Ridiculous. I've tried to write to you probably 30 times since you moved away. I have unfinished letters, words stuck in my head, of a million different ways to say the same thing.
In April I wrote a letter to you in my head on the car ride home from the mountains. Then I went home and typed it up; deleted it, then pulled it out of the 'recycle bin' on my desktop.
Now it's January, the only thing I ever sent was an 'I Miss You' card with a dog on it that looked incredibly sad and I have...
"Of course, no one can make a unicorn," Pareth said, in that tone of voice he used when lecturing his students, "but you can take one apart." He stood, and I groaned inwardly.
He took the lecturing posture. "Of course, early giants of the field certainly tried. They glued the horn of a rhino to a horse, as if the mere simulacra of the thing could summon the real thing. Superstitious nonsense.
"Others tried grafting, and in more recent years we have seen specialized breeding, and even genetic manipulation. All abject failures. One cannot make a unicorn."
He smiled. "At...
The pistol was cocked, ready to go. There were angels on my lawn. Dirty, foul things. They pecked at my roses, tearing at them with their claws. They left shit and mud stained feathers all over the lawn. They peed on everything.
I'd tried that new Angel B Gone spray but it only made them frisky. A few started having sex on my lawn. My Jem had to get out the garden hose to chase them away.
I'd tried to trap them. I bought great big cages from the hardware store and pieces of cheese to lure them in. They...
The year was 1986 and I was 10 years old living in south Louisiana. My family had been living in Louisiana for generations and we had a long proud history in the area. I grew up in a little berg call Bayou Pigeon. The distinct accent of south Louisiana had missed me due to watching too much television and alot of speech therapy when I was younger.
School was like any other area of the country. You go to school all day, work hard, have a nice recess, deal with your share of bullies, laugh with you friends. When you...
Gene quickened his pace. All the way from the pub, he had felt the presence of someone following him. He daren't look around, you read all sorts of things in the newspapers, God only knew who, or what, was behind him.
He was nearly home now anyway, another five minutes and he would be safely tucked up behind closed doors. Away from harm. He never usually walked home alone, but he was feeling a bit under the weather today, so had set off before the others. Truth be told, they were annoying him a bit with their curmudgeonly ways.
The...
She opened the envelope and screamed.
It wasn't a scream of happiness. It wasn't a scream of surprise. It wasn't the hoped for money that grandma had promised. It wasn't the test results; they wouldn't come for another week.
It was a finger. In the bottom of the envelope. Dry of blood. Shrivelled and pale and a stub, a nub.
She dropped the envelope and scuttled back into a corner, her fist jammed into her jaw. Her eyes wide, she stared at the finger, as it lolled out of the envelope.
She could smell smoke. It had to be a...
This dream was better than waking.
Awake the pain from the bruises was beyond belief. In this dream, I was pain free and dancing in his arms. He had come up behind me and I'd heard just his footsteps softly approach me, followed by a gentle cough. I'd glanced over my shoulder and looked straight into his deep brown eyes.He'd held out his hand and asked "May I?"I'd gratefully turned into his open arms and let him whirl me onto the floor. For twenty minutes I was in heaven as we waltzed around and around.
Then downstairs he dropped a...
As soon as Roger grabbed my wrist, I knew the spell was broken. Silence had been my way of being. Silence, yes, on the outside. But inside? Screaming. Screaming an Ella Fitzgerald glass shattering scream. But Roger's fat fist around my bloodless wrist created an outlet for me. Finally. THere was no way in hell he was going to take my sister's banana bike. I may not have spoken for the first 9 years of my grade school existence, but I wanted to make sure She WOULD.
I flipped out of the wrist hold with a Karate move my brother...
I didn't see my first Lighthouse until I was 28 years old. When I did though it had the same sense of mystery and power that you always imagined Lighthouses to have from reading stories and poems in which The Lighthouse was the start attraction of the piece, seeming to not only guide ships in the night but hold the mysteries of the sea. I wasn't the only one to be so impressed with my first Lighthouse having to fight for a space against its tall walls to have my picture taken, alongside various other tourists, who'd made the trek...
If there was hope, it lay with the proles... or something like that. Winston, the character from that stupid book he'd been forced to read for English lit, had been whinging on about how the proles were stupid or something, but yet he seemed to find hope in their humanity. What? Why? His teacher would want him to expand on the concept, and he couldn't very well just copy the Cliff Notes word for word, nor admit that he'd simply read the synopsis. He called up Cara.
Her voice sounded sleepy on the phone. "Yeah? What do you want?"
"Why...