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...
Gigantic. Positively so. It towered over the shelves, reaching to the ceiling. The blue paint shone brightly. I reached up to the chest.
It was a masterpiece, if I say so myself. This creation of mine is a marvel of modern technology. I turned the switch, and the servos inside whirred to life.
The automaton lurched a step towards me, electricity sparking from the antennae on its head. I had programmed it with a sense of right and wrong. I had orchestrated a scenario to test its power. I looked out the window, and saw the fire spreading across the...
It was the fall that surprised me most. I was jerked strongly by the safety cord. I looked below my feet and all I saw was emptiness. I couldn't control myself I started screaming at the top of my lungs for help. But I already knew I was in way over my head. Above me somewhere were my pickaxes and my backpack and my expedition crew. I tried desperately to get a grip on the slick walls. It was no use. I was stuck in this abyss of ice and emptiness. I rubbed the tears out of my eyes and...
The disco ball was turning. But only in my head. I began to dance around again, like always when it started to spin. I looked in vain for a way out but they just laughed. It was like Hell but only worse because not only was the disco ball only in my head, so were the songs.
I didn't dislike Donna Summer but you can only take so much disco. The Bee Gees were better. They had a vast catalog of the beat. But the Xanadu soundtrack was the killer.
The straps tightened and the camera narrowed it's focus on...
Det kom en dag i hodet på meg. Og jeg så det aldri før enn da. Det var noe som hadde hengt over meg i lengre tid. Jeg visste det var på tide å snu. Jeg visste at jeg en dag ville jeg angre og en dag ville det hele virke meningsløst. Jeg så aldri tilbake. Men nå skulle jeg endelig snu. Det skulle bli min tur å være den gode, jeg er lei av å være den som alltid må gi - jeg trenger å få noe jeg også. Jeg trenger nærhet. Jeg trenger varme. Jeg trenger en som...
"The flight was agonizingly long, and that was the positive part of the experience.We had reserved a cab a week before, because we didn't want to drive out there and then try to find parking."
"I could have found a spot."
"Ignore him, he's convinced he a dowsing rod of available parking. Anyway, we had made a reservation for six a.m. At a quarter to seven a car screams to a stop in the driveway. You can still see the skidmarks. We were so angry."
"You were angry. I never even wanted to go."
"I told you to ignore him....
I don't even notice as he walks up behind me and presses something into my hand. "See you later," and he's gone. I open my palm and see the huge plastic easter egg that he gave me. It's a light purple and blank, no clues. Carefully, hopefully, I open it up. "Please, please let there be a note inside. Please." I pop it open and look inside. Nothing. But it's not empty. It's full of disappointment. Disappointment and a single tear.
She looked in the mirror and thought about that one guy. The guy who always smiled her way. The only person every to admire her features. Was there not a single way to ask him? ask him that one simple question? DOES HE LOVE ME!!!! the day had come...
She was ready.
Her entrance was stunning; a slight catwalk into the classroom led by a swift movement of removing her bag's shoulder strap. She waltzed between the desk and made her way to the front of the room. She double checked herself and a burst of confidence ran through her....
This was the painting that sold for millions. I watched as the porters wrapped it up and carried it from the gallery to the awaiting truck.
The new owner transferred cash from his account, smiling, probably thanking God for his luck. I watched him shaking hands with everyone, swigging the curtesty glass of expensive champagne, posing for photos.
John Masters, the gallery owner, smug and insincere triumphant for once in his sorry life.
Not for long.
He paid me peanuts as a commission for this painting, unknown I had used special paint which would melt in due course and reveal...
Mark rolled his black wheelchair into the school cafeteria, casting furtive glances at those around him as he admired the Christmas decorations. The school was flouting current anti-holiday laws, but they didn't care. Christmas was a time to celebrate, a time of joy. And Mark, for one, was extremely impressed by the middle school's principled stand.
He rolled into the cafeteria, nodding at those who looked at him, but otherwise ignoring them. it was always thus. The boy, so different, had built a shell around himself, one that he could not break down lest he end up hurt. It was...