"One scoop chocolate, one scoop..." the girl giggled as she plopped the ice cream into the bowl. "Two scoops chocolate, two scoops." Again, she filled the bowl. She grabbed the bowl and her spoon and weaved drunkenly toward the couch, flopping down on it with sigh. Grabbing the clicker, she turned on her movie - Breakfast at Tiffany's - and began to dive into the dessert.
"What's wrong babygirl?" Clara looked up to see her Dad walk into the room. She continued eating, ignoring him as he sat down beside her. "Come on, you can tell your old man."
"Nope,"...
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...
This was the painting that sold for millions. I watched as the porters wrapped it up and carried it from the gallery to the awaiting truck.
The new owner transferred cash from his account, smiling, probably thanking God for his luck. I watched him shaking hands with everyone, swigging the curtesty glass of expensive champagne, posing for photos.
John Masters, the gallery owner, smug and insincere triumphant for once in his sorry life.
Not for long.
He paid me peanuts as a commission for this painting, unknown I had used special paint which would melt in due course and reveal...
You can count me out. In teaspoons if you wish, but it might take a while. I prefer metric, none of that standard or imperial nonsense, it's just not scientific.
You can count me out, I'm certainly in the process of it. Measuring it all, repurposing the materials to a better purpose. 3.7 litres of potable water, the rest bound up in organs or areas that I have not processed yet. 2.5 grams of iron, perhaps that will go to the electromagnet I am constructing, perhaps to the dynamo. But what am I saying? It will have to go to...
The picnic table was empty still, except for a few crumbs from the previous diners. A trail of ants crawled over the splintered boards in to reach the bits of old bun. Theo watched them, beer in hand, as he waited for his father-in-law to finish grilling the food.
It was the first warm, sunny day of the year and Theo was joining his wife's family for barbecue. The smell of charring meat on the grill was enticing. The food almost done.
His wife, Sarah, played croquet on the lawn with her older brother and his wife and son.
—Food's...
The bird sat on the branch, looking at the moon. There was a whole bunch of cloud closing in on the bird. "Cah," the bird said, because he was a crow.
The bird flew away and started flying around. It got bored from flying, so it perched on an airplane. Problem is the plane was operating and birdie flies into the engine. Swish! Crunch! Feathers everywhere! Blood everywhere!
I was sittin on the roof of my car. Saw the whole darn thing through my binoculars. It did not make me happy. So I pick up my phone and call Aunt...
You're the love guru.
Your hands spread apart.
I wonder why
You've stolen my heart.
I love you more
But you love me less
I'm sitting here feelin' depressed
In my new black dress.
Love; it's a crazy thing.
My emotions whirl around.
And all they are
Are pushed, pushed, pushed,
To the ground.
"I'm having no part in this. I'm having nothing to do with any of it. Because it's wrong. You're wrong. This entire thing is...it's wrong. It's just...wrong."
"Have you always been good with words?" He sauntered closer, pale fingers tracing my cheek, my neck. "You're relying quite heavily on that word. Wrong. Have you thought about what it really means? How damning it truly is? I don't think you have."
I hated the feel of his fingers across my skin, hated the jolt that had run straight through me, hated the tingling, hated the - I hated it.
He was...
Magic. We've all heard the word before but, what does it mean? What does it really do? Is it just the stuff in fairytales that makes the glass slipper fit? That makes Prince Charming sweep her off her feet? Or could it be more... Listener, the answer to this question is simple, yet complicated. Yes. Magic is so many things. Magic is the times when we stop frowning at the clouds outside, fling open the door, and dance in the rain. Magic is the smile on the face of a little girl, and Magic is found in the sight of...
Man do I ever love typing ampersands. Seriously. Whenever I type one, it's like the whole universe shits solid gold joy right on my lap. Life is all sunshine and rainbows and Barbie Doll bumholes whenever I type an ampersand. I'm actually feeling a bit melancholy right now, so I'm gonna type an ampersand.
&
HOLY SHIT AM I EVER HIGH ON LIFE RIGHT NOW!!!! SERIOUSLY, IT IS LIKE RONALD MCDONALD AND ORCA THE KILLER WHALE ARE BOTH TAKING ME ON A ROCKET TRIP TO PLUTO TO SEE SAMMY DAVIS JUNIOR STRANGLE MIMES WHILE WEARING LEONARD NIMOY'S SPOCK OUTFIT!!!!
Let...