Acid ate up the canvas, leaving the moonlit scene unrecognisable. No longer priceless, breathtaking, desirable. Now a screwed up mess, destined for the trash can, ruined beyond any hope of restoration. Mr. Slovenias the gallery owner cried for the first time in years that day.
Jack spent his first night in jail. Unrepentant. Glad he'd ruined the masterpiece. Certain in the knowledge his act would save humanity.
Betty, Jack's long suffering mother realised that for the first time in her life, she was relieved he was spending the night elsewhere. In fact, if she were really honest with herself, she...
I had finished drawing. The picture a beautiful representation of her body. I told her that I was done, she decided not to put her clothes back on. I twisted the drawing board around and she smiled. I smiled in turn and told her it was an excellent drawing, and she was an excellent model. She blushed. She said it was my turn and I was confused. She emphasized a bit more and I knew. She asked if I was uncomfortable doing so and I told her no. She took a blank piece of paper. sitting there naked made me...
The contours of her form were clear under the light shining through my window. She was laying there nude on my couch as I drew her. My eyes, flicking back and forth from the paper to her. My hand, gliding wildly across the paper in motions similar to a snake whipping it's way across a desert. I had asked her to model for me. Not because I have a crush on her. Not because I'm trying to date her. But because her body is so gorgeous. It flows with every move she makes, twisting and bending and flowing. She lays...
It was the fall that surprised me the most. We worked together for years on the 82nd floor of Tower two, and when I knew we couldn't get to the bottom I knew he'd want to go to the top. I agreed immediately even though I knew he had a plan, he always had a plan. I was too busy not thinking clearly to think clearly, about what this plan would would to do us, how it would end, how we could survive.
For the last minute of his life, the terror was gone. His smile didn't surprise me, I...
A small office, four storeys up a marble staircase with an flowery ironwork bannister. Dark. Quiet. A light passes the window, shifting the shadows. There, in the darkness behind the desk, a face. An open mouth. Staring eyes. John's heart hammers in his chest so loudly. Can he here it? Can Adam see him? And the girl. The poor girl. Blood pools beneath the desk. And for what? A painting? Art from an artist centuries past. A dead work for dead people. His hand tightens on the suitcashandle. The Pelican. Is it worth this?
When he went to the pet store Mark Anderson thought it was going to be just another day. He was going to pick out the goldfish for his nephew's birthday and head on his way. Boy was he ever wrong.
It started as soon as he walked in, the cashier was giving him a very funny look that Mark couldn't exactly place. The pets were even weirder. They all looked as though they'd been through hell and back, but Mark, startled as he was, kept looking for that goldfish. If only he'd left then.
He got to the aquarium section...