The Moon would never be the same again. She'd never be able to look at it in the same way, never be able to go back.
Nothing would, actually. Nothing would go back to being the way it was. It had all changed, in ways she didn't fully understand - she never would understand, didn't expect to.
She'd presumed that some things in life were constant. That you could rely on them - tides, stars, earth, and her elder brother.
The tides were changing, sea levels rising. The stars had shifted without her noticing. The earth was meant to be...
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...
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...
…and at some moment you realize how wrong you were all that time. You don't need this anymore. Absurd. So annoying. You hear same phrases, stories, noises. And you cant do anything about it. You try to explain but what can you do when you are not used to explaining yourself. You have that stoned look on your face and not a thing can disturb you now. Because all you can hear are your thoughts. All you can feel is…and you make your first shot...
Same silence, the only difference is that you can actually hear that ear-breaking noise. Three...
The daring were punished. They had been aware of the risks their actions might have, both to themselves and their loved ones.
Golem's Bridge over the Tankard River was never meant to be tread on by anything but golden-shoed royal feet.
The daring waited until the guard at the gate had dozed off. The four of them climbed over the iron bars, hauling their cigar-shaped package behind them. They reached the middle of the bridge and unfurled, freeing the drab fabric and coils of rope.
They worked quickly, tying ropes to each other's wrists and ankles, threading it through the...
Anyway, after the assembly, the fourth-graders signed up for whatever instrument interested us.
"I like the saxophone!" So my parents signed me up for the saxophone.
Later, when we went to the music rental shop, I was presented with the saxophone. I was confused as it did not resemble what I thought was a saxophone. Where was that brass tube that slid in and out?
What a dumb kid! I wanted to play the trombone, but thought it was called a saxophone. I never protested, shy and passive as I was. So I learned to play the saxophone.
I never...
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...
Lola was no showgirl; but by looks you might think otherwise. Pin-straight, jet-black hair to her waist, a faux leather skirt, and a jeweled tanktop adorned her petite frame. She was rebellious; a 17-year-old "new kid in school," she was trying to make a good impression on the boys - she made more of an impression on her 7th period math teacher, Eric Harrison, a 29-year-old single man with math on his mind, and not much else until Lola showed up; front row seat, leather-like skirt wearing, flipping her hair like she had no cares about life. I watched from...
It wasn’t a specific look, or anything she said exactly. It was the things she didn’t do that gave it away. The way that she didn’t automatically include me in the conversation, the way she didn’t look to me when something funny happened, the way she didn’t move up to get more space but stayed, leg pressed against mine, reminding me that she was there.
All the instincts we’d developed about one another over the many years we had been friends were now kicking into gear and compensating for all the things we couldn’t say, not with all these people...
The icy cold seeped in through the cracks of the old window. Time and time again Thou had thought of sealing the gaps. But as always had settled on doing nothing.
His instincts told him nothing was best. So when he phone interrupted his depressive thoughts, he thought of letting it ring out. After it had rang three separate times, he hauled his heavy frame up from the bench and clasped the receiver to his ear.
"Yes?"
"Hi, uh is this the Museum of Museum's?"
"No it is not."
"Oh...sorry."
"Me too."