"Goodnight..." My baby sleeps in my arms, her little hands balled up into tiny fists.
"Goodnight..." My baby lays in bed with her pigtails loose and her pajama's too small.
"Goodnight..." My baby dances and twirls herself to her room; dancing on air and blinded by love.
"Goodnight..." My baby waves from the car as they drive away, her white dress shining like the tears in my eyes.
"Goodnight..." My baby rocks her baby to sleep and I smile.
"Goodnight..." My baby kisses my hand and I drift away.
My kids are always begging me to go to Disneyland. I suppose I'm not alone in this. The thing that kills me is how well they argue their position. It's like I'm raising a pack of lawyers in my home. That's maybe the worst part of the whole thing - imagining that I'm incubating the next generation of shysters simply by encouraging my kids to back up the claims they make.
That's why I continue to refuse to take them to Disneyland even though they've mustered some really good arguments in their favor. I don't want them to think that...
Well would you believe it? There I was sat on my couch balancing a plate of egg and chips on my knee when his face flashed all over the news. Didn't do much for my carpet I can tell you, egg yolk stains are a devil to remove, not to mention the ketchup spillage. But I digress. There was our Tony in a naval officers uniform. Well I had to laugh cos it's been at least ten years since I've seen him out of his oily overalls. Scruffy little blighter he is, not very talkative, even worse since that cow...
There is a place, near where I used to live, that looked like this - you see it, right there? It's a bowling green. Not the bowling you and I would do, the bowling that belongs to another age. Mostly the elderly.
There were, in fact, two near me - high amusement, I can tell you, since we came to the conclusion that one had decided it was a rival for the other. And that said other had no idea that it existed. That this perceived rivalry would fuel them entirely, even though the other lived in blissful ignorance of...
Marie wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. Breathing heavily, she glanced impatiently at the bland, hospital door; its paint peeling around the edges; the hinges rusted. She knew that her sister was not in the hands of the most experienced doctors in town, but it was the closest hospital to home. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she interlaced her fingers, scrutinising the short, stumpy nails; a result of her anxious gnawing. Marie's mind wandered, as far as it could from the looming thought of her sister's fate. But within seconds, her thoughts were pulled right back...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She was the last surviving member of the Yoshi Crew, a band who had until recently been quite the rage amongst the in-crowd of Berlin. Her devil-may-care attitude and foul mouth had won her a place in the hearts and minds of Berlin's anti-establishment, anti-casual, anti-everything crowd. In Beijing, things had gone more than a little wrong. Mechmal, the under-fed, over-exaggerated singer had found them a gig at a nightclub in the centre of Beijing's equivalent of Soho as they worked their way around the world....
Care boxes? More care boxes? Do they think care boxes are supporting the troops? Take it back. I don't want it. Don't just take it back, send it back. I don't want their pity. I don't want their support if that is what they call it. I don't want them to be able to get off thinking that they are now justified in continuing to live most apathetically under the freedoms that I supposedly am fighting for.
Instead of filling care boxes they should be filling ballot boxes. Instead of sending care in boxes they should be sending letters to...
Once in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She hugged her hat to her chest, and lightly tapped on the door, and prepared herself for the worst. Her lips were chapped and as cold as icicles, because of the cold winter air. When there was no answer. A tear drop slid down her grimy, and filthy face. She knocked a little louder this time, and when now one replied. She slid down the wall, sitting on the pavement. A man walked by, and spit on to the step in front of her feet. She...
Sam, having slung hot dogs into buns on the street corner for the majority of his 35 years, had seen a lot. A lot of anger, a lot of hurt, a lot of disgust. He though he had seen it all until today. He served up the Ball Park Frank with sauerkraut as he usually did, hot off the grill and dripping with grease, and the blue collar recipient took it in hand, as they usually do, and generously dressed it with the brown spicy mustard that was the typical street corner fare. They never had time for much else--eating...
Balanced on the line, he told her again, "Put it down!" Danielle wouldn't listen. She had never listened to her master.
She held the wand in trembling fingers, pointed end toward herself. "Stay back!" she called. "I'm going to use this!"
"No!" Master Reginald called. He'd reached out, without thinking, a hand. His own wand was in his robe pocket. Could he reach it in time? "You have so much to live for!"
"Like what?" Danielle screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm the worst student in class. Even Betty Browning is better than me at everything."
The master straightened....