Cold feet. She wore pink shoes under her white gown to match the theme. Pink. Well, Blush and Bashful just like Steel Magnolias - if you asked her, she wouldn't say Pink.
Cold feet. A pink winter wedding was all she wanted; Blush and Bashful were the colors; THE colors she had to have. Muffs on the bridesmaids' hands, all in the light-colored dresses. And roses. Lots and lots and tons and tons of roses. All in pink and white.
Cold feet. She spent the last 7 years with Austin, and this winter wedding was all she ever wanted. But...
He ran into the room, his heart pounding, and his clothes soaking wet. He was running west, towards worn mountains that once jutted out from the earth, but now were nothing more than mere hills amongst a flat landscape.
Flat feet were pounding against the earth raising a dust cloud that trailed behind him, covering his tall shadow in the late burning sun.
Running was the only thing he knew how to do. The cold air that nipped your nose and rosed your cheeks held nothing for him back East anymore.
Now, now he was just following the snow that...
"Everyone is a sun," he insisted, but no one was arguing.
"Every dog has his drug," he affirmed, and they all agreed.
"He's an unusual kid," I decided, and they all agreed.
"Everyone is a sun," he repeated, adding, "but not you," and he pointed his peanut butter fist at me.
The sky was hazy and blue, like the sun in a balloon, and the road was cold and icy.
I uncoiled my hand-knit scarf and decided to wait for the moon.
I hated the wallpaper on my phone. For some reason it just appeared overnight even though no trace was found in the files or folders. Nothing I tried would delete the darn thing. Where had it come from and why?
Josie, an amateur feng shui expert made several suggestions but I didn't believe that kind of rubbish. Strangely enough my phone went wrong, you know where all you get is that SOS Emergency screen but you can't access your numbers or do anything else with it. Yet every couple of seconds, the fish appeared again. It was doing my head...
She lay on the water, trying hard to keep her lungs inflated. She started to sink, keeping her nose and mouth above water. As for the rest of her, it was completely surrounded by water. her light linen dress was soaked. She kept her arms behind her, just in case she hit the bottom of the lake. as water consumed her nose and mouth, all she saw, all she thought, all she felt, was the end. She was dying anyway. Why not speed it up a bit?
"Do you remember?"
"I remember"
"We were so..."
"Young"
"Stupid."
"We were kids."
"Would you still buy that excuse if one of yours said that to you?"
"Ha, I guess not."
"Because we were idiots."
"Clearly we haven't learned our lesson."
"Of course we have, there's some method to the madness these days."
"You call it method, I call it being surrounded."
"Go out with a bang though?"
"Always."
And with a nod, the two old friends picked up their paint ball guns.
"On three?"
"On three."
"One... two..."
Into the battle once more they ran, best friends who had...
Hero at Midnight
No one could remember who among them gave him the name Rooster; probably someone long gone by this point. A seventy percent casualty rate will leave one gaping hole in the communal memory. Everyone could remember why: yodeling and ukelele music in the pre-dawn hours was inexcusable by any measure. It had started after the battle for Hill 487. Most of Rooster's squad had been blown into pieces too small to put back together. Hence the coping mechanism. However, after two weeks of this crap, enough was enough, and Private Morlane drew the short stick: shut him...
She held the letter, tears flowing down her face. Somehow she'd known it would always come to this. That no matter how hard she tried to steer him in the right direction, he was bound and determined to go his own way, like a shopping cart with a busted wheel.
The letter was short and to the point, mostly complaining about the food. Thankfully, he wasn't hurt, though he was thrown into solitary once for fighting.
As she re-read the letter, she sobbed, for she too was confined in a prison not of her choosing.
Memory...
I forgot her face. How black were her eyes?
Was her nose long? Was her hair black?
No, I can't remember, I only remember that she was there, in my life.
A random memory hit like a lightning.
I have her snap in my laptop, or in was it in my personal file in flickr?
I try, with possible passwords...Wow ! After years, did I regain my memory? I wonder.
I open the personal photos in the flickr file.
I find her name there and eagerly click it and this image comes!
Memory lost again...I lose!
It was happening again. Blindfolded, naked, cold and shivering she sat on a chair. She could see herself, as if she was detached from her body. Blood and saliva dripped from her lip and her right eye was swelling from where her attacker had punched her. She had tried to fight him off but he had sneaked up from behind and wrapped his arms around her. She had thought she would suffocate as he squeeze the breath from her body. Blackness surrounded her as she passed out. When she came to she was in the boot of car. She couldn't...