Finally. Mom would be pissed, dad will be furious, and well, Auntie Selah will have a martini in my honor.
Perfect for me? Good family? Education, potential, background of a presidents son, check.
But he totally does not give a shit about what is most important to me. He refuses to accept my reasoning that animals are here for their own purposes and are not for consumption, entertainment, or anything else. I am VEGAN. He is cruel enough to smile through dinners, arguing with me that this is all very temporary and that as soon as we are married he'll...
The power of flight could be transferred.
When Marisa first discovered this, she was thrilled. As far as she knew, other 'birds' could only fly themselves, the envy of other humans. Being part of the elite wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Envy was a problem. Bitterness led to hate led to violence.
Her mother had told her to hide her abilities, that others would fear and resent her. But this new ability changed everything; didn't it? Instead of hating her, she could grant that power to others. What wouldn't those stranded on the land give to be...
"This is luxury." he whispered. I shook my head, not being able to process what he was saying properly.
The room was adorned with thrift store goodies, old couches, and smelled-- well, old.
I clutched my Coach bag, gritting my teeth and shook my head once more.
"This is a mistake." I stated, exhaling quickly.
"It is not." he replied, taking my hand.
I squealed at the contact, because-- goodness, this was where he lived, and I don't think this was really what I had in mind when he described his house as 'deluxe'.
"You've got to be more open...
She tried online forums, crosswords, excercise, volunteering for charity. Church, self help books, counselling. Crafts, writing, setting up websites, interior design, feng shui, alternative therapy. Gratitude. Socialising. This was the latest fad.
More boyfriends than anyone else in the town. Popular, all ages, all gender everyone wanted to be her friend. Yet, all she felt was the pervading sense of loneliness. Years of 'if only I had .........' then I would feel happy. Envious reading about lightbulb moments, lives changed, passions followed, fulfillment for the rest of their days.
She wondered what on earth was wrong. Karma from past lives?...
crash
reality shimmers
wave after wave
darkness enfolding
sleep
This was it. Their wedding day. As she walked down that aisle, she felt more like she was walking toward a cliff, with a river full of vicious pirahna at the bottom. She took his hand as the priest started the ceremony. she wondered what she had done to deserve this. It hit, then, like a bolt of lightning. It wasn't her. It was Luke. he'd tricked her at the restaurant, paid the waiter to ask her if she wanted water just as he popped the question. She'd replied to the waiter, and next thing she knew she was walking...
They gathered in the woods. On Summerisle. The pagan community anticipating a good harvest. Burning the trapped victim in The Wicker Man twisted and crafted into shape by the hands of the children and teachers at school.
I watched from a distance, secretly recording. Traitor in the midst. They were my family, friends, neighbours. I was one of them yet I was not. I was a Christian. Would-be outcast in this community, not that anyone knew. This was going to be my parting gift to them.
Freedom from sin. End of a barbaric ritual. Once exposed to the rest of...
I'm lucky that shirt was red already.
I put it through the wash, but the stain doesn't seem to have come out, but I guess I can explain it as bolognese sauce or something. I took care of any signs of what happened, I mopped the floor, cleaned everything else, and then made a slight mess so things didn't seem suspicious.
I probably shouldn't worry so much, but my mother is visiting and if she finds out, she'll scream, so I'm panicking a little. The clock says it's 17:54, she's supposed to get back in five minutes. That isn't long...
The water was clear, so I stared at it, looking at my reflection. I was ugly, there were no two ways about.
She had been right.
I kept staring at myself. The disfiguring scar curved an unappealing path through my cheek. My hair was matted with dirt and dust. I wasn't even handsome in a macho kind of way, like someone who had just emerged from a bout with a bear.
She had been right.
My eyes were red and puffy with tears. My lips were chapped and sore. When I ran my tongue over them, they felt sharp and...
"I hate him. He could get hit by a car randomly in the street, and it wouldn't matter to me. It would probably make my days better."
Anyway, it happened. It would. And so then the whole school was plunged into mourning of varying depths. Mourning of the grievous type, and mourning of the more celebratory kind.
Let's be honest. He made everyone's life miserable. He never bothered to even sit. His room was the hallway, not a desk.
The administrator who suspended him that day couldn't stop questioning himself: could I have done more? Should I have done it?...