I could hear it whipping in the wind outside my bedroom; his coat that was left on the laundry line to hang dry. You can't leave clothes out on a line when it's winter in New York; 'specially the mountains. The cuffs and the buttons froze when I finally had the courage to get it. A crow sat on the line right by it and cawed when I went to release the jacket from the clothespins.
I brought it into my mama, who told me he aint' never comin' back to Saranac. It's sad, you know, that he left her....
I don't even notice as he walks up behind me and presses something into my hand. "See you later," and he's gone. I open my palm and see the huge plastic easter egg that he gave me. It's a light purple and blank, no clues. Carefully, hopefully, I open it up. "Please, please let there be a note inside. Please." I pop it open and look inside. Nothing. But it's not empty. It's full of disappointment. Disappointment and a single tear.
Proles. Can't live with them, cant get elected without them. If I had my way, we'd remove them from the process entirely and let the "adults" handle the important stuff. Sure, we'll throw them a bone every once in a while, you know, just to keep up the illusion that they hold some sort of sway, but honestly, who cares what they really think.
The worst are the ones who try to organize. Luckily, all it takes is a well-timed act of violence. Hell, sometimes it doesn't even require anything more than a vague threat. Remember the dairy farmer uprising?...
He walked into a blizzard. The wind had a life of its own, throwing the shards of snow like throwing knifes into his skin. The train was like a seductive mistress behind her, beckoning him to come back to her warm embrace. The station was as lonely as an island stranded in the dark Pacific. The train let out a mournful howl, its gears creaking and screeching as it attempted to continue on its journey. There was no way back now, he was abandoned in unfamiliar waters. The wind trickeled through his jacket, whispering against his skin with toungues of...
Vanquished.
Seriously, that's how it felt as I walked down the hall back to homeroom. My hands were in the front pockets of my jeans, my head was down. I felt as if all the wind had been taken from my sails. A strong breeze could have knocked me over and I would have just curled up in a fetal ball in front of the beige steel lockers. When the bell rang, people would just step around me as I tried to become more and more invisible.
Mr. Garsh said he was sympathetic. I think they tell him to say...
Balanced on the line, he told her again, "Put it down!" Danielle wouldn't listen. She had never listened to her master.
She held the wand in trembling fingers, pointed end toward herself. "Stay back!" she called. "I'm going to use this!"
"No!" Master Reginald called. He'd reached out, without thinking, a hand. His own wand was in his robe pocket. Could he reach it in time? "You have so much to live for!"
"Like what?" Danielle screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm the worst student in class. Even Betty Browning is better than me at everything."
The master straightened....
He sat in the window of the coffee shop, letting his coffee go cold as he stared at the people passing on the street absentmindedly. His notebook lay open in his lap, forgotten. His new assignment at work completely failing to inspire him. His phone was faced down on the table so that he couldn't see it when it lit up as his girlfriend rang him to check up, berate him or otherwise just invade his bubble of solitude.
He wasn't sure whenhe had begun to feel just so, disatisfied, but the feeling had certainly settled upon him with a...
Whose shoes are these? I think I know
The feet are disembodied, though
I think that she will be displeased
To see her shoes adorn a
"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 lamp wouldn't turn on. He thought it might be the bulb, so he unscrewed it and got a sixty volt shock that made his whole body shake until he dropped the lamp. He wouldn't do that again.