The children were not at school.
When the bomb went off, Mrs. Stevenson's grade four class was on a field trip to the museum. Luckily for them, the museum had a bomb shelter underneath, paid for by a very wealthy and very paranoid patron.
The parents all rushed to the school, frightened out of their minds. All the other kids were delivered safely to their families, but all the parents with a fourth grade student waited anxiously for their children who never showed up.
The principal tried to comfort the wailing mothers, while the fathers were standing around angrily, blaming...
He looked into the surface and his heart stopped a beat, two beats then three at what stared back. His chest caved inwards as a slow smile stretched and rippled across a paler face than his own. The eyes were grim and long and dead and they beat him into submission with a starving stare before he kicked his own ankle and fell to the ground, dirt scraping pits into the palms of his hands. He licked his lips and looked above about him. The roof of the hut looked like the inside of a boat falling from the sky...
5,4,3,2,1
You won't remember this
Not long now. A shame really.
All because of the accident.
You don't have either the Ends or the Means.
Hell, the Ends justify the Means?
We all know some cheat, especially because they think it won't matter.
What's the point in doing that anyway.
This is no cut and paste to fill the page cheating.
In life (for every other dumb schmuck) you can't cut and paste.
All because of the accident.
6 minutes is all you've got.
It's not like this is even real.
Barely even conscious. Funny that!
It must be SO...
Sideways glances and meanderings
Staring down some dark alley street
Cobbled and
oh
so
crooked.
This sway of me breezes free
seeking peace
not seeking.
Blood rushes through these veins
but ethereal do I sometimes feel
when falling.
Sweet surrender to do we offer ourselves to each other
and truly believe this is it.
Who are we kidding?
Death has no mercy and sometimes won't even let us die
but instead waste away inside of
bars
flesh
dreams.
So it be
so it be
but not definitely..
Hungry, angry, lonely, and tired. The alcohol comforts me like a passionate lover rubbing my back. But it's a lie,it's my lie.
Feed, peaceful, accepted, and rested. With her, rather than a bottle. I won't use today.I journey with her down the Amazon. I will kiss my love at sun down.
i held it at arms length. my best friend told me it wasn't going to bite, that i should try it on. i responded by dropping it disgustedly on my dresser and hiding it under an old gum wrapper. "But it's jewelry!" she protested. i didn't care. it was from him. that lying, cheating snake of a guy who had once told me i was the only one. that was before i discovered that he'd told her that too. i opened it, then jumped back like a viper was going to leap out of it. all i saw was the...
butterfly is my name, butterfly is my code name is what I mean. Small 'b'. Serial number 123456123456. One day I will be allowed to see green hills and blue skies but for now I am living under fluorescent light in the bunker I get told is home. Did I tell you I am an alien, accidentally arrived here ten of your years ago and kept alive, miraculously, not sliced up like my companions for the delectation and curiosity of the military and scientific communities.
One day I might be free to fly away like my namesake.
My wings are...
I read a story today, a true one, about a young man who hung himself at the age of twenty-three.
His story was horrific. The abuse he received as a child ruined him both physically and mentally and, apparently, emotionally.
It is so sad to hear about loss of young, talented people; even more so when it's the result of unspeakable evil done to them by pieces of shit that deserve a hell that Dante couldn't possibly imagine.
Hug your kids.
Listen to your friends.
Be kind. Always be kind. There is help out there, but you might not think...
I shot my butler. His name was Greg. I shot him because I don't think butlers should be called Greg. They should be called things like Alfred or Jeeves or Cadbury or Pennyworth. Not Greg, who was from New Jersey. He didn't have a British accent. He lisped. And he was a dwarf. And his armpits stank. And he insisted on working naked. That wouldn't have been so bad if his scrotum hadn't been seven feet long so that it dragged behind him when he walked. True, it helped keep the marble floors a little more polished, but grandma kept...
Although I had won this prize of the island holiday, I wasn't looking forward to it as I always felt anxious after watching that movie where the residents believed they were survivors of a nuclear war but in reality they were clones made for their body parts.
Jack, my boyfriend of seven years (marriage phobic) was so happy that I tried to force myself to enjoy choosing clothes to pack and overfill the suitcases, just like any other eager woman who had not been on holiday for years and wanted to have the best time possible.
The hotel was very...