The dock at his grandfather's pond always reminded him of Imladris, the land known as Rivendell in Tolkien's The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. It was a beautiful place, almost magical in its pristine loveliness. He used to play here every summer, fishing off the edge, diving into the water, and climbing the nearby trees in his search for the One Ring and the forces of Sauron, who were constantly hunting him and the Ring of Power.
He journeyed beside Aragorn, fought with Gimli and Legolas, sang songs with Thorin Oakenshield and his merry band of Dwarves.
Work...
It was the ugliest building in the world, located in the festering pit of Birmingham. It was meant to be a shining beacon to all of the inhabitants; literally it was intended to reflect the sun into the slums and make the city a brighter place. The mutants that inhabited the cities ever-growing slums and shanty towns began to despise the monstrosity and watched those who frequented it with distrust, anger and jealously.
They had no idea what was inside its walls, and they would never find out.
The Duchess sipped her champagne slowly while the cameras flickered around her,...
It was a shock to the system, moving out of the city. I had always thought I belonged there, amongst the grime and the noise and the grey. It seemed right to wake in the morning to the sound of garbage trucks and too-loud television.
Adam had been right. I knew that as I turned off my iPod and, lifting my headphones, listened to a beautiful moment of silence. The air was still and cool, the day clear and bright. I wondered if there were other people somewhere in the valley below, hidden by the trees. Perhaps I was alone...
The water was clear. It was really vodka in her glass, though. Tonight she was getting wasted, for sure. Today's class lectures and her shitty breakup with Owen had Tonya crying about every 20 minutes in her dorm room, and she would run out of class like she had to go to the bathroom, but throwup and sob for about 5 minutes and nonchalantly go back to the lecture. Now she was at O'Callaghan's downtown and her vodka on the rocks was getting the job done, for now. She liked drinking straight, it got her drunk faster. Next she would...
The pistol was cocked, ready to go. The asassin tracked the victim across the city, determined to finish his mission. He slid through the shadows, his black clothing blending perfectly with the night. Suddenly, the victim stopped. The killer was on alert at once. he lifted the 45. caliber and readied himself to pull the trigger. Suddenly, it all went black. He had been knocked to the gr
She'd been in the park till noon, watching the gate to the Forbidden City, seeing the tourists as they milled about in mist-rimed sunshine. Finally, she caught sight of him as he approached the gate. Every day without fail, staggering slightly under the weight of his bag. She was overdressed for the streets in a red dress meant for parties not park benches. Flung out suddenly from the warmth of the car, out of favour and, quite suddenly without comfort. At the bottom of the hill she lost him briefly, then saw him, walking alongside two Western tourists, his sack...
Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty. Not in the conventional way that her sisters were. She was unfortunate enough to have her father's nose, as steep as a ski slope, and her hair wasn't thick and glossy as spun gold like her mothers, but black and frizzy.
Glancing at the man, she smiled coyly. Flirting didn't come naturally to her. In fact, social interaction of any kind had never been her forte. She much preferred the quietness of her attic bedroom. No company except for her cat Tabitha. She had been happy that way, for years. People...
We danced until the mimes came home. It was Halloween and the mimes owned the bank. They ate the bank because the bank was made of chocolate. There was no place to go. It was snowing.
So Jenny, my dance partner, grabbed one of the mimes and tore his stomach open. Blood and gore flew everywhere, but that wasn't important. What was important is that inside the mime's stomach was a warm motel where we could stay. The proprietor of the motel was Hulk Hogan. He rented us a room for $5 plus a bag of pretzels.
In the room...
The results were in, she said. And he ran and ran and ran and ran, disregarding the shouts of teachers behind him, just running and running and running till he reached the office. It was up on the bulletin board, sandwiched between changes in the lunch menu and posters for bake sales. He stopped for a moment, breathless, eager. Slowly he let himself look at it. The names were up. He scanned through them: Joe Malone. Hendrick Smith. Jerry Pandrip. Jonathan Sinker. Hetty Carbuncle.... so many names. He knew most of them: they had been his companions during the test,...
This dream was better than waking. But, as with all dreams, reality breaks the fragile bubble. He came and went with shocking speed. Bearing gifts, weaving dreams and peeling back years of frustration and pain. She should really hate him but she couldn't. Not because of the lost chance at love nor because of the deceit but because of her part in this beautiful charade.
She allowed herself to feel young again, to feel warm and receptive. It was a feeling that had been lost long ago. The remembrance made her feel foolish, but not for being drawn in to...