In the Kiliswa village, status depended upon how many bricks you could carry at once. If you put down any of your bricks, even for a second, you would immediately be pounced upon by your rivals.
It was a harsh life. It wore at you, carrying gigantic piles of bricks everywhere you went, day and night. Only the strongest survived; the rest perished.
Among the strongest were Ja and Na, twin brothers whose parents had died from carrying too many bricks at once (a twin pregnancy was especially hard, for the mother must carry her additional weight AND her bricks...
"there was blood on my pillow and a noose in my heart"
These country singers were getting downright moros, good though. I flipped the dial on the radio looking for a talk station, always helped to find a little of the local flavor, keep me grounded or at the very least feeling like I was grounded. I was play acting at this and many other lives and I knew it but kept it up.
The telephone poles ticked away - wooshing peripiphialy.
The great desert southwest of my heart was blooming with the rare cactus flower of love.
In a...
It was a vast open space. Where the distant hills cling to the horizon, and the blue sky above curves to fasten to the mountain tops below, and desert sand cloaks sheet metal on the floor, stretching as far as the eye can see. It was an illusion…
This is the place where all things die.
This is the place where it ends.
A man in a dark suit approaches me and shakes my hand.
"I’m glad you could make it."
As blood runs across the sand, and the sun drops, and red sky filters between the moments of openness...
Dark spires pierce the night, reaching for full moons and distant stars. It's more than most could contend with. We sleep, conjuring pistol dreams while the tall buildings and statues do the work of our desires of actively attaining the beauty that this world has to offer. Every day we awake to the soft sunlight shining through our windows believing that today is the day that we will quit our jobs and move to distant cities and start anew. But these thoughts dim as we put on our clothes for work and eat more morning breakfast and continue on with...
She'd have preferred the electric chair. Being in the San Francisco State Women's Penitentiary was, well, prison. The orange jumpsuits were tacky. And the food was simply disgusting. She could not believe that she had been jailed for Aren's crime. She'd witnessed, but Aren's lawyer daddy had pulled some strings and landed her in this disgusting hole. Aren should be wearing that jumpsuit. The murder had been gruesome. How could the judge think that a preppy, pretty girl like her would get her hands dirty with such a thing? As soon as her sentence was over (fortunately, the judge had...
I don't know what to put here. I was told that this was fun, but I am not sure yet. My friend has written many of these 6 minute stories, some of them are fairly weird. I have not written any stories in quite some time, and really I don't know if you count the sailor moon fanfiction as "stories" and not "strange kid slightly obsessed with cartoon show that DIC wouldn't finish translationg because other kids might find out what gay people are." Where was I? Oh yes. The weird 6 minute story thing. I don't know... maybe I...
The elephant dragged its feet. Reen felt a little sorry for the great beast, obviously ready for a big meal and a nice nap after having carted the two of them around for the day. She hadn't raised a fuss at being led in circles for a half hour--but that was the last time he depended on Kai's sense of direction--and she did several neat tricks with her trunk on command regardless of the repetition--peanuts seemed to keep her happy then. But now the homestretch seemed just as long for her as it for them. The archduke pat at her...
The President, nefarious super-villain, sneered at Immobilus, Triumph City's most paralyzed superhero, and swung the axe over his head, ready to bury the hatchet, so to speak, deep into the chest cavity of Dred-X, Jamaican superhero and reggae star. Immobilus focused, building up a ball of psychic energy he hoped would be big enough to knock The President.
Just as the head of the axe began to fall, Immobilus fired, the ball of energy glancing off of The President's arm, forcing the axe-head to arc downward and plant itself deep in The President's leg. He let out a blood-curdling scream,...
Hats. I hate wearing hats. They leave that weird mark in your hair and make your forehead sweaty. Ugh, and the way winter hats make your ears itch; unbearable! Baseball hats are okay - looking on guys, but I'm more into helmets. You won't get me to wear either, still, they call it hat hair, and helmet head for a reason. Who ever invented the hat anyway? I get the concept of keeping your head warm, but hoods do that job just fine, and don't make your hair flat or itch your ears, or make your head funny-shaped. I get...
My feet ached, but it was well worth it. I stood in front of the house, my chest heaving with the effort of my panting. Oxygen could not come to me quickly enough, and yet, I kept sighing, wanting to prepare myself for this moment. I slowly walked up to the door, biting my lip. Should I knock? Should I wait for someone to show up? I looked around-- there was a car nearby. I hurriedly brushed the tears from my face and peeked inside the window. I couldn't see anyone inside. Perhaps now would be the best time. Right...