The floor lights illuminated her, a glowing angel against the grimy backdrop of the darkened stage. The crowd was quiet as she adjusted the microphone, lowering it from the previous performer. Her eyes opened wide, drinking in the dimly-lit crowd, her mouth parted and she began to sing.
My drink was halfway to my mouth when she released those first few notes and it stayed there, my arm unable to move. Her voice was hypnotizing, mesmerizing.
I floated up, her melody acting like a hook. I looked down and saw my body still sitting there, the glass still halfway between...
The city buildings are below and the windows opening to the living rooms are windows into the soul of the city. The bookshelves, the home libraries, glow with the artifacts of their souls. I scan the horizon for those pulsars of literature, searching for life beyond the automatic.
- Ok, I'm going. Don't be late again!
Her voice pierced the steamy hot bathroom as I lay, half submerged, pondering the taps.
I don't reply.
Every morning it's the same. I sit here, enveloped in warm water and steam, my mind completely blank. But always, she invades my mind.
I wouldn't do it if it wasn't for her. I would lay here, topping up the bath with hot water as it grows tepid. Just blank.
Occassionally I think back to my childhood. As the hot water swirls in through the warm I am reminded of something my Mother always...
I walked across the field, staring at the animals that surrounded me. The bare skin on my feet felt strange against the soft lucious grass.
A grey mist covered the area including the animals, meaning it was difficult to see what they looked like.
I wondered to myself what type of creature they were.
Each animal had horns that rose high into the misty air. White spots and stripes covered them, making each animal different from the others that surrounded.
I took another few steps forward, getting as close as I could to one of the animals without being in...
Water. That's what I always think of when I think of her. Cannon Creek, Lake Erie, the Atlantic, the Pacific, nothing too specific.
Water can be anything you need, want, fear, love, hate. It can be clear, it can be murky. It can be warm, cold, swallow, deep. All these things are what water naturally is.
In my memory, our love is an ocean. Oh, yes. We were in love. I'm not so hopelessly romantic that I would ever be involved in unreciprocated love. No, no. We were in love, and it was the ocean.
She swam in the clear...
He sat in the window of the coffee shop, letting his coffee go cold as he stared at the people passing on the street absentmindedly. His notebook lay open in his lap, forgotten. His new assignment at work completely failing to inspire him. His phone was faced down on the table so that he couldn't see it when it lit up as his girlfriend rang him to check up, berate him or otherwise just invade his bubble of solitude.
He wasn't sure whenhe had begun to feel just so, disatisfied, but the feeling had certainly settled upon him with a...
She followed the footsteps that wound through the snow; the clouds that brushed across the moon's face alternately limning and hiding them. A shudder rippled through her as the wind bit deep and the faint trail of her steady breath formed and faded behind her. At the edge of the trees, she halted and focused intently on the figure crouched in the center of the clearing. Arms wrapped tightly around his knees and his head bent, not a flicker of movement betrayed him.
She unzipped her jacked and tugged off her gloves, letting them fall to the ground. The soft...
The results were in. I was going to have to gouge my eyeballs out with a tablespoon and then feed them to Guido, the hungry rhinosaurous on granddad's farm. If I didn't do that, my eyeballs would slowly seep down my face over the next three years. This had to be done.
I stuck the spoon in my eye. It made a sound like GLICK. Blood shot everywhere. My peripheral vision diminished by about 45 per cent. Then I stuck the spoon in my other eye. [NOTE: THE REST OF THIS STORY IS BEING TRANSCRIBED BY MY WIFE, BRENDA, SINCE...
Four men on the port were looking for a penny stuck in the sails. It was the 4th Annual Whale Hunting Organization of America's Penny Party. Hidden somewhere on the great masted ship was a penny and there was a great amount of backslapping and thumbs-upping to whoever found it. It was generally a nice evening, plenty of deep flavored drinks flowing. Gave everyone something to think of fondly, and drunken stories to recount through the long winter months ashore before the ships went out again toward Greenland, toward the Horn. The first year, the penny (different penny) was pinned...
It was just a test. Just to see what it was like, or what he was like. With trepidation he inched his way forward. There he was finally. Sitting on the edge of the cliff. Life had been rough lately, or rather it had been rough to live his life of boredom. The doldrums. He wanted to see what he was made of. Sitting there on the edge of the cliff he thought he might be able to make some meaning of life. He was not planning on jumping. Life was lame, but not that lame. He just figured that...