Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. The doorway was not the kind of doorway best suited to huddling, and the gown appeared equally ill-designed for the purpose. Yet huddle she did. The rain dripped and sputtered from the sky, streaking her scarlet back as it fell.
After a time, she carefully unhuddled and picked up the bag that she had lain down beside her. She withdrew from it a small, glass orb, in which indistinct shapes and colours seemed to float. Lightning flashed briefly across the sky and as she held the...
Dancing dreams over streams of lightning. My brain is fried rice; your hands delightening. Totally cavernous, and almost incestuous; your wrists are bound by mustard eloquence. Queens beans scenes on stages; pages without wages, and slaves in conclaves. Your anus my innards, your penis, my skin hurts just thinking about your gym shoes on my lips; your sweaty cunt on my knee. You picked me up by my underwear and hung my on some trees. I spit on your lungs, my farts on your tongues. Some senses smell and some fences swell. Your ass hurts? My toes squirt. This is...
It was the fall that surprised me the most. The fact that it took so long that I could actually be afraid of the action of falling. The wind was stinging my face and making my eyes water, I was screaming but the noise of the explosion had taken out my hearing. The people strapped in around me were mere shadows, forms with fuzzy outlines and indiscernible features, mouths open in silent noise.
I forced my head back round, my throat filling with bile as the ground suddenly rushed up to meet us, my fingers twisting in the belt around...
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...
The conversation lasted only two words, for the rest there was no need to speak, her reprochful glance told the rest of the story. My apologetic eyes. Her anger and humiliation.
Two words:
"I can't"
It had started six months ago at work, She was beautiful in an understated way. Graceful and classy, and increadably sexy.
It started with the eyes, the longing glances, long before any words were spoken. It ended here, in this hotel room.
After months of planning, trying to get a weekend away, the same time off work without arousing suspision, from either of our spouses....
The bird sat on the branch, looking at the moon. There was a whole bunch of cloud closing in on the bird. "Cah," the bird said, because he was a crow.
The bird flew away and started flying around. It got bored from flying, so it perched on an airplane. Problem is the plane was operating and birdie flies into the engine. Swish! Crunch! Feathers everywhere! Blood everywhere!
I was sittin on the roof of my car. Saw the whole darn thing through my binoculars. It did not make me happy. So I pick up my phone and call Aunt...
"Honey?"
"What is it?" Sharon asked, not looking up from her work.
"Do you know why there are a couple of police outside wearing masks?"
"Um ... can't say that I do," she lied. Damn. They weren't supposed to get here so soon.
"Shall I let them in?" Camden said.
"Sure," Sharon replied. "We have nothing to hide, right, dear?"
A minute later, the two were standing before her in the living room. "Sharon Vasquez?" one of them said.
"That's me," Sharon said blithely.
"You're under arrest."
"What for?" she said, trying to sound indignant.
"The charge is causing a...
He was coming. Footsteps down the hall.
And, of course, he was alone. Nobody else inhabitated this old house - his wife had disappeared, a long time ago now. He can't blame her, it's impossible to blame her, after that - after their son (their son, their child, their baby) was born, she had retreated into herself.
Of course their son chased her, raged at her, destroyed her. Mothers hating their children is meant to be post-natal depression, but does that count if the child is goading her, forcing her to hate?
She has been gone for a while now....
sitting on the I see my family crumbling before my eyes. I have achieved my goal, revenge for what they have done to me in my childhood. They took all my friends and everything I was passionate about all away from me, so now I am returning the favor. There they are, my parents kneeling down as they are being beaten to the ground and watching everything they love fade away. this is the way things work now. I am the dominant one and they will suffer at my feet. They have brought this on themselves and I will never...
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....