No, the blood stains in the carpet don't come out. Yes, I tried. Yes, I did my best. No, there's no lingering smell.
Press conference for killer. Talk shows, radio interviews, Good Morning America 3-minute-segments before commercial break. They don't throw hard question at you. They give you chance to explain yourself. They don't press further.
Smiles, genial smiles and well-trained laughs at cued moments. We get along in front of audience. He laugh at joke about face victim made before death. Well there you have it, he say to camera. Inside the mind of a true killer, he say....
Balanced on the line, he told her again, "Put it down!"
She couldn't move even if she had wanted to, the butt of the gun felt slippery in her clammy hands but she refused to reliquish her hold on it. The line was a mere streak in the dust, but the signifance of that line, oh the significance that it held. It held the entire future, hers and his, the future of nations.
"Put it down, and step toward me."
"Back off!" She shouted, readjusting her grip on the gun and aiming it squarely at his chest.
"Just step over...
She has to save them. That's her job. That's all her job's ever been. She has to sit on top of them, explode into feathers and squawks when needed, brood for days when they're stolen, make countless vows that she'll do better next time.
She likes her jokes, Mother Hen does.
Easter Bunny can steal them every time. He pleads, too, every time, of the scarcity of eggs on the planet, of how hard it is for an honest bunny to make a living nowadays, of the lack of belief in himself, the fake plastic hunts for things that were...
She'd always come running when I called. That's why when she didn't come, I freaked out. My girlfriend was kind and gentle. Sweet and caring. I was very depressed before she died. When I called, she'd come running, whether I needed someone to bake a cake with me or someone to keel me from shooting myself in the head. I loved her. She'd always come running when I called. I called her that day in a state of panic. I couldn't find my watch, someone must've taken it. She said she'd come. I waited for about an hour before calling...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. Andrew wasn't sure whether the power had gone out, or whether it was just the bulb -- these silly bulbs were always coming from the closet and going into the trashcan -- but he flicked the switch back in the off position and headed for the hallway. Rounding the corner out of the closet, he could see no light under the crack at the base of the door.
"Goddamn," he thought aloud, and thundered down two flights of steps to the basement, where his lighter illuminated the breaker panel. None of the switches were tripped,...
Daring to be noticed for the first time in her life, she pushed her chair back and stood up.
"Oh, looks like we have ourselves a volunteer?" the D.J at the booth smiled at her.
She blushed when the spotlight hit her. Figures the first time she wanted to be daring, the whole world would see her.
Looking back at her friends as though she wasn't sure of herself anymore, they all encouraged her, their hands moving towards the stage. "Go on!" her friend, Darnell grinned wildly to her. The rest of their group nodded their approval.
Well, if Darnell...
The doctor told me the swelling would soon subside. This made me happy. I hate swellings. Especially in my nose. Once my nose swelled up to the size of the moon. Literally. I was upstairs in the attic when my schnoz grew to the size of a lunar satellite. It crushed all of Prince Edward Island and displaced half of the Atlantic Ocean. People in Pakistan died.
Yes, having a nose the size of the moon is not good. For that matter, having a foot that is the size of a football stadium is also not good. That is what...
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The darn woodchuck was bothering me. He was a smart woodchuck. He had a bucket of red paint, which he was using to paint the golf course. "Ha ha ha," laughed the woodchuck. "I am painting this blade of grass right now. Watch as my paintbrush, which is laden in red paint, strokes the blade. See? It is red now. Ahahahaha!!!!!"
I was having none of it. I do not like the golf courses to be red, especially the green, which is called a green for a reason. You don't call them red or blues or yellows, do you? No....
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...