In a world torn asunder,
I'm simply here to pillage and plunder.
I sail the blue and ride the high seas,
And move along on an ocean breeze.
Salt may move through my veins,
As women try to tie me down to these shipping lanes.
But my heart is meant to go far,
And my mouth is meant to find the next bar.
For in a world of insanity,
Little does the man good who is consumed with vanity.
So, I'll toil, and boil, and make myself trouble,
As I sit here on the edge of this bubble.
I'll watch...
Love.
That's the only emotion I feel as Jeremy wraps his arm around my neck, kissing my forehead.
I love him, he loves me.
He's amazing.
I feel amazing.
True love is a flawless thing. It is.
How does it get better than this?
It doesn't, and that's true love.
"You know," Clark said, in-between rising above the water to take breaths as he swam. "I really hate you."
John shrugged; or, at least, performed as much as a shrug as you can while swimming. "I don't see why."
"What do you mean, you don't see why?"
"We're doing what I said we'd do, right? Go for a swim together. You were all uppity about the whole thing, so I challenged you to do one length of the pool with me. Well, here we are, doing one length."
"Yes, but you didn't tell me that we were going to be...
Drowning in the sea. That was the trick of it. To be seen to swoon, to fall to the bottom. The pretend to expire. It was the pearls that weighed me down. They alway do. Spiros bought them for the moon. That is what he said. The moon. As if the moon had a price. All things had a price. He gave them to me in the back garden of the hotel under a moon that was more red that white. A bad luck moon. But the band played on in the gallery and couples in their best passed under...
When I reached end of the running trail in the woods, I ran into a gigantic zombie. Nearly wet my pants. Damn thing had to be seven feet tall.
I remembered that zombies bit skulls open and ate hot steaming brains. Made me wish I was wearing a football helmet. I started to run like hell in the other direcition.
"Wait," he hollered. "I'm thirsty. Got any ginger ale?"
"No. I only got a can of Pepsi."
"Good enough," he said. "Let me have it and I won't catch you and eat your brains."
I reached into my backpack and...
Looking out my thirteenth floor office window, I marveled at how dark, gritty and simply dirty the air looked. It was so hazy, it looked like dusk even though I knew it was only two pm. I decided to give my brief a break and go eat some lunch, this was the first time in four hours I had looked up, and I noticed the stiffness in my back, the hunger gnawing at me.
"God, look how dark it is! It's like we live in Gotham City!" I said to the secretary. She didn't grin, like I had expected.
"What?"...
She could tell I was faking it.
Three words. They aren't that hard. I can type the. I love you. Yet they cant be spoken, they stick in the mouth, their bitter flavour tainting the tongue Not even force can bring them out and if managed, well then it would just be plain ugly wouldn’t it? Yet why do people struggle to say those words? Why do I? I can type it all I want, I love you, I love you and so on, but here it’s meaningless, nothing matters as it comes from my fingers to the screen. I...
The fleet of limousines came down Pennsylvania Avenue slowly, flanked front and back by motorcycle cops and a Secret Service detail. Nothing too unusual for this part of the District.
Rounding a final turn before heading to the White House, the procession was suddenly halted when a mixed-breed mutt dashed out from nowhere into the path of the lead vehicle. Brakes slammed on in a succession of shiny, imposing black cars. The dog darted left and right trying to avoid being hit, but didn't seem to know which way to turn.
A door opened from the vehicle in the very...
"Wait, so he hit you?" "Yes, he did! I couldn't believe it! I was just waiting in line for a pink slime burger and then..bam!" Lucky for me, it bouinced off my ripplig shoulder museles and I felt nothing. But still, I mean, he hit me! First off, I ddn;t even know this guy. I think it all started when I walked into the restauraut. I walked past his table and I heard him say, "Yeah, you're right. Justin Beiber is HORRIBLE!" I stopepd in my tracks. I pulled up a chair and sat right next to this monster. I...
If I just write something, what if I reveal something unsavoury about myself?
What if I mess up the spelling?
What if I am under so much pressure to knock something out in six minutes that I don't write anything? A single blank page permanently appearing on my profile as a record of my inneptitude?
What if I write about something uncool, or unninteresting? First impressions count, after all. I'll be an outcast before I've even started.
Maybe I could just leave here and never come back. All this would be a brief, awkward memory. I could add it to...