, he assured the frightened convenience store clerk. The first thing was potato chips. He needed potato chips RIGHT NOW, he told her, or he would literally explode, because there were bombs strapped to him.
Don't worry about the bombs, he said again, trying to calm her down. But get me those potato chips quickly. I want the deep-fried sour cream-and-onion flavored type, he said, speaking slowly and enunciating so that there would be no screw-ups.
He had the advantage. She would be forced to retreat behind the counter, retrieve the bag of succulent potato chips that he knew she...
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.
by the time the cops can, I sneaked into an alleyway to avoid the cops but as soon as I ran around the corner of a random building. I was outnumbered by 7 police cars and 24 officers all pointing there guns at my head ready to not hesitate and shoot. But why were the cops after me? now that is a story i can't explain much about.
It was last tuesday, a young woman was knocking on my apartment door at 6 in the morning. I hungover from the night before from getting wasted and partying. I got up...
"I can't write something like that" I said gruffly.
It was in the darkened room as I stared upon the sunset of the days of the world.
"What are you talking about?" said the 2nd person in the room.
"Me" I said
"Just go with the prompt" said Darrin, the 3rd person.
"Okay" I sighed.
"Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway, clutching a Tec-9 in each hand. She kicked the door open and let loose a barrage of bullets. A hail of gunfire, proceeded by a red mist of blood. She went...
"You'll never say it, will you?"
"Say..what?"
"What do you think?" She is exasperated, hands on her hips, eyes looking...sore, maybe.
I can never tell.
I should be able to, by now.
"That? Those words?"
She makes a face, and it's like a bridge collapsing. "Those words. You make it sound like they're...they're... like they're something bad."
I can't even think them, let alone say them. I mean, I do, of course I do, but... No.
"They aren't." I attempt. "And...you already know..."
"Do I?" She's staring now. "I did. I did know, but now...I'm not so certain. I...I just...
I like my room. It seems the four walls move closer to me everyday. I feel like I’m sitting in a mental asylum. People come in and out, give me food and leave. Just like the Neverending Story, The Nothing will soon crawl over every inch of my world, plunging me into eternal darkness. I walk through the sea of faces. Expressions nearly as blank as mine. Someone taps my shoulder. I whip around, avoiding eye contact. I see a man. I slowly lift my head to inevitably meet his eyes. My eyes slowly moved passed his perfectly plump...
I lost my grip on the wheel.
It was a dark night, yet the sky was completely clear. It was a tired night, yet there had been man cups of coffee. It was a restless night, though everyone was laying down. It was a night full of oddities.
I sat forward in the seat, trying hard to hold onto the wheel as the car began to skid around on the road. The longer I tried, the harder it became. I slowly began to lose my grasp, and I realized how all the events that had happened that night led to...
I shot my butler. He was really making me mad. You see, I had told him several times to stop buring mt toast in the morning. He also had a nasty habit or overvooking my eggs. Nothing worse than overcooked eggs. Well, so you see, I had to shoot him. But he didn't die, which kind of made things worse for me. I only grazed his elbow. I knocked some bone chips off and not much else. He didn't even tell anyone it was me! he made up some story about slipping on some water on the floor of the...
The Potentate surveryed his creamsicle tower coolly.
It hadn't been his idea to build it, it was the idea of his latest duchess. It had been a stupid idea when she had begged for it, but, after she had begun to withhold her affections, he had relented.
It wasn't, you understand, that her pouting had worked on him mind, more that he had been advised by his cabinet that it would not do anything for his public image for him to behead another duchess.
Not that he fancied beheading this one, oh no, burning at the stake felt much more...
As he exited the train, he realized he had forgotten his bag. The Bag. As he rushed back onto the train to grab it, the train began to pull out of the station, and the bag was gone. Someone had gotten off of the train with it. As this realization hit him, he snatched his phone out of his pocket. It was his only hope. As soon as the Woman In Charge answered, he told her his problem. He could hear her quick tapping from her computer keyboard, as she told him, " Get off at the nearest stop. Turn...