"can you get my squeaky toy for me?"
"OK. where is it?"
"under the couch"
"OK...geez Pancakes...how many toys can you fit under here?"
"i dunno how many are there?"
"Six!"
"well then...six i guess."
And thus began the story of Tall Guy and Zeke Andrew Pancakes.
It started out as a bit of a joke I suppose. I opened a Facebook account and a Twitter account for my dog Zeke. I posted semi-regular interactions between him and I, and much to my surprise everybody played along without even being asked. Everybody treats Zeke as a separate entity and never...
She felt stupid. Stupid? No, she felt worse then that. She felt bipolar and insane and hormonal.
she shouldn't have lost it like that, now he thought she was a total freak and not in the good way.
The kind of freak, you ignore their texts and messages, the kind of freak you tell your friends, "Stay away, that one is totally nuts!"
She was so angry with herself, angry that she couldn't just leave well enough alone, that she just HAD to speak her mind.
She liked him, but then that one little thing; when he asked about her....
"I'm writing you a ticket," the cop said.
"That isn't fair," I complained. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"You're selling illegal oranges in a public place," the other cop admonished me. "That means a fine, and you're lucky we're not taking you down to the station."
"What's the matter with my oranges?" I cried despondently. Those oranges were all I had. I would be destitute without them, and what little income I could get from them. I had to convince them not to take that away from me. My family was counting on me; I couldn't let them down.
"Hmm,...
I lost my grip on te wheel. The snow on my windshield was blinding. The ice beneath my tires made my car skid into the guardrail in a sort of slow motion. I could see the front of my car hitting the railing and the hood folding back up toward me. The lights shattered and white and yellow fragments came flying up toward my windshield. The airbags inflated, slow motion, hitting my face, making my head turn sideways. My iPhone flew out of my hand and hit the passenger side window, then slammed to the floor. My dog, Erin, screeched...
She'd have preferred the electric chair. Instead, she got the eclectic stare. Why did she always attract the weird ones?
"I'm sorry." I dropped everything I was holding, and sat on the ground. Why did everything I love, fall through the spaces between my fingers like it was nothing. My kitchen floor felt cool, and I scratched my fingers across the tile, my stomach was beginning to feel sick. This had all moved too quickly, so I got up and sprinted to the bathroom. I thought I would vomit immediately, but it wasn't until I flashed back to every word people had said about where he had been, that made me release everything in my stomach. I didn't want to...
The Skeleton Key was lying on the dresser, as it had for as long as he could remember. It meant more to him now than it ever had-now that he realized what was in the locked chest. She never even considered that he might wonder what was in the chest.
Now, as he arrived home from the hospital, having suffered a minor heart attack, the skeleton key lying on the dresser piqued his desire to finally open the chest. His own chest had been locked up for so long, enclosing his own heart--not fully experiencing what a heart has the...
The button glared at her from the opposite side of the elevator. Her eyes were strained from staring at it. The harsh elevator light that made the button cool cold and hatefully professional. It made the emotions associated with the button written in neat braille and caps lock seem to be resolutely finite.
She had been standing in the elevator for too long now. It was now or never. She shook herself. Ignored the panic bubbling in her thoat, choking her, and clawing in her belly, and stood straight.
Her sweating hand pointed her slim finger straight, and she jerked...
The cover image for the book was not exactly what she had envisioned. Then again neither was the book really. But she was published, that's what mattered right? True she had used a pen name, but she knew the book was hers. The words on the pages her doing (well most of them anyway). But that image. It really didn't have all that much to do with the story in the book. Would people be disappointed when they read it? Would it make it more buyable as the publisher claimed. Well it was out of her hands. Thank God she...
No prompt today. I'm at a loss. The alarm has gone off as usual, but nothing in the display to tell me what to do, where to go or even what to wear. I'll stay here, in the warm cushion of my sleeper unit. It will reboot soon.
But it hasn't. Nothing has happened. No sounds, no whirring, no coffee. What should I do?
I slide my feet over the side. Naked I search for something to cover my modesty. The blinds stay shut, but I peek through and see no light. No sun. No rain. No people.
I look...