The wolf had finally lost her, but she had lost the basket of goodies for her grandmother, and the old woman only had until sunset before she would pass away.
Red got up and dashed through the shining, wet streets, knocking into people without pardoning herself all the way, desperate to get her hands on something, anything, that she could bring to her grandmother.
Then she saw it: Me Hing Shao Pun: the Wolf's Garden, a restaurant that had opened up in the house her grandmother had been born in. The wood frame exterior was dark, a rusted loudspeaker warbled...
Some people will tell you that time will heal all wounds but they don't know the truth. They simply hide behind nice sounding words meant to comfort those of us who have experienced unspeakable pain and the deepest of wounds. They don't know that some scars never go away. Some cuts never stop bleeding. Some hearts never quite knit themselves together again. And no stain every really comes out. "Time will heal all wounds" Beautiful words really, but a joke just like every other promise of healing. Time will do alot of things. It will grow up your little girl...
I can still see the shadow of the hooded unknown, swaying back and forth whilst wielding a gun. The fumes of gun power turn into a haze, accumulating each time they pull the trigger. The blast of the gun temporarily makes my ear deaf and the sound of shots reverberate each time. the taste of smoke is bitter with the metallic taste of blood flowing out of my bitten cheek mixing in concoction. Fragments of glass scatter among the concrete floor of the prison, glass webs hanging on from the edge of the window frame, the only thing still intact...
She could tell I was faking it. They all could. They'd have to have known I wasn't "fine". I mean, come on. It's not really rocket science to figure out when someone's on the edge, is it? Am I really hiding everything so well that no one even thinks to ask me for a real answer? Don't people get tired of all those stupid, meaningless conversations?
"Hey. How are you?"
"Oh, I'm good."
No, you're not. No one is ever quite as "good" as they say they are, so why do we let them say that they are? What if...
"Adam! Give me the Pelican! Now!" John half screamed half sobbed. "It's mine!"
"No mine!" Adam clutched the Pelican to his chest. "My turn!"
"But mommy gave it to me! My Pelican!" John grabbed for it. "Mine!"
Adam would not relent. "No!"
"I'm gonna tell mommy that you took my Pelican!"
"Boys!" Both men looked up. "You are 30 years old. Adults! You should not be acting like 3 year olds!"
Both men hung their heads. "Yes mommy..."
"Now Adam. Give John back his pelican. I'll get you your Teddy bear, alright?"
"Yes mommy..." Adam slowly gave his brother back...
You know that sound of large brass bells ringing in your ears? That ring that some people think is just jolly fine and dandy? Well, to some other people, the sound of those bells sounds rich, deep, and hollow. It resonates in the hollow parts of someone's heart. The places in their heart that have been turned into huge, gaping voids, created by heartless words and broken promises. Sure, once in awhile someone will find something else to fill in those voids, turning the sound of ringing bells back into the lovely, joyful sound it once was. But other times,...
There is no photo.
Everyone tries to be funny and make jokes about the magic beans. "Trade a cow? How about my wife?" they say. But magic beans, and the vines that grow from them? That's no laughing matter, and my garden is a mess.
You ever known a weed to go away by cutting it down? No of course not, you cut the weed, and it will just grow back. You have to pull the thing out by the roots if you're going to have any hope of getting rid of the thing, and even then it's usually back in a week. Well,...
He ran into the room, his heart pounding and his clothes soaking wet. The boy closed the door behind him and pressed his back against it as strands of damp blond hair stuck to his forehead. He strained to listen for sounds on the other side of the door while the blood pounded through his ears and drops of rain mixed with sweat trickled down his face.
His hand went swiftly into his shirt and smoothly pulled out the leather packet. A sly smile spread slowly accross his face as he felt the cool, smooth surface of the leather...
I'm in love with a robot. I know, I know, that sounds strange. But I am. It's name, or at least the name I gave it, is David. That was the name of my boyfriend. He died a few years ago. I designed David to be exactly like him. I love David, I really do. Although we cannot do anything physical, my heart is not longer broken. I feel...full again, full of love and emotion. I'm happy with David. David doesn't know he's a robot. He looks like a human, he looks like David. He talks like Davis, his personality...