He ran into the room, his heart pounding, and his clothes soaking wet. The worse part was not the attempt on his life via drowning in ice water. It was not that he was probably on the verge of hypothermia like this. It was not that he had lost Labyrinth to the bottom of the lake. It was not the twitching brow and veiled contempt Solaris was expressing from him dripping water on his floors, mixed with his concern for his overall state of being, because all that could be fixed with a towel and a day of work.
No,...
Whitechapel 1888. There was blood on my pillow again this morning when I awoke. My landlady has already been asking too many questions. It is time I moved to another residence.
I am looking forward to reading the newspapers today to gather the latest opinion on the terror in their midst. My good friends have been spreading rumours in many quarters so there have been a myriad of possible suspects, including those in very high places. The police are far too stupid to know where to look. I take especial delight in fooling Inspector Abberline, who should never have been...
she inhaled her controlling her breathes the interview is in 2 minutes and she already violated rule 1
don't be late. she couldn't really give an explanation as of to why she was. she couldn't let them know which would be
breaking rule two and she's already broken 4 rules exposing the rules
I'll be back as quick as I can to write this story, I need a poo.....
Oh shit! 3 seconds Lef
The princess ran through the halls, trying not to scream. It was iminent that she get to the throne room before the bishop did. She slid into the shadows, and instantly became one. Suddenly, the bishop burst into the hall, the ceremonial knife clutched in his hand. She ran into the throne room. As soon as the light from the windows touched her skin, she became solid once again, and visible to the murderous bishop. He grabbed her robe and she fell to the ground. She tried desperately to claw her way to the throne, fighting the bishop's strength. She...
Waves of black ink, striking against the porcelain-like skin of my hand. They twist around my fingers and across the back of my hand, turning and sweeping. I stare at the lines and swirls on my hand and try to remember. I try to think back to remember how they got there. I try to think of something, anything that might give me a clue to what it means but nothing comes. My classmates brush past my and I can feel their eyes boring into me. Yeah, I know it's weird but I'm sure it means something. It has to....
Reading the random prompt for today I felt a shiver of unease as though someone had been spying on me throughout my life. I am not who I appear to be. Not a rich suburban housewife whose main pleasure in life is secretly eating a tub of toffee icecream watching daytime tv as my millionnaire husband is working overtime and entertaining clients with champagne in a 5 star restaurant. I spend my life between two worlds, a medieval princess whose life is complicated by my uncle, a brooding bishop and a bastard brother who thinks he has a claim to...
Sometimes you look kinda creepy when you are happy
Really?
sorry
I mean it is an odd thing to say but well I guess it is what it is, I don't feel creepy
No, no I, I don't know why I said it
It's OK
Yeah, I'm just weird tonight. Everyone is gone and it just me and you..
and?
And? And nothing it is just that you know me and you we never really hung out you know? And I don't know why I keep talking
Look, lets play a game - I will look not creepy and you...
"I really don't see why your dollhouse needs to be 1:10 scale," Jose grumbled as he surveyed the wood-and-glue staircase that Sandra had erected in the middle of the garage.
"I'm thinking it needs a bit more support here," Sandra pointed to the middle stair, ignoring his complaints. "Pass me the staple gun, will you?"
"When are you going to make the dolls?" Jose wondered.
"Silly," Sandra chided him. "I'm not going to MAKE the dolls. They'll come by themselves."
"Huh?"
Sandra smiled mysteriously. "You'll see."
Jose shrugged.
"By the way, you probably shouldn't come down here at night."
"The key to the door is lying on the floor, a meter and a half to your right," it instructed. The more it spoke, the more unnatural it seemed to Jolene, the more artificial. Synthesized.
Slowly she followed its directives, feeling along the stone-cold floor in the dark. "Be quick," it admonished her tonelessly.
Finally her fingers brushed it; her pounding, she seized the key and stumbled her way back to the door. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm, and carefully inserted the key into the lock. To her relief, it turned, and the door moved...