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...
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...
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...
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.
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...
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...
The world was ending. Not in the sense of Deep Impact or Independence Day. No, this wasn't a big budget Hollywood thriller. Simply told, the world was ending because drinking water was drying up, the ozone layer was nearly kaput, and we genetically engineered vitamins out of fruits and vegetables for blemish free skin. The lucky who weren't dropping dead of dehydration were losing their teeth to nutrient deficiency and getting 3rd degree burns from the sun.
Years earlier, NASA had found a planet that might support life and as things became more dire on Earth, they spent more time...
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...
Raisins are evil. They just don't belong... anywhere really. They're grapes that couldn't make it and have a second chance as rai-sins... that's right. Sins. You read it right. You have to admit that it's pretty strange that sins is right there in raisins. They're evil little wanna bes that wreak havok on all things good and wholesome. Cinnamon buns for instance. What's worse in a cinnamon bun than raisins? Nothing! Raisins are the poops of the fruit world! And they end up in your cinnamon bun like little turds. Little fruit turds that have to be picked around and...
"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...