She carefully set her can of Pepsi down on the grime smeared bench under the phone, not wanting to spill a drop of the liquid within. She'd used almost her last bit of money to buy it, making a choice between that and a bar of chocolate. She had tried to remember whether death came faster from thirst or hunger, and although at the time she was sure she had made the right choice, now she wasn't convinced. Her stomach shouted angrily at her, the ravenous wolf inside clawing and snarling, making her clutch her belly in pain.
It didn't...
She bent down to tie her shoe as the sun was setting. The reflection of the pinkish-yellow ball was right in front of her at the edge of the lake. The pebbles beneath her feet were wet and smooth. The umbrella she brought with her, still resting on her beach towel by the tree.
With many thoughts in her head, Chelsea folded up her umbrella and tucked it beneath her arm, rolling up her damp towel and stuffing her towel into her drawstring bag.
Today was a good day, she thought. She could get through this day. Days at the...
There once was a man named Fernando
Who encountered a man named Orlando
They met at mid-morning
But then, without warning
They were killed by a robot commando
When I was 12, I went to sea. My parents hated me. I don't know why, they just did. I was a good kid. I just think I was a little too energetic. It all started when I threw my mom's car keys down the well out back of my house. Why did I do that? Well, it just seemed like the thing to do at the time. I saw it on TV, that was what I told her anyway. Yes, blame TV. Evryone always does, when we all know it all starts with parenting and your upbringing...but I digress....
"I shot my butler, but I did not shoot the chauffeur" Mrs. Kensington said. "I don't know who could have done such a thing. That poor old man."
"The butler or the chauffeur," the detective asked.
Mrs. Kensington coughed with polite outrage.
"The chauffeur, of course," she said. "The butler can rot in a thousand hells as far as I'm concerned."
The detective flipped back a few pages in his notebook.
"You say the butler had been stealing from you," he asked, scratching his nose. "Did you have any proof?"
"Proof is in the pudding, as the maid would say."...
"It worked!" He stood, startled by the sound of his own voice. What had worked?
Looking around, he wasn't quite sure if he should be more worried that he didn't know why he had said something he didn't understand, or about the fact that he was in a place he didn't recognise with no memory of having arrived there. A word caught his eye. Phone. He rolled it around his head. Yes. He could make a call. He should make a call. A number emerged from his growing consciousness. Should he be worried about that feeling of expansion, as though...
We had gone to Ueno with the best of intentions, to take in some art and culture, but by 2 pm it was too hot to do anything but drink in the shade by the pond there. The lotus plants were fully grown now and spread out, standing tall, across the whole of the pond like a field of corn husks back home; in the middle you could just see the red and gold spire of the temple there, in the middle, rising above the lotus.
We sat on a rock under a weeping willow. Emi had told me once...
"Where am I?" asked Jolene, as she took some hesitant steps toward the elevator. "Am I on the moon?"
"You are not on the moon," was the response. The voice seemed to come from all around her. "You are on a spacecraft. The Earth as you know it is uninhabitable."
"What? Why? What happened?"
"You will find out later," it said. "Take the elevator to the highest floor."
Jolene entered the small enclosure and pressed the button marked '35'. There was no 36.
"God will ask you a series of questions," the voice continued. "If the answers are incorrect, he...
She hadn't felt like this since she was six years old. Once, at a circus, she had begged her father for a balloon, swearing that she would take the best care of it . She realized now that his protests weren't cruel-hearted, but frugal. That he didn't have the money. That when he begrudgingly gave in, it meant that the family would have to go without that week, so that she could feel the joy of holding that light, floating orb above her head by a string, feeling the gentle tug upwards that whispered of something more magical, more ethereal...
Twisting, turning, bending, breaking. Well, I haven't broken yet, but I sure can't bend much further without snapping in a million pieces. I mean, how many lies can a person twist before they break? I've been living this life for so long that you'd think lying would just be part of the job by now. I mean, come on. I'm a spy. It shouldn't be this difficult anymore. At the beginning, sure but not now. They stand in front of me and I can see in their eyes that they aren't quite as clueless as before. Oh boy. The boss...