You know how people always use that metaphor of how an iceberg shows a small portion of the story, but the ice travels much deeper underneath? I was quite literally experiencing that right then. Both externally and internally. My chest was burning for air and my body was thrashing up against the coarse underneath of the ice pool. I didn't care that my eyes were stinging or the water in my mouth was gushing down my throat. What may have been a beautiful glistening lake was now a dark trench of terror. I had never known what snow was like...
I stared up at the stars the beauty overtaking my sight, the bright lights occupied me while I was waiting. For him
I heard the scrape of metal coming from the silver ladder, someone was climbing up. He reached the top the lamp he was holding lighted his face helping me see his cute face.
He said nothing and sat next to me placing the lamp in front of us, following my eyes up to the stars.
This was forbidden, us together in the midnight hour. Us together. If our families found out were would be surely banished. We were...
She'd have preferred the electric chair, at least that one bloody moved. She could get up a good speed on that one, maybe she could get out of it, escape their sympathetic looks. It was bad enough losing the power in your legs without their condescending looks. Idiots.
Apparently it was a "power chair", but, frankly, bollocks to that. Jokingt that she was living out a death sentence was one of her few pleasures left - that terror in their eyes, the "oh god how do we respond to that" was what she was living for right now.
Actually, that...
I slowly made my way through the rows of seated people desperate to get out of this ceremony. The elder slowly pushed me on, slowly sighing with defeat i trudged through the long narrow line of people anxiously looking around the crowd only to be met with a sea f unfamiliar faces. Upon my arrival to the temple, the elder smudged glowing paint onto my face whilst chanting words foreign to my ears, he stood up and lit the large pit with fire before the crowd made weird hand gestures and chants that grew louder as the seconds went by....
A chicken tried to cross the road
Upon which fate had last bestowed
A fetid mess of flesh and gore
From those who tried to cross before
The other side was just in reach
When road and fate allied to teach
The chicken's desperate, futile cause
Was ended by a couple cars
Ricky did not realize that Luca Brazzi was a man's name, and so, all confused, he had dumped someone completely different, the wife of an architect named Lucia Brazziana (the wife not the architect), in the Hudson river, and had then sent a coded message to the Corlione family. As for Luca Brazzi, he did not sleep with the fishes; he simply overslept. So one can imagine Titaglia's confusion when he showed up, unannounced, with an icepick in hand, and stabbed it through Titaglia's eyeball.
This was in the era before horse heads and cardinals. When a vague optimism was...
I was reading a great book when the words turned to sand. A hole opened up on the page and the words drained through, and I, engrossed in the plot, followed them.
When I awoke everything was different. But just slightly so. My alarm clock's red letters were blue. My green-striped sheets were now blue striped. The knobs on my dresser had turned from square to oval. My fat tabby cat was a calico.
The stuff was all there, it was just the details were mixed up. It was like a sketch artist had recreated my room based on a...
REALLY?? THIS is where the last 30have lead me?
A mere two weeks in to my 30-th year in this life and I look around.
Over the years I've asked myself many questions. Why? Why am I here? WHAT!!? What happened? In a relationship or with my business.But one question still stands out in my ever burning mind....REALLY?
Not so mush of a question, but rather, a statement of anxiety or disbelief. I have no desire to fail, but to succeed. No desire to just "make it", but to win!
I realized that there is more in my question than...
I stare at the row of perfect houses resting on the perfectly manicured lawns beneath a perfectly blue sky by perfectly green trees. I am surrounded by perfection, but I have not been given it.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm doing this.
I bend down to the ground. There is a ball lying there, perfectly out of place. I pick it up. My son could've played with this ball. He would have been good at sports, I'm certain. Slowly I curl my fingers around it, and feel the perfectly creased leather, shiny with memories of sunny afternoons and perfect throws...
He watched as she leaned against the tree, staring at him. "What?" he asked self-consciously as he shifted in his seat. "Do I have a booger?"
She laughed, stood up, and shook her head. "No, silly," she replied. "I'm just thinking." She walked over to him and looked down into his brown eyes. "Haven't you ever wanted to walk? I mean, sitting in that thing all day's gotta suck."
"I don't sit down all day!" Mark said to his friend. "You know that, Mary. You spend half the day at my house on the weekends."
"Yeah, I guess." She shrugged....