The conversation lasted two words: Alright? ...Yeah
It wasn't groundbreaking, it wasn't revolutionary, it wasn't even poetry, but it was all they needed to say.
They had been the best of friends once, closer than brothers. George had had his own room at Jack's house, Jack had had his own shelf in George's fridge. But somewhere along the way, they had lost that.
Was it because Lissy, George's ex-girlfriend had hated Jack, was it because of the fact that Jack went off to uni while George stayed in their hometown, or had it merely been because of the fact that...
"I'm having no part in this. I'm having nothing to do with any of it. Because it's wrong. You're wrong. This entire thing is...it's wrong. It's just...wrong."
"Have you always been good with words?" He sauntered closer, pale fingers tracing my cheek, my neck. "You're relying quite heavily on that word. Wrong. Have you thought about what it really means? How damning it truly is? I don't think you have."
I hated the feel of his fingers across my skin, hated the jolt that had run straight through me, hated the tingling, hated the - I hated it.
He was...
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...
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...
CRASH! the window had shattered after being shoot by a gun. All of us shuddered at the sound what were we going to do. Were we going to die today?
I heard a scream not knowing where it had come from we all blindly ran away. I couldn't here anything, my vision had blurred suddenly I heard a bang. My bestfriend who was like a brother to me was shot. I could feel the tears running like waterfalls down my face but i kept running knowing my life was on the line. Whoever killed my bestfriend was going to die...
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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...
I was studying in science class when he came up to me. He slowly sat down next to me and asked me for help with a few questions from the textbook. "I need to hear someone explain it to me." He was begging now, but I knew that he understood the material. "You tell me. You know the answers, now teach them to me." I was trying to get him to put his thoughts into words and sort them out in a way that he could remember. And then he looked at me with his soft eyes and said, "But...
She'd have preferred the electric chair, but he wouldn't have it. "Think about how much easier it would be on everyone hon," Sarah said as she stared down at her son, sitting in his black Quickie wheelchair. "You wouldn't have to roll yourself so much and your father and I wouldn't have to help you up those steep hills if you had this chair."
Mark stared at the other wheelchair, with its electric motor, and grimaced. "Ma, I'm already lazy as it is," he told her bluntly. "If I don't roll myself my arms will atrophy as much as my...
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...