Now, Ma'am, your academy sounds like a wonderful place for Peter, but there is something you should know about my son before you take him on. Well, you see, he's not like other boys. Yes, I know he looks normal enough but he... Peter is a very - how do I say this - high maintenance teen. He can - well, look out the window. See how he's not talking to the others? Oh, he's talking her out of his pocket. That's Tinkerbell, Ma'am. Shh - just watch. There's the pixie dust and... he's flying. (Oh, thank the good Lord...
"You can count me out." he crossed his arms and leaned against the Maserati in such a way that made Jill know not to cross him again. But, despite the little voice screaming at her in her head, she did anyway. "Oh, come on, Finn, nothing's going to happen. Don't be a chicken." His features darkened. "No. I'm not going in there, and there's nothing you can say that will make me." she groaned inwardly; for 19, the guy sure could whine. "She isn't that bad, Finn." she said, exhausted with this argument. "N.O." he spelled it out for her,...
Black and white. I couldn't believe Dad had done it again.
I know I'm lucky, I do. You can say I'm spoiled if you like, but it doesn't matter - I'd asked for ONE THING this Christmas, and it was colour.
I looked up at my father, tried to fake a smile, and said 'Thanks'. As soon as he turned away, I rolled my eyes, and unwrapped my next present.
A sweater. Great. I wondered what colour it was - if I went out wearing this and one of my friends actually GOT what she asked for and could see...
Sal was in love.
A part of her felt that she'd always been in love, and almost each time with a different man. But this time she knew it was real. For this man, she'd been in love with twice.
Sal had first met Harold two years ago, when he was about to be hit by a falling piano. That was when she'd known it was love most true, love most divine.
If Sal possessed anything close to an introspective nature, she may have realised that each and every time she fell in love, it was with someone on the...
Serge nudged his office door shut and sighed. Another lecture done, one more to go on the tour. "What I wouldn't give for something fresh and green," he grumbled.
The tall, leggy blond tossed his hair from his eyes, grunting as he hit the hanging lampshade once again. "I will not do this again," he continued, complaining to the small, empty space. He missed the wild spaces, the trees, the meadows, his favorite pool with the tiny waterfall tumbling in.
"Gillenham can be the bloody ambassador to the Outside himself and finish this tour. I'm done." His bags were packed,...
"Quack quack quack!"
*Translation: OH NO! BP!
"Quack quack quack quack."
*Translation: I'll have to move to another pond now...
"Quack quack..."
*Translation: Stupid #$#@%$%$#^#$ humans.
"Quack quack quack..."
*Translation: Or maybe I'll just steal all their rubber duckies. See how they like losing something.
"QUAAAACKKK!"
*Translation: MWAHAHAHAHHAHAHA
Mr Duckie went to become the Robin Hook of all ducks, stealing rubber duckies from all the human children and all the grownups who still like flotation toys. Right now he has a large organization, SOPWRD (Save Our Pond With Rubber Duckies) and has declared Ernie from Sesame Street as Duck Worlds...
Harold finally decided to turn his life around while he was standing in front of the elevator.
Even though his meeting was on the second floor he hit the up button, buzzing with excitement at the possibilities of where it could take him.
Not that I mind being dead. It's nothing to be saved from, really. Oh, at first believe me, I railed against it, bracing myself for whatever fight or hell lay before me. But after about an hour it seemed pretty clear to me that nothing was going to happen.
Literally, nothing happens when you are dead. To from your own view point anyway. Granted, I do not have a body to call my own anymore, but being dead feels surprisingly like being alive does. Only with less worry. And not taxes of course.
But if you can read this, and...
"You heard me right, friends. The evil that is draining our country of vitality is NOT Wall Street, NOT Washington D.C., NOT the Chinese or video games or foreign oil! No sir!"
I looked out at them, every one of them shocked at hearing this deviation from the party line, hearing my "lunatic heresies", as the bloggers and cable news harpies would no doubt dismiss them.
"NO SIR!" I thundered, rocking them back in their seats. "I tell you that the greatest threat to America and TO THE WORLD is this scourge, this pestilence, this new opiate of the masses:...
"Grandpop's teeth didn't look like that."
"How do you know?"
"Because mom always said you got his teeth. Do your teeth look like that?"
"Maybe after they'd been in the ground for fifty years."
"Not even. Look at the length of them."
"No, teeth keep growing after you die."
"That's nails, dummy. And they have to be attached still. You think teeth keep growing if they're just loose like this?"
"Who can say?"
"You know who would know?"
"Yeah, but she can't exactly tell us, now can she?"
"Well, she'd know for sure."
"Grandma's probably the one who did it...