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...
It's breathtaking how many times I've had to smell this. The curiosity overwhelms me. So begins the search for my companions. After all, who investigates strange smells without company? Speaking of company...where is everybody? This nose of mine struggles to pinpoint the four-legged friends I've come to know over these past few months.
Something is off.
"Skipper," I think to myself. At least that's what the farmer calls me. "You know better than this to delay the inevitable."
I strain, nose and ears working in tandem to take in the faint...wait...yes. there it is. The distant sounds of howling. Distress....
Midnight on the roof. She stood alone, shivering, cold, the wind blowing her hair across her face, blanket wrapped around her. It had gone all wrong at the party, and she knew it. She had meant to approach him, to say she was sorry, to ask him to forgive her. But instead, she froze, watching carefully from across the room while her friends chatted on, oblivious. He never once looked her way. Did he know she was there? Could he feel her presence? The truth she had spoken aloud in anger only a few days before seemed not so true...
It was really just a matter of survival. Keep going and keep going and eventually, soon if they were lucky, they would reach a village, a town, a bloody great city with skyscrapers and McDonalds and satellite TV. All right, maybe that was taking things a bit far, pushing their luck to the extreme, but it was a beautiful daydream.
"You all right back there?" called Hitesh loudly, despite his cracked, dry throat, trying to make himself heard over the rushing, roaring river that the canoe was racing along.
Ash nodded, realised Hitesh couldn't see him, and carefully leant forward....
She should have been writing. Instead, she watched the time slide away from her.
5'44". 5'32". 5'11".
What was this? she asked—not herself, but God, the heavens, the hall monitor, anybody but herself. Was this paralysis?
No. This was a choice. And even though she closed her eyes, she still couldn't get away from that.
4'09". 3'58".
Why not write? There was the prompt on the page. She could do this. She was good at this. She always had been, always, always. Write on command. Paper comes back; mark at the top.
She didn't work hard for years and take...
Swing.
I would sneak out my window at night when both my parents were asleep. I'd walk the block and a half to the schoolyard, sit in the middle swing of the playground and sing to myself until he got there. Then he'd push me gently to and fro while we talked about the day, about tomorrow, and the tomorrows after that.
Swing.
We met that way for a year until his parents found out and installed alarms on all their windows and doors. They thought it was drugs, or teenage trouble he was after. But it was just to...
She'd have preferred the electric chair. She'd always been a fan of electricity. She recalled the first time her mother had given her a knife and set her down in front of the light socket. "Go on...Stick it in there good now honey" her mother had told her. And the jolt. Wow. Margaret knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life from that very first light socket. Electricity would be her calling. And boy did she answer that call.
As a young girl she would put on shows for the kids on the block by hopping in the...
Drowning in the sea. That was the trick of it. To be seen to swoon, to fall to the bottom. The pretend to expire. It was the pearls that weighed me down. They alway do. Spiros bought them for the moon. That is what he said. The moon. As if the moon had a price. All things had a price. He gave them to me in the back garden of the hotel under a moon that was more red that white. A bad luck moon. But the band played on in the gallery and couples in their best passed under...
He gasped for breath and looked around. The room was dark but he could sense there was someone there. Hello he said, barely audible. No response. Hello? this time a bit louder. From the corner of his eye he saw a flicker of light. At thesame time his nostrils filled with the putrid stench of what smelled like rotting fish. The room started to shake, he lost his footing. Tyring to grab on to the nearest thing possible he screamed when he touched what may once have been a hand but now was bone with some slime like substance that...
"I don't care if I get wet!"
Eric snatched at her hand, but Angel quickly pulled away. She let her hand extend beyond the umbrella's translucent canopy, its special shielding against radiation and chemical contaminants having been turned off despite Eric's warnings.
"You can't do that!" he cried.
"Why not?" she said. "It's been years since the fallout. Why use this stupid shield anyway? What difference does it make if things APPEAR normal?"
Tears streaked her lover's face, but he said nothing.
Disgusted with the futility of it all, she hit another button on the handle and turned off his...