I waited on the corner of Drake Street and Something. I shielded my eyes from the bright gray to see the paintings on the panes.
I waited a few feet from the corner of Drake Street and Something and could not see the rain puddles hug the curbs in passing.
I waited on the wrong corner of Drake Street. We all waited on the wrong corner of Drake Street. It was so quiet on the right street, we could have heard a pin drop into a rain puddle and rush ahead of us into the future.
I waited on the...
Trivia. They say Native Americans, and other native people of the World, believed photographs stole their soul, the marrow of their being. It comes up a lot in clever White people films and books, when they want to show Savages and Locals as ignorant and superstitious.
Actually, it is probably more true of the early photographers themselves, breathing Mercury fumes, day in day out, in producing their metal plate dageurotypes. The toxin building up, destroying the marrow in their bones, until they quickly faded as much in Life and Strength as their pictures eventually did. Easy pickings they were.
I...
Ridiculous. He had never been so ill-treated in his whole life. To think that such an imbecilic, poorly-dressed, snivel-nosed shit could have the AUDACITY to pour a saintly bordeaux all over his wife put such beet red hues into his cheeks as to suggest asphyxiation, or potential heart failure.
The fat man shook, with an angry tectonic rumble, and the whole room seemed to hold slack for his reaction, volatile elements stirring with life...
"What in the hell do you THINK you ARE DOING!??" the fat fuck rumbles. His gold watch chain jangles with the bulbous rolling of his obese...
Rouge.
"That's right men, put up the flag. We are no longer the lone-star state, but the lone-star ship!" Captain Johnson bellowed in a frenzy.
The ship's red phone began to ring.
"No. No, we are not coming back from this tour - You can call us Pirates if you want to. No. We will not come back, we are tired of this war. We are tired of these living conditions. And most of all, my men are tired of this food. I will not listen to reason."
Captain Johnson was cut off by the distant rumbling of a torpedo...
Trivia. He'd always desired it. Kept and hoarded as much as he could. Sam Carson the youngest DOT COM Billionaire ever to spot, harness and reap a trend. Who knew that others liked (and would pay by micro-transaction) to keep their nostalgic memories in digital form. Still, his (actually quite vast) fortune hadn't stopped the throat cancer. Losing his persuasive voice was a hit that sent him into minimalism after that. Just the one wife. One mistress. All else he gave vicariously away. His tombstone was the final evidence of his loss of largesse. None of the LCD Virtually Real...
"Don't you realize you can make a cake WITHOUT any the products of my femininity?" asked the chicken. She fluffed her feathers defiantly, shouting over the cars that zoomed mere inches from where she had taken her stance. "That is that last time anyone takes my eggs! I will NOT provide my children for your tasty treats!" She glared at the little girl.
Darla stared at the hefty bird. She adjusted her apron, dusting off some flour with one gloved hand. "I needed eggs for my mother's birthday cake!" she protested. Darting a glance at the heavy traffic, she...
"Even in a finite universe, a rock doesn't keep being a rock. Things are always disintegrating and becoming other things." Our Tragic Universe, Scarlett Thomas
There was once a rock, a very old rock, a rock which had laid low for a very long time. It couldn't remember how long that long time actually was but somehow knew without needing to remember that that long time was long enough. It was a rock that took great pride in its appearance, habitually watering its neat lawn of grass, combing its thick coat of moss, trimming it at least once a week....
He opened the letter from his cousin, reluctantly breaking open the blue air-mail envelope. Who uses old-fashioned snail mail these days? It was from Cat, of course. His good-for-nothing lay-a-bout drop=out relative who had adopted a ridiculous animal name and gone off to live on an remote island in the West Indies. Practically a desert island. No email there, of course.
Meanwhile, people like himself, sensible people with ambitions and mortgages, had to eke out a living in London, or Sydney, or Rome. Wherever he could. And that is hard when you are a classical musician - a violinist -...
We were on a quest to find the Black Rose. It was the only thing which could be used to defeat Francis.
Cold, hungry, and lost in the forest, we stopped for some rest.
"Marchiel, what's our plan?". Miriam asked me.
"At first light, we travel to Moundenchow. I know someone there who can help us. Get some rest.", I answered
Dawn rose, and we were on our way to Moundenchow.
We met my friend at a tavern, and he directed us to the mantle above the fireplace. There it was. The Black Rose. It had been secreted in this...
The audience stared open mouthed at me. I didn't know if I should cover up or keep dancing. Who would have thought I would have fallen out of my costume? A wardrobe malfunction, that's what they called it.
So I did what I thought was the right thing to do. I pushed myself back into the low-cut tube top and kept on dancing.
It wasn't like I was a double D floating through the air as the tassels twisted blindly around. I could fudge a C on a cold day.
I just hope someday I will live down the day...