Sean
By Jane Jones
He was late again. This had happened a lot over the past month and tonight she was determined to find out why.
She had been busy all day clearing out his wardrobe. He never did this and sometimes it annoyed her so she did it for him and it was beans on toast for his dinner. She hated doing him beans on toast as she always thought it was not a proper dinner but tonight she just wanted to make him happy so beans on toast it was going to be.
She poured herself another glass...
The results were in.
Her name wasn't even on the list. Not division A, not division B, not any of the special divisions . . . what the heck?
Okay, calm down, she thought, they let you take the test, so all the paperwork gets through. You can't fail the test, it isn't that kind of test, and they would've told you if something was wrong on your end, it was probably an administrative error. Right?
Who should she talk to? She had no idea. Okay, she could ask at the main counter. That's what it for, right? You don't...
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...
In the morning, he'd wake up, stretch a bit and roll up his things into a small bundle and be on his merry way. There was a gym nearby with public access to the showers, where he'd wash his clothes and hang them to dry on a curtain bar somewhere as he brushed, shaved, showered and took care of his other personal grooming.
After that, he hopped on the back of a trolley and got his exercise for the day walking from the trolley stop on the edge of town to the orchard just a mile down the road. He'd...
I needed to find food, quickly.
The warm summer breeze propelled me forward at a rate that almost made my flight uncontrollable. My wings beat hundreds of times per second, but at my size, it doesn't take much to send me reeling.
My eyes displayed the fractured landscape; grass, trees, houses. I was nearing a long strip of gray ground that was painted yellow and white in some places. Perhaps there would be food nearby? I descended to investigate, buzzing eagerly.
Another breeze sent me tumbling through the air, but I righted myself. The ground was getting nearer.
Suddenly, some...
I was walking to grandma's when I spotted the yellow box with a question mark on it. I liked it so much that I leaned against it and stuck a little red thing in my chest. Unfortunately, the little red thing was poisonous and I died. My eyeballs fell out and my skin ripped open and I bled everywhere. Then my body shrunk so that I looked like a voodoo doll. I am still standing against the yellow box with a question mark on it.
bruno went to Kentucky Fried Chicken to buy mashed potatoes and figs. He only had...
It was the fifth night in cell 16, my reflection staring back at me. The lights had gone out on the evening of the second day, leaving me and the rest of the people here shrouded in darkness after 4pm. No one has come to check on us since then, and the food they left me ran out yesterday morning. There were sirens outside, but they stopped yesterday too. I don't know what's going on, or if I'll even find a way out of here, but I hope the family is okay. Jesse always was the dumb one, getting into...
Majestic words like maelstrom, preponderance, warbling swirl through my creative whirlpool, pulling in pieces of conversation, tail-ends of admonitions, the lilt of swearing. I live by the calendar, fitting my days into the squares, x'ing the boxes at midnight.
Friday is the wave that crashed but hasn't withdrawn to the sea. I'll compose this in the spiked surf.
The conversation lasted two words: "Never again." They said it at the same time as they exited the restaurant. Why had the waiter insisted on swaying them away from the salmon and toward the tough lamb? Was it deliberate? Did he know this was a make-it-or-break-it meal and was itching to break something, anything? Did he glean from their terse looks that something dire was already on their horizon, and while the kids were asleep, the exorbitant sitter keeping watch, they were out to rehash the missteps that had brought them here? Had the waiter's ex-wife just taken him for...
The Bronx Zoo in my mind was empty. Maybe the gazelles were milling around Yankee Stadium, waiting for Catfish Hunter. The green grass of memory, my synapses folding in the sweeping July breeze, beheld the sweet roots of my birthday candles, climbing the kitchen air like lithesome monkeys, nimble as the imagination.