Modelling had never been her idea. The vacuous stares, the hours in front of the mirror. Was it her fault her proportions were perfect for summer dresses? It was a life she escaped the moment she fled her mother's house.
She didn't pick the color of her hair. It didn't come on a shelf, stinking up the bathroom with it's noxious fumes, attracting evil eyes from other women who thought they knew what she was like simply from the glow of her yellow hair and the swing of her hips?
The pitch of her voice wasn't her fault. How did...
I'm not sure what's wrong with the site today, but it doesn't seem to be working for me. When I click for the prompt, the clock doesn't appear. Talk about a pile of rotten potatoes.
The gate closed behind them.
'And stay out!' shouted the old man. He sneered and spat on the ground.
Billy spat back at him through the heavy iron uprights of the gate. A bubble of saliva struck his tie, but he didn't even flinch.
'Stupid old goat,' snapped Billy as Dan stepped backward shaking his head. Old Man Barnes might be a stupid old goat, but even Dan knew that kids like them shouldn't talk to men like him that way. Dan's dad always going on about how Old Man Barnes had fought in all the big wars and was...
She could tell I was faking it. Unforgiveness. Ten years working at the lab, overtimes, ruined marriage, kids that pretend I'm not their dad, ulcers. I hated her for joking around, waving the scalpel, accidentally killing F7, our first subject to live beyond three months.
In human years he this was equivalent to 20. Tall, dark haired, extraordinarily strong. Yes, he was ugly, but this was of no consequence. We had all grown to love him. .
Sonia, my assistant ran out the room instead of trying to save his life. Couldn't look at me. Knew I would never stop...
The room was dark and hazey that morning. Im sure the night before that had been filled with booze, girls and college antics was the cause of the dry, drpessed feeling.
My proffessors voice piecrced like a knife in my skull as he said "You have six minutes to write a story. GO!" My hand gripped the chewed No. 2 pencil as I scramble to write everything about nothing.
My mind raced at the pace of a hungry slug as I stamered to think of somthing to write.
My writing skills are poor, I have limited ideas and my grammer...
The zombies beat upon the door to the church. The flowering vines clung to the brink walls like dead man's fingers, while the sun gazed relentlessly upon their torn and damaged limbs. The daylight didn't detour them. Neither did the cross, holy water, or relics. All that mattered was the thick wooden door separating them from their desire.
Cries of despair, pleas for mercy and sanctuary went unnoticed. Only the nearby birds heard and their hearts were cold and unyielding. "Sanctuary!" they screamed. "Give us sanctuary!" But the pastor and his flock refused them mercy.
Left to the sun's brilliant...
Sometimes, the best cure for loneliness is to actually be alone. Which is actually kind of hard to do, considering there are something like 6 bills people on the planet. You have to actually try.
Alone is different from lonely. Alone is a choice. Lonely is a sickness. My sickness has lasted two years, six months, eleven days, and I'm to the point where I must get better, or die. So I put on my black "fuck off" jacket, and put my headphones in my ears, and I made a choice to be alone. And I walked. I walked all...
It was just a glimpse. Her face was crystal clear. In his hurry he bumped into her as he walked past, and then in shame continued anonymously into the crowd.
Why was she HERE? She should be halfway around the world, or at least anywhere but the same small city in Japan. What were the chances two people would randomly pick this relatively unknown place for a vacation?
Who was she, anyways?
* * *
He walked right past her. Didn't even seem to recognize her. So frustrating!
She just wanted some sign from him that she existed! She tracked...
Penelope loved the fountain, loved the way the water sprayed, cooling her in the hot sun, making her clothes cling as she called her joy to the heavens.
"What are you doing?" asked the man in the blue uniform.
Some sort of park official, thought the girl. "Nothing. Just enjoying the water."
"This isn't a waterpark, you know," said the man, a note of disapproval hanging from his lips like a dangling cigar, ready to drop and burn.
"So?" she asked. She kicked up a fine spray as her feet pattered against the thin layer that had built up over...
Fireman? Firewoman? Fire...person?
Esme sighed as she approached her firetruck. The trouble with magic, she reflected, was that while it got you where you need to be quickly, that sometimes meant that you skipped over important parts of the path.
It had been a simple enough spell of purpose; she paid her fifteen hundred dollars, and in return she got given her perfect career. The career that she would enjoy the most, be most suited for...the career that would make her happy.
Purpose was a popular spell-type, and it had definitely resulted in a happier populace, but no one had...