She felt stupid. Stupid? No, she felt worse then that. She felt bipolar and insane and hormonal.
she shouldn't have lost it like that, now he thought she was a total freak and not in the good way.
The kind of freak, you ignore their texts and messages, the kind of freak you tell your friends, "Stay away, that one is totally nuts!"
She was so angry with herself, angry that she couldn't just leave well enough alone, that she just HAD to speak her mind.
She liked him, but then that one little thing; when he asked about her....
Turning twice to see the darkness and the light, Keeley lost track of the zombie that had been running along behind her at surprising speed. Somehow he slipped in to the shadows as her light-blinded eyes took too long to adjust. No matter. Keep moving. She had to keep moving. She'd learned that early on. They were too slow to give chase. Except this one. Something about they way he moved led her to think that he was different. Faster, yes. But also more precise.
The bridge ahead of her looked empty. Still, she approached it warily, knowing that appearances...
When I see these flowers, and this man standing here (that's me, by the way), and I see all the men with guns walking behind me, I'm supposed to say that the flowers remind me of a lady. I'm supposed to taste the dust in my mouth, remember my comrades who gave their lives, understand the difference between pride and loyalty, duty and identity.
Mostly, I remember not knowing where I stood with any of these things; thinking that this was the process to figuring it out.
We're all figuring it out, aren't we? To know where you stand is...
The canvas of black engulfs the sky. What once was light is now night. The eggshell-white circle, the great illumination of midnight, is painted on the empty expanse, plastered in place to wane and wax. Across the night, the small dots twinkle and shimmer. In a dance of celebration, they tumble across the sky, taking a ride through the night. And, all around, all around is the night. It's just us and the night, and, all that is right happens tonight. n this spaceship of civilization we cross.
There was blood on my pillow. A lot of blood. A ton of blood. Where did it come from? It seemed to be dripping from somewhere. I looked up. The celing was dry. I looked around, I felt my own face, hair, ears, nose...all dry. What the h*ll was going on? Then, I heard something. A step. Two steps. Steps moving across the wood floor near the staircase downstairs. Was this the source of the blood? Was it the cause of the blood? Am I next? I was not injured, but I was still terrifyed. Suddenly, something came bounding around...
In the beginning, there were no gods.
A human boy named Micah, not yet a man, was the first to make the discovery that if the Earth existed, then there must be a heaven; a divine source, a metaphysical origin of the crude, material plane that we inhabit. And so, partly by accident, and partly by perseverance, he discovered the doorway to heaven.
He went through it without a second thought. His other human peers had always mocked him for being too short, too weak, too strange. His family ignored him. He had the time to uncover the doorway because...
I saw the thing. It was preserved in the glass case, the only one of its kind. So faithfully had the curators touched it, applied the special fluids, made sure that never again, never again would it be forgotten. It had been once before, after all. After all, memory is a sieve. And this was memory itself. It shouldn't have been forgotten.
I can't remember the thing itself especially now. I suppose that's expected. My memory's not special in anyway, no, not at all. It doesn't matter, anyways, just that it was a record, so that people wouldn't forget, wouldn't...
Wine makes you drunk if you drink too much. I like wine. Its like grape juice with alcohol. They should put it in juice packs and give it to adults. If you drink wine while your pregnant, then your baby will get messed up and look like a raisin. i like raisins. they are grapes that got old and they got shriveled up, like my uncle. He drank too much wine and got messed up. My mother doesn't drink wine anymore. It kills you slowly.
Time starts... now.
She took a deep breath, and put her head under water. Her robes flowed around her, clinging weightlessly to every crve and bone, floating up around her ankles before settling, like her, at the bottom of the tank.
Beneath the water, everything seemed muted. She could ignore the audience, the leering faces, the peering eyes, the raucus, crude carnival music hummed softly through the water, muted and beautiful, a world within a world. She liked it in here. No pressure, other than the water around her, slowly increasing on her lungs. She began to breathe out, a...
lost, without a hand to hold. I stood there in the darkness. At first I thought it'd be worth it. Now I was thinking, not so much. I followed the narrow dirt trail farther into the trees. The scurrying of squirrels and other night creatures kept me on my toes. In my head, I pictured myself in a horror movie. But I was the one character who got out alive. I passed many trees. Straining to see through the dark, cold air. I called for him over and over. Each time there was no reply. I stood there, listening to...