he said it he turned his back to the others and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Come on! said Tim, you have to come with us or else we´ll lose the bet. Hep turned back to face his friends and took a deep breath. Ok, just this once and only for 5 minutes. The 4 boys turned to face the imposing old house that lay in front of them. Dormant for years, they had all heard the terrible rumours of what had happened there many years previously, when the Kellys had lived there. Jed went first....
My fiance loves potatoes. She loves potatoes, like, more than a friend. But only if they're in french fry form. She's actually a french fry sniper. If I order food accompanied by fries, it's a guarantee that throughout the course of our meal, she will surreptitiously steal fries one by one until my stash of salty goodness has been completely plundered.
I have no defense for her fry-stealing ways. She's an addict. There's no other way to describe it. I want to stage an intervention and have our friends and family sit her down and confront her about this. I...
The words hit me like a ton of bricks, cutting into my chest like knives as I remind myself to breath. I feel myself take a step backward. I couldn't be in more pain right now if he'd struck me. He stops talking to me and just stands there in front of me. I can't believe that he... I look up at him but I can't see anything through my tears anyway. Judging by the look in his eyes, I could think that he feels sorry for hurting me. He never wanted to say that. The knives of pain that...
Hero at Midnight
No one could remember who among them gave him the name Rooster; probably someone long gone by this point. A seventy percent casualty rate will leave one gaping hole in the communal memory. Everyone could remember why: yodeling and ukelele music in the pre-dawn hours was inexcusable by any measure. It had started after the battle for Hill 487. Most of Rooster's squad had been blown into pieces too small to put back together. Hence the coping mechanism. However, after two weeks of this crap, enough was enough, and Private Morlane drew the short stick: shut him...
It was the last day.
General Richards was tired. Very tired. He had been walking for a long time, and there was still nothing in sight. No city of glass. Not even the path of golden bricks. They were nowhere to be seen.
He sat down in the dirt, even though none of the others were sitting, even though Eliza still had the energy to dance with her nurse. Of course she had the energy; she was the one they had all been giving all their food and water to. She was only a child. She held the future in...
She leaned over the side of the ship, hair streaming in the cold, northerly wind. They'd been at sea for six days now, with three still ahead before they made land at Isenguard.
The heist couldn't have gone more smoothly. The Jaguar Pearls were stowed safely back in her cabin, the security tapes had been wiped and Mark had obliterated every trace of their DNA from the scene.
Mark. Where was he?
She turned to lean against the rail, squinting at the recreation deck in the dazzling, tropical sunlight. He was probably up there right now, all toned and bronzed...
In 1921, he flew from the Great Rift Valley all the way back to England where he discovered that it had been a mistake, he was meant to be in France, 1945. Time travelling isn't as accurate as all that.
Perhaps he would ought to do something a bit different for a change. Go back home. See what changes have been made. Would it be recognisable?
Jack the Ripper decided to return Whitechapel. 1888. London.
I woke around dawn, unable to sleep any longer. I wrapped the plaid blanket around my shoulders and head and climbed out the window. I walked through the small amout of dawn light filtering through the Brazilian pepper tree's enormous branches. I looked through the small peephole i had left for myself and immediately regretted ever climbing out that window. The reason: a 2 ton bear hurtling towards me. I felt unable to breathe. I tried to run, but my feet were rooted to the spot. as the bear drew closer, i said but one word: HELP!
Well, I'll have a go. I said, That's fantastic, you wont regret it I promise, it really helped me. I thanked Chris, I felt a bit anxious about him being so enthusiastic. I hate letting people down, including myself but I wasn't bothered about that right this minute. I left Chris to his Hot Chocolate, which was probably Luke warm by now.
In a few minutes I was out on the street, a breezy day in June. I was looking for a quiet bench to sit down and write a few bits down in my notebook. I don't know if...