Ridiculous.
How much love a heart can hold.
Amazing.
To watch your life unfold.
Uncanny.
How your presence fills the sky.
Unbelievable.
How much is spoken in your sigh
How on earth did you come to me?
Maybe Earth had nothing to do with it.
But a conspiracy of stars
Fuelled by an awe inspiring universe.
My miracle.
I was going to the store to buy some Golden Grahams and mushroom soup. I was with Meadow, my kid sister, who was 11. Meadow had developed an infatuation with cole slaw. She wore it under her armpits. She danced a lot too. Her favourite fictional character was Smurfette.
We got to the store and the clerk, Mr. Didd, told us that we could have the Golden Grahams for free if we would do him a favour.
"Wassat?" asks Meadow.
Mr. Didd hands her a pouch of golden dust. "Take this into the woods and dispose of it," he says....
Time to empty his pockets. Small knife worn ebony handle, three cheap plastic lighters, one engraved silver lighter, crumpled receipts, loose change, reading glasses, two cell phones (one pink). Notebook of newspaper clippings, photos, poems, doodles. He didn't know what to do about it. Recalled the shivery feeling when he looked through it, read the threats within the pages.
Kleptomania could be an interesting condition to have. Usually he was thrilled by his daily haul. Not today. Wondering if his conscience would make him warn the subject of the notebook.
She looks beautiful. Innocent. Unaware..
The old folks filed away from Gregoire slowly, creeping off to investigate a small marble statue of Psyche being ravished by Cupid. The chandelier hung precariously over them, and Gregoire wondered how many shots from his 19th-century pistol would send it crashing down on their aged heads.
But would Bonaparte commit such a gauche act? Gregoire thought not. Even in exile, surrounded by mad old women, he still had his dignity. He held his head high, hoping that the extra height of his admiral's hat would exceed that of the straw bonnets behind him. He would win this psychological battle....
I'm in love with a robot, thats all there is to it. When his parents tell him how to live his life, where to go to college, where to work, even when to go on dates, he just goes along with it. He makes me so upset sometimes. I know that he has brilliant ideas and knows exactly what he wants to do with his life, and yet he lets others decide everything for him. If only he would stand up for himself. I know who he really is. He is wonderfully funny, incredibly smart, and full of ambition. But...
As she sat she thought and thought quick furtive thoughts.... of how how how and when could she move away from that place, move across the narrow streets of the city, and out into the fields of the countryside. It was too dark to see, but important to leave before dawn. Red that recedes like a shade in the dark, shouts in the daytime. She ought to have worn brown, her vanity tripping her up again. Her hands clasped the small bag of pearls, the only money she can bring back with her, the only reward for these weeks of...
"And when I get older, I'm going to be a fairy!" little Leslie exclaimed. On their second playdate, she and her new pre-school friends were already discussing their life goals. As the only girls in their new class, they quickly bonded and had to stick together.
As they grew, their friendship did as well. They squabbled over birthday party themes, which high-school to attend and not infrequently, boys. As two went off to college, Leslie chose a different route. She became known on the music festival circuit as the best-damn flowered headband maker... it wasn't long before she had her...
It approached. The first day of writing a 6 minute story. "Excuse me? A story about a story? That's so meta", I whispered to myself. The truth is, the story is really about life, and life is both the story and the story teller.
Four minutes. Really, it took two just to write that paragraph? "It's been so long since I've written creatively", I thought to myself. It's true. It's been years. Nowadays, most of my words are shaped in the form of technical documents, twitter updates, and code.
Three minutes. Time is ticking down. I look to my right,...
"His eyes closed with a sinnister grin?" Rabbit said. "What does that even mean? His eyes were grinning? Or the grinning caused his eyes to close? I don't get it. The imagery just doesn't pop and imagery needs to pop, or at least not be this strange Cheshire cat thing."
"A what kind of cat?" Weasel said.
"Cheshire. A Cheshire cat, like in Alice in Wonderland."
"Oh, I've never seen that."
Rabbit looked at him, mouth open. "Regardless of having seen it or not, or even better, having read the book, since you are trying to be a writer, you...
My name is Joseph Buxton and I am a terrible person.
The audience stared open-mouthed at me as the blood welled around the wound and covered my hands which were clasped over. I wouldn't normally do this, try to save a man's life, but I felt I owed him something. As he bled out and stained the cuffs of my shirt, the useless audience just stared on unmoved.
I felt his heart slow to a stop and watched the life drain from his eyes. He was still now, it was over.
I rolled up my sleeves and flagged down a...