Gigantic. Positively so. It towered over the shelves, reaching to the ceiling. The blue paint shone brightly. I reached up to the chest.
It was a masterpiece, if I say so myself. This creation of mine is a marvel of modern technology. I turned the switch, and the servos inside whirred to life.
The automaton lurched a step towards me, electricity sparking from the antennae on its head. I had programmed it with a sense of right and wrong. I had orchestrated a scenario to test its power. I looked out the window, and saw the fire spreading across the...
Birds. So many birds. I mean, I like birds, I guess...but not these birds. These birds were dropping doo-doo on my head. Twice. It's a freak accident of one singel bird drops doo-doo on your head, but three? Three piles of doo-doo? In my hair? This will not go unpuncished. I called my dad, he seems to know how to get rid of every annoying animal out there. " Dad", I said when he answed the phone, "Dad, I;ve got a bird problem in my yard. They're doo-doo machines! Every time I walk out pf my house, especially on Fridays,...
The magic of it was so simple, so obvious that she found it hard to beleive that no one else could see it, that no one else had attempted it before.
Just step off the ledge and let everything fall away. Remove the shackles that are holding your feet to the ground. Let go of the mortgage payments, the deadlines, the constant bombardment from advertising companies telling you that you absolutely needed their product in your life.
Forget about the birthday cards you must send or the work emails you need to write.
Realise that they're not important, that none...
Daring to be noticed for the first time in her life, she pushed her chair back and stood up.
"Yes, Ms. Clark?" The professor deadpanned, "You have something you'd like to add?"
Rebecca tugged on her shirt slightly and took a deep breath.
"Yes, I do." She felt her cheeks turn red, "That's is wrong."
"Wrong?" Rebecca hated this guy and she took secret pleasure as he looked wildly at the board, searching for his error, "I don't see anything wrong here."
"It's in the first line." She felt like a hero even though her voice was shaky.
"Oh, I...
It was a pleasure to burn.
Holding the papers over the flame and watching as the flames spread over each one. Swallowing the words and memories as it went. The demons danced in the flames until there was nothing more for them to devour. Until the fire had taken every last word. Every last sentence and turned them into nothing more than a pile of ash on the ground.
Each piece of paper a different memory. A different time, another thing that needed to be burnt away. Each strike of the match burst into a flash of bright light. Each...
Kent had hardly taken a full breath when he burst out again into another rant. Another renegade of answers that had no match for questions. He was surely speaking Greek. Kelsey, However was speaking Russian. And there was a glass Wall between them. Kelsey knew no Greek, Kent knew no Russian. They separate to attempt to salvage the relationship that always had been. Neither was sure when the Communication Break down had occurred. Both knew it was absurd. That's When Kelsey Hired a translator, and put an end to the bloodshed.
It was my day.
Walking down that aisle, feeling the silence of everyone around me - surprised, shocked, the girl scrubs up well. She's beautiful, and we barely realised. We barely noticed.
Well, he did. And that is what matters.
The whispers began when I got to the front, taking up my rightful place, smiling out at everyone from beneath the veil. I wasn't wearing white - well, it wasn't white anymore - but does that really matter these days? Who marries innocent? Who's really pure these days? Impossible.
Of course she was there. Her. That one.
She was wearing...
Goodnight... I didn't think I would wake up. Well, maybe I did. Seventeen pills ought to have done it. It didn't. I guess I had known that. My sophomore-year project on suicide told me that. That seventeen wasn't enough. And I shouldn't have told anyone either. I got dragged to a counselor in front of my crying father (who never cries). I got dragged to a therapist, whom, thank God, realized the insanity of my life, and my mother (who refused to talk about her issues). Maybe I would have gone a different route, used talking, anything else, other than...
Mr. Marlin calls it the "war effort" though it's not a war. I see effort, but not of a thoughtful variety. Everyone involved is dressed in the same color. Any tool is a weapon. They'll be murdered, the whole lot of them.
"I told you this day would come," shouts Mr. Marlin. Imagine waiting on such a horrible day. It was only morning but the skies were growing dark. Cloudless and dark. He threw a croquet mallet at me.
I stared at it like it was a frozen dog.
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...