There was pandemonium at the track. Not the racetrack, not the dog track, not even at the running stadium. Nope. It was down on the railroad tracks.
The train driver had spotted a dog on the track and, being an animal lover - a lover of animals, that is, he applied the brakes a bit too sharply. This resulted in the slight derailment of the engine and most of the carriages.
People were quick to disembark and it appeared that there had been no fatalities and only one or two casualties. People wandered around aimlessly searching for the dog that...
Gradually she made her way to the edge of the shore, looked out to sea and watched the waves as they soared and fell and smashed together in front of her. It was peaceful, despite the noise. She breathed in, grabbing as much salty air as she could each time, then let it go in a long, contented stream.
When she turned, she noticed she was no longer alone. A man had appeared, walking his dog, a black Labrador, beach. She waved, but the man ignored her. Her mood fell slightly. Rude, she thought, and there was never any need...
They weren't Norwegian, they were Swedish. We bombed all hell out of them anyway.
That was ash, not smoke. Ash moves slower than smoke. Ash langours. Yes, that might have been soot, but it could have been bone.
In the mess at breakfast, we could heard a chirping through the settling din.
That wasn't a bird.
They gathered in the woods with pounding hearts. Each of them a liar. Some worried about it , others took it in their stride. The camp fire burned and they cooked stolen beans. Cigarettes were passed around and consumed with guilty pleasure.
CRACK! The sound of a breaking twig. The law? They all darted into the trees. Stomachs flipping and hearts pounding they watched as a figure edged towards the fire.
'Hey guys' came a familiar voice 'look what I got'. She held up a bottle of sherry. 'Woot' The rest of the gang raced to share the booty.
How...
As the Sun rose from His slumber,
She began to stir
in her little house of wood,
a coffin just for her.
Each day,
she hears them scrape
away the earth with shovels,
waiting until
finally
her final bed is done
forever for her to lay.
In the morning,
she awakes,
dead to others
yet alive in her dreams,
to the sound of falling stones
as they cover her coffin.
And, as the final stone fell,
she said a silent prayer, asking for
sweet dreams for her to keep.
And as the earth lay there,
the mound dug in the...
The children were not at school. The administrators voice continued to echo tinnily in her ear, but she wasn't listening any more. The children were not at school. Their backpacks still sat on the stairs near the landing by the front door. The morning sunlight poured in through the kitchen window as she let the phone slip from her grasp to dangle from its cord, banging slightly against the wall.
She had told them to go away, to leave her alone. She turned looking down the hallway towards the front door, looking at the backpacks sitting on the landing next...
He does not even see him. My goodness, quit taking pictures of me and turn around you moron. The hyena is laying low to the ground, covered by the brush, unless you look at him head on.
The hyena is inching closer to the human, who of course, is facing me. I need to get over there quickly.
My back condenses, and loads like a spring. SNAP. I am the fastest land animal. I should be able to get there in time.
I am off, and this feeling never gets old. The brush is tall, but not tall enough to...
The building was out of place and yet appropriate at the same time. Sarah was the only one who seemed to notice it either way. An old pagaoda-like structure in the middle of the town. Other people were nearby, but if they saw it, they didn't act like it.
After snapping a few photos with her smart phone, she approached one of the entrances. (At least she assumed it was an entrance.) She knocked on the door several times. There was no answer, but it swung open for her nonetheless. She looked around at the park, and the people in...
I've forgotten how to do this...how to just sit down, and type out my thoughts, or my feelings. I find that I'm constantly carrying my notebook around, with my favourite Pilot pens...and then I will sit, and I sit, and sit...and nothing happens anymore. In my room, in boxes and boxes, are books and books and books. Countless stacks of written word from a lifetime's worth of contemplation, emotion, trials and tribulations. But now....now I cannot seem to pick up the pen, or tap on my keyboard...it just doesn't happen. And what's most frustrating is how I am constantly thinking...
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...