he ran into the room, his heart pounding and his clothes soaking wet. yet it wasn't dripping water it was dripping blood. Revenge was all the man had told him before he pounded at him. Revenge for what? what have i ever done? he looked for his phone and once he saw it he heard a pounding on the door. the house shook whenever the man pounded the door."you killed her! you killed her!" i heard him screaming and that's when i heard the door burst open and i could hear his heavy feet climbing the stairs. i dialed for...
He hadn't wanted the light there.
She had insisted - there was light on her, light on her voice, lifting her up, letting them all see her. He was playing too (had a solo during one of the songs, actually) so why shouldn't they see him?
He'd tried to protest that it wasn't traditional, and she'd just given him one of those looks, the one that made him certain that if ever (...when) she did get signed the record label wouldn't be able to force her into one of those moulds they seemed so fond of.
He'd stood his ground,...
"Hoist the Jolly Roger, wouldn't you, old chap?"
"Righto, Cap'n," said Lieutenant Chapman. "I say, what shall we do with these old colors?"
"Tear them up, burn them, whatever."
"Cap'n, phone for you, sir," said a young deckhand.
"Ah, thank you, there's a good lad," the Captain took the phone with easy sangfroid. He listened to it for a moment before saying, "that's right, old chap, we're defecting."
"Lost my mind? Bloody well found it, sir. No pay and no shore leave? It's enough to make pirates of anyone, if I do say so meself!"
The ship began to drift...
Skipper was panting from the last half hour of running, in fact he was frothing at the mouth. Compared to the rest of his pack however, Skipper was doing quite well. In their eerily black and white world, one of their best friends had begun to experiment on the poor dogs, and now, their world had exploded inexplicably into a cosmos of strange and disconcerting qualities. The farmer had, much to Skipper and the other dogs' dismay, altered the K-9's to the point that they had been forced to trust their previously useless eyes more than their noses. What had...
Wet asphalt sparkling under the white sky. There is a yawn of blue. Sometimes fall is brighter than summer, more alive with moisture and energy. Some things are dying, but many things end like fireworks.
We can be categorized in many ways. Let's divide us into the standing, the sitting and the reclining for the time being. Then let us separate into summer minds, winter minds, spring minds, fall minds.
You're going to yawn. You're going to stretch your eyes.
Which watch are you watching?
Which way are you talking?
All the boys
And all the girls
Will never cease their marching.
Is waiting the answer?
Or being a dancer?
Twirling
And chasing
A garish romancer.
It's better to be
Alone in the forest
For there you can see
Who
I broke away from him and held my unbrella over my head as I walked, my head held high. "Erika! Erika!" I stopped in my tracks, spun on my heel and stared at him. "What?" He didn't move closer to me even as people jabbed and pushed past him on the street. The fresh raindrops fell onto my outstretched hand and created a gentle humming sound as they hit the ground around me. "I'm sorry. I never should have said that." He was right, he sure shouldn't have said that to me. But then... He just stood there, rain dripping...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. The doorway was not the kind of doorway best suited to huddling, and the gown appeared equally ill-designed for the purpose. Yet huddle she did. The rain dripped and sputtered from the sky, streaking her scarlet back as it fell.
After a time, she carefully unhuddled and picked up the bag that she had lain down beside her. She withdrew from it a small, glass orb, in which indistinct shapes and colours seemed to float. Lightning flashed briefly across the sky and as she held the...
What did it matter what he thought of her? She knew he couldn't ever really see into her.
"You want the veal," he said.
And he was right; as much as she didn't like it, he was right.
"You're wrong," she told him. She looked at the waiter. "I'll have the mixed greens with the balsamic on the side."
It was a kind of a sneer, a way to get back at him.
Simon carved out a bite-sized piece of meat and held it on his fork, reaching across the white linen tablecloth.
She opened her mouth, mesmerized by him,...
You could use a little direction, said Junie to Sam.
They were sitting cross-legged in the wood chips on the playground. Junie was wearing a polka-dotted skirt, and she spread it over her knees, aware that her Hanes-covered little bottom was unprotected from the dirt.
It was something she heard once, from mother.
Sam said nothing. He was dumping wood chips into his lap with his fists, wanting it all. Making a pond and filling it up.
Sure, said Sam, through his spitty little teeth. He pointed to the South.
Don't you see?
He jumped, I jumped. She sto