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...
People seem to think that just because my sister and I are identical twins that we are exactly alike in absolutely everything. That is SO not true. If I want to watch a movie, she wants to read a book. If she wants to wear her hair up, I want mine down. If I want to paint the walls blue she wants green. And on and on the list of our differences goes. We don't seem to agree on much but even so, my sister is my best friend. We DO agree that its fun to switch places and live...
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...
When he first saw her, it was by accident - in the rain, striding, determined, certain. She glared at the rain that fell around her, almost daring it to her touch her.
He almost dropped the stack of books he needed ro reshelve - not because she was beautiful, not because she was charming, but becaue she looked so devestatingly angry.
The rain wasn't listening to her; her hair was flattened against her head, her clothing glistening, almost shining against the dark sky. Sun seemed to be attempting to get through - maybe if she glared hard enough at the...
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...
It came at me. At a speed of lightning. I couldn't think. Speak, or even hear correctly.
The crowbar was flung directly at the side of my head. It nearly missed my face and I could hear the buzzing of crowbar go through the air. Joe ran for me and the crowbar as I sprinted for a safe place.
Joe and his gang were following behind me. There;s now
She would never use a sippy cup for wine. She just wouldn't. And not because the other mothers would smell the fermentation on her breath. Not because her eyes would gloss over as the nannies began to talk about the hockey-playing "manny" who worked with the two boys at the Sullivans. Not because she would have to hold tightly to the padded grip of the jogging stroller. It wasn't because her Rosacea gave her cheek bones a cherry hue. It had nothing to do with her morning run to the playground, the mile and half she squeezed in everyday.
She...
In the beginning, he tasted like rainwater: salty. Dried sweat around the rim of his mouth, a taste that clung to his mustache bristles like saltwater taffy.
In the beginning, he was rainwater, and I was a pool. Splashes hit the bottom. He said, you are a the ruin of mankind, rising to the tops of the trees. He said, you make me greedy to reach your destination like a home.
In the end, he tasted like a mountain top. Stretching high above the clouds to breathe a privileged cold. And I was a seed that could not grown on...
"Ugh. I positively hate window shoppers," Eliza groaned while leaning over the counter top. "They never buy anything."
"Hence the name, window shoppers, dearest," Carla giggled softly at her friend who helped her run The Dress Emporium.
They had been working together for about five years now. The shop was doing great, although Eliza would say it could be better. She wishes we could get every person who walks by our store to purchase something.
"Oh, I can't bear to look at them anymore," Eliza folded her arms on the counter and rested her face on them. "Please, Carla. Make...
Contemptlation of the one. The flame at the center of life. Beginning and end. No beginning, no end.
It's my birfday.
The children huddled around the flame, discussing what was to be done. One suggested that the only possible route was violence, the violence of the oppressed masses against their oppressor. Another suggested that they might take more subtle means of gaining control of the classroom, gain partisans. The teacher came in, and they blew out the candle, acting as though nothing had happened.
Every child around the cake wished that it was his birthday, that he could be the...