La pirogue avait appartenue à son père. Il pêchait tous les matins. Chaque matin il tendait dans l'eau son bambou dans le calme du lac. Aucun bruit ne venait déranger son activité favorite, jusqu'au jour ou un ours l'appela depuis le rivage. L'ours voulait traverser la rivière et lui demandait combien cela pouvait bien coûter. Antinoma lui répondit qu'il lui en couterait 3 poissons. Il venait chaque matin et retournait bredouille vers sa case. L'ours saurait il lui apprendre à pêcher afin que son père du haut de son paradis puisse être fier de lui?
l'ours avait peur de l'eau....
Poor Kait. She has a knee brace. That sucks. How ever will she compete in the Canadian KICK GUYS IN THE NADS CHAMPIONSHIP? I dunno. Kait's awesome at kicking guys in the nads. That's cause she meets lots of arseholes. They come up to her and say: "Hey, want to smell my Cheeto breath?" Then BAM!!! A knee in the nads courtesy of Miss Kait.
Yessir, Miss Kait's won the championship three years in a row. Kait McGee, national nad kneeing champ. So when she broke her knee last week opening that can of Ravioli, all of us were just...
Bombs were the last thing on his mind. He had to find Emma. He fought against the flow of people pressing against him. He had long ago given up on trying to be civil and careful with the people going the other way. Panic showed in their eyes as in his. Where was she? Emma he called, Emma. Louder, again and again. Emma! His voice cracked the lump in his throught killing all sound. He pushed harder pressing himself through tiny spaces between and over people. The farther he got the more chaotic his surroundings. Emma, he looked around, scanning...
"I know you're up there," she screamed against the roar of waves crashing on the rocks. "And I know you can hear me. We have to talk, please come down."
A tugboat groaned out in the bay, and the gulls squawked overhead.
"It's bright enough today, you don't need to be up there.Please come down."
The wind whistled.
"Fine. Be that way. Make me stand down here and yell. I don't care. Actually, this is the perfect metaphor for our relationship. Me down here trying to talk to you and you boarded up in your useless tower. You think you...
I found the small book when we had to pack Grandpa's things so he could move out of that old house, and into an old people's apartment building. Mom said it would be better for him there, people could watch him and take care of him. Better care than she could, she said.
I said I could do it, but she said I had to go to school, and I never even walked the dog before he went to live on that farm we see on the side of the highway between our house and Grandpa's.So how could I expect...
He stared at his reflection in the water for a long moment. He studied his eyes (the same dark brown that they had always been), the breeze rustling his sandy blond hair, the chisled, strong shape of his face. As he stared, trying to make sense of who was really staring back at him out of those deep brown eyes, the face began to change. The water that moments before had acted as his mirror now rippled and swirled, captivating his attention. He watched as the water changed his reflection to appear not as a young man with brown eyes...
They were listening. Outside of the door, on the floor, in their footed pajamas. Listening while they heard yelling from their Mom and Dad. Listening to "Leave, I hate you," and "How could you love him and not me?" Holding empty sippy cups, on the verge of crying because they didn't know what was going on. Sitting there outside the door with their matching blonde hair and matching haircuts with matching faces. The twins Andrew and Erik holding each a stuffed cow and an empty sippy cup. Andrew started crying, screaming for his parents. The door opened, he stopped crying....
My head was pounding, I had too much at the bar during intermission. The lights go up, and that annoying guy, what's his name, is back at the podium.
"Welcome back everyone."
What was his name
"We are going to continue with the awards, and this one is nothing short of honorable."
I have worked with him for years. Carl? Steve? Mike? Fuck.
"And now we are going to give out the award for our employee of the year. This is nothing we take lightly, and we would like to thank all of our employees for the work they do...
"This, class, is an example of a cemetery. Does anyone know what a cemetery was?"
"A cemetery was a place where bodies were buried up until the last century when death was eradicated."
"Yes. That is correct. It is quite sad, isn't it?"
The argument over the preferred pronunciation of "Pax Romana" bloomed into a bloody fistfight, not that it was terrifically violent so much as the pugilists were notorious bleeders. The patch of snow on which they sparred began to resemble the flag of Japan as arms unfurled, elbows snapped back, and fists clenched so tight, thumbs overlapped knuckles.
Inside, my kung pow shrimp cooled under the air vent.