If there was hope, it lay with the proles... or something like that. Winston, the character from that stupid book he'd been forced to read for English lit, had been whinging on about how the proles were stupid or something, but yet he seemed to find hope in their humanity. What? Why? His teacher would want him to expand on the concept, and he couldn't very well just copy the Cliff Notes word for word, nor admit that he'd simply read the synopsis. He called up Cara.
Her voice sounded sleepy on the phone. "Yeah? What do you want?"
"Why...
Balanced on the line, he told her again, "Put it down!"
"No!" she screamed, spittle frothing at her lips. She waved the knife menacingly towards the rubber coated power line.
"You don't have to do this," he said. "Let's just be reasonable about things."
"Reasonable? When have you ever been reasonable? What's reasonable about quitting your job and becoming a tightrope walker?! You've wasted all our money chasing this stupid dream!"
Down below the crowd gazed up expectantly, silently. Sweat dripped down from his face, gliding noiselessly past his shirt, pant legs and feet, drifting in the air currents down...
He set the plate before her.
"Eat." She looked up at him from where she sat at the worn wooden table. He was so kind; so good. His black hair fell into his eyes as he watched her. The green eyes clouded with concern. "Please, I need to see you eat. You are killing yourself."
She wrapped her arms around her stomach and ran her fingers over the dips that defined her ribs. He was so wonderful but he just didn't understand. She needed to do this. She couldn't be fat. Not for him or anyone else.
The corner. The only thing I've ever known since my childhood, is that goddamn corner. The corner of my suffering, the corner of my abuse. The corner where I would listen to my parents fight for hours on end. That dreaded corner. I'm Connor, aged 22, from Springville, Oklahoma. I've been stuck in my adoptive parents' home for thirteen years now.
My parents were murdered when I was nine, so family friends adopted me. It was nice at first, until they introduced me to that corner. The corner that took away my friends. The corner that took my freedom. The...
Dancing dreams over streams of lightning. My brain is fried rice; your hands delightening. Totally cavernous, and almost incestuous; your wrists are bound by mustard eloquence. Queens beans scenes on stages; pages without wages, and slaves in conclaves. Your anus my innards, your penis, my skin hurts just thinking about your gym shoes on my lips; your sweaty cunt on my knee. You picked me up by my underwear and hung my on some trees. I spit on your lungs, my farts on your tongues. Some senses smell and some fences swell. Your ass hurts? My toes squirt. This is...
We're not familiar with the same weather or same temperatures. I don't know the blazing heat of the desert. You've never felt the deep wet cold of the Atlantic states. And then there's the sun and the moon, and the underside of the asteroid grazing our comfort zone.
We could sing country songs in the backyard tonight. It'll be cold, but dry, and Venus is near the moon.
We'll begin at dusk. My dusk, your dusk, and the dusk of deserts, dusk of satellites. Hot dusk, chilling dusk.
Dusk, dusk.
Thats the kind of life I dream about, one where i stop to arch in the wind alongside the flowers. The life I have, it's not so much like that, I rarely stop, seldom arch, I stride, I talk, I eat I drink, I spend, I worry. But I know the wind blows and the flowers go gently with it, and they'll be there one day when I stop to see them, to sit with them
and bend.
Please! Stop!
He keeps walking away
and I
keep screaming.
No one seems to hear
the cries of a
broken girl.
I just want to be
whole again.
What do I need to do
to make them see
that I'm not worthless?
I don't have an answer
So I just keep screaming
until the screams turn to
tears.
sharp tears
tears that could kill.
They just might kill me.
Please.
Please. Stop.
My mother in law kept a speedy pace behind me, screeching my name as I raced toward the hot dog stand. "THEO!" "THEO, YOU COME BACK HERE NOW!"I was full of adrenaline as I ran away from her at full speed now. I swiftly missed her grasp for my tee shirt as she made the attempt to grab hold of me.
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,...