Magic. We've all heard the word before but, what does it mean? What does it really do? Is it just the stuff in fairytales that makes the glass slipper fit? That makes Prince Charming sweep her off her feet? Or could it be more... Listener, the answer to this question is simple, yet complicated. Yes. Magic is so many things. Magic is the times when we stop frowning at the clouds outside, fling open the door, and dance in the rain. Magic is the smile on the face of a little girl, and Magic is found in the sight of...
And I don't think that they are going anywhere anytime soon. Now that the 5am hour is upon me, I feel as if maybe the person standing in the corner of my room will be able to lift me out of bed. He's done it before, and today I really feel like I might need a little extra help.
My room is a very lively place; it is where I feel the safest. Not only do I do my best work in my room, but this man is in my room, like he always is, night after night. He no...
My word muscles are stiff. My writing bones ache. The prose reads like a bruise.
I burst bored air through my lips, upsetting the dust on my keyboard.
I see a tangerine, withered in the shadow of an orange, withering; dust on the hand sanitizer; a rubber band ball in a novelty stein; an orgy of paper clips; surrounded by colors, none too vivid, the only highlights are the highlighters.
The building I thought they were slowly constructing around me is being stripped as bare as a gazelle felled by a lion, shred by hyenas, cleaned by maggots.
I wasn't...
This was the painting that sold for millions. I watched as the porters wrapped it up and carried it from the gallery to the awaiting truck.
The new owner transferred cash from his account, smiling, probably thanking God for his luck. I watched him shaking hands with everyone, swigging the curtesty glass of expensive champagne, posing for photos.
John Masters, the gallery owner, smug and insincere triumphant for once in his sorry life.
Not for long.
He paid me peanuts as a commission for this painting, unknown I had used special paint which would melt in due course and reveal...
You could use a little direction, said Junie to Sam.
They were sitting cross-legged in the wood chips on the playground. Junie was wearing a polka-dotted skirt, and she spread it over her knees, aware that her Hanes-covered little bottom was unprotected from the dirt.
It was something she heard once, from mother.
Sam said nothing. He was dumping wood chips into his lap with his fists, wanting it all. Making a pond and filling it up.
Sure, said Sam, through his spitty little teeth. He pointed to the South.
Don't you see?
He jumped, I jumped. She sto
What can you do in ten seconds? Where is the world going to? How quickly can you build a wall to Mexico and who will be the last to place a stone? Questions like these will not get us anywhere said the policeman but if we stand together then no mouse can slip inbetween our shoulders and we can finally eat all the pancakes we ever wanted to, with or without maple syrup. I thought he is really going insane, because we were in Alaska and since the sun never sets it is very bright and how can you make...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She looked over her shoulder to peer at the mouth of the alley. Seeing no one, she ducked out of the doorway and ran towards the seeming dead end. Stepping onto the large crates piled at the end, she looked up at the rope that was starting to dangle down from the roof, 5 stories above her. Taking a firm hold of the rope, she hoisted herself up, hand over hand, until she made her way up to the roof.
"I have the key," she says...
...and the walrus said to the jellyfish, "but see, I have tasks, so I can accomplish far more than you can, you spineless twit." And the jellyfish replied back, "that may be true, but I am far more viscous than you will ever be!"
And thus the walrus and the jellyfish commenced forth with their plan of under-sea domination by overthrowing king Neptune with their vast army of rabid seahorses. It was a long battle and many comrades were lost, but in the end, peace and order had been returned to the likes of the ocean.
Until one day when...
She'd have preferred The Electric Chair to be the name of the band. But she was out voted by the drummer and the bassist who wanted The Hanged Man.
What, did they want to give the impression that they were unable to spell? She had asked on numerous occasions. But none have them had understood what she was saying.
Well, the guitarist had, but Jeff had wanted the band to be called The Rainbow Rogues so he didn't really count.
They had been a band for about six months and had yet to unanimously agree on anything.
They hadn't been...
She could tell I was faking it.
Three words. They aren't that hard. I can type the. I love you. Yet they cant be spoken, they stick in the mouth, their bitter flavour tainting the tongue Not even force can bring them out and if managed, well then it would just be plain ugly wouldn’t it? Yet why do people struggle to say those words? Why do I? I can type it all I want, I love you, I love you and so on, but here it’s meaningless, nothing matters as it comes from my fingers to the screen. I...