Draya looked out through the trees to her castle. She had been in hiding ever since the rebellion had started. Her father had sent her to a place where Bishop Fenson couldn't find her. He had wanted to kill her. She was the heir to the throne. Shortly after she had been sent away, she heard the news that this bishop had killed her father because he felt he wasn't being given the respect that was needed by someone of his status. The months had been long and hard and she had waited, making plans.
Now was her chance. Draya...
The year was 1986 and I was 10 years old living in south Louisiana. My family had been living in Louisiana for generations and we had a long proud history in the area. I grew up in a little berg call Bayou Pigeon. The distinct accent of south Louisiana had missed me due to watching too much television and alot of speech therapy when I was younger.
School was like any other area of the country. You go to school all day, work hard, have a nice recess, deal with your share of bullies, laugh with you friends. When you...
They were listening. Annette had no problem reading a report in school to a classroom full of students who were busy catching up on homework, drawing doodles, or discreetly pulling out their cellphones when nobody was looking; but this was different.
This was in front of people who'd come voluntarily. People who /wanted/ to hear what she'd written. People who actually enjoyed talking about math in their free time. Weirdos.
And that's what scared Annette. They were listening. If she'd done poorly, they'd actually care. They had a passion for the subject that she'd hated, despite her natural talent. Why,...
They were listening.
That simple realisation caught her offguard, her breath temporarily stuck in her throat and she felt, just for a moment, her strength falter.
But the feeling passed quickly because of course they were listening, they were her friends, they had held her up when she was too drunk to walk in a straight line, pushed her hair back from her forehead when she cried and hugged her with glee everytime that they saw her. They loved her, of course they were there, listening as she conquered her fear of singing in public.
It wasn't that they had...
Powerful legs, legs charged by the spirit of youth, the longing to break free and simply run full pelt meaninglessly. These legs, this energy took her gambolling madly down to the bottom of Grandpa's garden to the summerhouse. Back at the town house, up his room was death, despair, disease and unbearable suffocating sadness and stifling stillness. Here outside was green; fresh wet green, distant roaring traffic - movement, life energy, freedom. Her lungs were full of cleaner cooler air and her hair pulled straight out behind her. Fresh air hair. She reached the summerhouse door and ran in.
'He's...
There wasn't much more he could say. At this point they had been arguing for hours and it had slowly spiraled in to complete silence, neither one willing to say the first word, to break the ice (again) so to speak. Both facing away from the other, arms crossed. Defiance. Why is it that sometimes adults can act like children? Children are masters of the silent treatment. Then again, children are just that - children. It means so much more when it's your partner refusing to talk. And you not wanting to 'lose' by talking first. That's all it is...
My kids are always begging me to go to Disneyland. I suppose I'm not alone in this. The thing that kills me is how well they argue their position. It's like I'm raising a pack of lawyers in my home. That's maybe the worst part of the whole thing - imagining that I'm incubating the next generation of shysters simply by encouraging my kids to back up the claims they make.
That's why I continue to refuse to take them to Disneyland even though they've mustered some really good arguments in their favor. I don't want them to think that...
"I'm sorry," said the President of the National Leg Prosthetics Company. "But there's nothing I can do to help you."
"But you're the President," said David plaintively, looking up at the tall man from his wheelchair.
"Yes, but I've got a tee time in almost two hours," the man said dismissively. "I'm afraid you're on your own."
"Don't you understand?!" shouted David. "A life is at stake! One of your own employees!"
The President sighed. "Look, if it'll get you to leave ..." he sat down again.
"This is standard operating procedure for the NLPC," he explained. "We encourage all...
If you really knew me, you'd find I hate cinnamon; the smell, the taste, everything about it. I've never tried a brussel sprout and I would say my favorite food are hot dogs, even though they aren't so good for you. If this were a book about my life, I could tell you I've lived in NY my whole life, and just recently I want to move; the winter used to be one of my favorite seasons, and now it's just too cold to bear. If we just met and you asked my favorite color, I would tell you pink...
Millions of people left the coasts and ran into the dry middle of the country. The plains and prairies were filled with tents and lean-tos. Smoke rose from fire pits as the tall grass and grain bent in the strong winds.
The coasts flooded. The storm crashed and smashed the cities that had harbours.
But the people in the dry middle of the country were safe.
Safe for now.
The country was flooded. People said they only had half the land they used to.
And even then, it was the dry, grassy rolling hills in the middle. The people used...