For some reason, Zombies love wedding veils. Maybe it's a snare mechanism, much like how Venus flytraps look beautiful on the outside before they devour their prey. Or maybe it's some attachment to the things that matter in life, that is, in non-Zombie life. In any case, this one had fooled that part of Ricky that had been longing for companionship of any sort. He had been holed away with canned beans, month-old cooked rice, and a shotgun for far too long not to feel the pangs of desire as she approached him from the woods.
Big mistake.
She lurched...
A chicken tried to cross the road
Upon which fate had last bestowed
A fetid mess of flesh and gore
From those who tried to cross before
The other side was just in reach
When road and fate allied to teach
The chicken's desperate, futile cause
Was ended by a couple cars
It was raining and I had nowhere to be and somehow that Leonard Cohen record was on again.
Today I will vanquish nothing.
Today my triumphs will be small and non tangible, smoke like.
I will start with coffee and end with whiskey, the couch will remain the same.
Tomorrow I will be a better man for having lived today slow, reading, sipping - not struggling or scheming. Just the rain and and the mood and my slight beauaty.
She closed her eyes and disappeared. The notes swallowed her, refusing to let her go. The beat aligned with her heart beat, giving her the illusion of impossible strength. The music grew louder until it was an explosion--as if thousands of butterflies instantly fluttered. She wished she too could fly away. Fly like the waves of the sound. Fly like the butterflies.
But instead, she was bound like the hair on her head. Bound by responsibily. Bound by expectation. Bound by fear of the unknown.
Dear one,
Well, I finally made it, I'm in Spain staring out over Santiago de compostella, i always ment to do this with you. I know you know that and as you can see its beautiful here. I wish the accident had never happened i could feel you holding my hand the whole way i swear it. i could hear you whisper at night and damn it if i thought this would help me i longed for you every night i slept in your bag i could smell you. hear your voice in my ear. Damn it! Why did you...
"It was a cold and stormy night..." I read as I began to read another mystery novel. A lot of stories begin with this phrase/description of the scenery. Whenever I read it, I don't imagine something bad is going to happen because I have read it many times. But rather, if the opening scene was to describe a more creative and original scene I may be more interested. These are the thoughts that roam through my head as I try to do the reading assignment for my high school literary class. It's impossible to focus when you cannot read through...
The year was 1986. The date, 17th of February. It was cold out. A thin blanket of snow covered the ground and the sky was tonged with light grey.
It's true what they say, you forget the pain the instant it's over. As I lay, in an exhausted daze, holding you in my arms for the first time, the twenty eight hours of agony I'd just endured couldn't have been further from my mind.
You had a shock of dark hair, I still wonder at where that came from. Me and your daddy were both fair. Your tiny little hands...
The results were in. The young men standing before the judges fidgeted anxiously in their military-style uniforms. James Cox, the eldest and team captain of Squad A, licked his lips nervously as he glanced over at his group's only rivals, Squad Z. They'd eliminated the twenty-four others between them through a mixture of deceit, strategy, and main strength.
"Team Captains Cox and Denmark, step forward," Vice-General Mark Harrelson said curtly. Instantly the two young men, both sixteen, moved the single step forward. "Team Z is this year's winner," Harrelson said in a flat voice.
James had an instant of remorse...
The window was a lot harder to get open than I expected. I guess they aren’t really designed to be opened, but they do open if you pull hard enough. The air felt good; fresher higher up than on the lower floors. And I could see the cityscape below, half hidden in morning mist. It was going to be a beautiful day.
My office was private, not one of the cubicles most of the employees occupied, like rows of Dilberts enjoying only partial privacy. I had earned my space by bringing in the numbers. I had worked my way up...
Emotions are tricky things. They are the things that fill us with that warm, semtimental feeling that we get in our chest while our hearts are busy taking picture so as never to forget the beauty of a moment. That emotion we might call love. They are the pounding of blood running pushing its way through our ears, sweat streaming down cheeks, and our breathing heavy and laboured. That emotion could be named fear. They are also heaviness that seeps through our body after a long day of disappointment and getting nothing done. This is discouragement. But emotions, good or...