Revelation
The gloomy moon rose above the dull sky, as Michael Scearry lay there, in the streets of suburbia, stoned. The strong sounds of the trees swaying in the rushing wind was a difference from the scene that was set and created an eerie atmosphere to the night. Michael had awoken from his slumber, unable to glance at even the light illuminating off the surface of the moon due to his constricted pupils. His mouth, dry and his nostrils, raw from the heavy amounts of heroin he inhaled the night prior.
Michael rose in a daze, unsteadily, though eventually regained...
If you ever pass this house on 23 silverdores street, your sight will be mesmerized. A red checkered pattern clock hangs on a thin piece of string that stretches across the front yard from one end to the other. It just hangs there, every day, every night, every year, it just hangs like the last item to be sold at a shop. The owner never seems to give any attention to it, walks by without any acknowledgement that it's even there, the cloak is treated it is invisible. If the cloak seem to have a mind of its own, has...
The viel of morning haze parted and she could see clearly now their large felt wings beating against the breeze. Pressing a hand to the headphone to try to pick up a sound, however faint. Quiet now, her breath held tightly. "Damn wont the wind stop just for a second." Finally, and she was not sure if it was even being picked up by the recorder, no time to check. Might miss my chance if I fiddle with it, I just hope its on. The sound was so soft it might be imagined. A voice, then a response. So small...
me and my sister have always been fighting. scince the day we could walk we always fought untill now. we were walking looking for a perfect gift and we saw it ....... the black dress. i always loved to try and make new fashions out of things yet my sister always followed the rules. if your dress was a millimeter too short she would tell. i had decided already that i was going to get the dress and make a new one but my sister would not let that happen . she wanted it for my mother, my mother was...
The letter was an important one. The boy knew that much. His mother didn't send much correspondence. In fact, she had to explain where the mailbox was at first. The boy had never been sent there. He had merely observed it in his daily comings and goings, placing no more significance on it than on the tree down the street from it or the fence alongside it.
His mother patiently explained where to find the mailbox and exactly what to do to ensure the letter was delivered. He clutched the letter close to his heart as he walked down the...
Framed by white-washed plaster walls, she was a sharp contrast to the beige and grey of the street surrounding her. She reached up and brushed a stray lock of black hair from her forehead, looking over her right shoulder down the street. She was waiting, and her eyes scanned the oncoming traffic carefully, searching.
The young man across the street had stopped walking when he noticed her, a sudden burst of brilliant red against the subdued building. She never looked over at him, never stopped looking down the street at the oncoming mass of bicycles, cars, carts, trucks, and people...
This happened every single time.He stared at the blank piece of paper. It was taunting him. He sharpened his pencil again. He traced the edges of the paper again. He looked out the window. The rain was falling again. Softly. Looking back at the paper, he wondered why he ever tried to write. He put the pencil to the paper, thinking the action would prompt the thought. But it just left a small mark. He smudged it with his finger. If he could just write something. He tried to think about what he was feeling. Nothing. He tried to think...
He sighed. It was an all-too-frequent result. Women never noticed him (here he paused to chastise himself for thinking that without providing any statistical evidence, and to suggest to himself that perhaps he had an availability bias), and he was lonely.
Why shouldn't he be able to give and receive love, like every other member of the human race (here, he noted that it was unethical to assume that any individual deserves the respect or love of another without earning it, and that he should avoid thinking of a romantic partner as an object that one acquires)?
It just wasn't...
Billy was steadfastly unimpressed.
"Can we go home now?" he asked.
"But, Billy, don't you want to see the top of the beanstalk?" Sarah asked her son. She was confused. Why didn't he like the things other boys liked?
"No."
"Why not? Isn't it cool and -"
"It's a phallic object from the a fairy tale written by the unwitting supporters of the patriarchy," he interrupted.
Sarah hated this. Being lectured by your own sever-year-old was the worst. "Billy, quit saying silly things," she scolded. "It's just a beanstalk. It's supposed to be fun. Why can't you enjoy anything in...
The water was clear. Wavy, but pleasant. The type of water you'd enjoy skipping rocks across. But this was not a time for horseplay. Nothing was in sight, nor had anything been in sight for the past 3 days. Floating, bobbing up and down in the middle of nowhere. How did this happen?
The water was foggy. You couldn't see all the way to the bottom, but you could see halfway through. The smell coming from the glass was very relaxing and a good start to a wonderful vacation away from it all. The clouds in the sky looked dark....