My friends are so annoying they threw fake snow all over me as my perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe came out of the oven. I hate it when my friends team up against me like I really don't like it because they treat me like nothing, like I mean nothing to them, I know that sometimes people get annoyed and sometimes even a bit moody. But still, I want to know that I belong, that they care about me and that they need me, but really it's annoying. it is now going to take ages to get this fake snow...
Once upon a time I thought that I was a bird flying through the sky.
And then I realised that I'd just dreamt it. But once I realised that I was able to control my dreams, I decided to fly whenever it occurred to me that I was asleep. I would fly over my Grandma's house, I would start running as fast as I could and my arms would reach out beside me and I would just run up and up and up and there I was, able to fly anywhere. Able to see above all that was happening and...
"What the hell happened here?" The man in the blue button up military coat came up to the wreck. He wore a hat on his head, and had a handlebar mustache.
"Well sir... It-" A young black man began to explain the incident.
"Shut up, I didn't ask you nigger." The man immediately silenced the young black man, who rested a large pick-axe on his shoulders. The black man recoiled slightly. "You there, tell me what happened here." The military man pointed to a young white boy who was looking at the wreck.
"The train just... Crashed Mister. It was...
I lost my grip on the wheel. Well, not really. In reality, I lost my grip on everything. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world around me became a blur of distant activity and the noise around me sounded like a conversation floating through walls from the other end of a house. The world both started in motion and went completely still in the very same second. In that moment, walking past him in the hallway, I forgot my name. All I could remember was the image of him walking to his locker that burned itself into my mind....
The children were not at school. Where were they? Unkown. I am an English teacher at a high school near Houston and, like any other weekday between late August and early June, I was expected a classroom of childen in front on me. Not on this day. The bells rangm yet I heard niothing. I saw nothng. Heck, I didn;t even smell anything! I walked out into the hallway and talked with the other teachers. Nobody had any students in their rooms. I then saw all the princiapls talking with angry words and loud voices. They didn;t seem to know...
Elisha, let me tell you, I love being out here. Hearing the ocean roar like it do, by golly, it's like the glorious music of the spheres.
Drowns out the screaming of our victims, too. Why they have to scream like that, Elisha? Don't they know we're just helping them reincarnate into the next evolution of the species? Damn ungrateful, ain't it.
Whats the matter, Elisha? You don't look so chipper all of a sudden. Are we out of fishing line? We need the lines to be thick and taut, so we can hang them upside down until the blood...
Mitch sits on the porch steps. He see his daughter near the tire swing. She spins and spins and spins, her tight blonde curls flying around her as the late evening breeze weaves its fingers through her hair. He thinks of how much she looks like an angel. The force of her delightful twirling sends her tumbling back into the soft grass beneath her. Mitch looks to his wife resting her head on his shoulder as she sleeps and smiles. This is their life and it is good.
I can taste the tingle on my tongue the second it touches. I can smell the sweet/sour, crisp, smell. The food is amazing here. They have things I have never seen before. All of the yellows, oranges, blues and reds. The rainbow of food. The tastes of everything is new and refreshing. None of it makes sense. How can a place like this, make such beautiful flavors? The new discoveries of flavors and smells fills my mind. What new things can they even make? Find? The question lingers in my mind.
Her name is Octavia Fabrizi and she is 76-years-old. Born in Florence, Italy, she has lived her entire live on the outskirts of the villa where she and her husband have a small business selling baked goods. Every morning before work, Octavia takes up her bicycle and rides for five miles back and forth It is this exercise, and her love of life, that has kept her alive. Or so Octavia believes. Possibly she is right. It is a question that does not bother her overmuch. She's seen too many, older and younger, pass on to the Otherworld and, thus,...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. A nice day, bright, the sun moving between tall building willfully. The young girl stared at the sidewalk, waiting for another band of light to finish marching across. Her hands played with the material of her gown, absent-mindedly. She was hungry, but ignored it. Now was not the time.
At last, shade, and the girl stood up, and gently emerged from the doorway. This shadow was fat, and growing fatter, as the sun made its inexorable way. She took a step, and then another. At night,...