The Rivermen had her boxed in. Two still waited for her at the bottom of the stairwell behind the knockoff Bayeux Tapestry--now ripped to shreds by blades. Two more on either side of this room, this tiny, gaudy bedroom that her mother had spent months decorating. And though she knew at least one of them would come bursting through, knife drawn, she couldn't stop staring.
My whole life people have teased me for my looks.
People think that what is one the outside matters.
They made me believe it too.
I was called so many names :4 eyes,nerd,overweight and manymore.
I went home crying everyday and self harmed myself, I would cut myself and chock myself.
When I turned 32 I realised that nothing matters and the picture above ( you may not see it ) is the last picture I took until I went to hevean.
It was dark, cold. I felt the wind, colder than ice, blow into my face a large number of sharp ice crystals. "Where am i?" i thought. I walked down a hall, made completely of ice. The air was not only cold, but had a bitter smell to it: like torture and an evil queen. I walked into a throne room, by the looks of it, anyway. The only spot of color in the room was the bright yellow hood the person standing before the queen wore, and it was quickly fading. The first thing i noticed about the room...
She didn't look at him.
She never did. Never could.
If she met his eyes then she would dissolve into giggles, and the charade would be over. They'd both be cast out - or maybe just him - and that would be the end of everything.
He played his part so well, that was why it was funny. He would happily sit there and spout such rot, and these sychophantic ghouls would nod and revere him.
They didn't know he was just staff in her father's suit.
He was an orator, a charmer - he could spin a yarn, and...
It landed in 1966. The voyages of the Starship Enterprise would enthrall fans of Star Trek for three years before finally being cancelled. Years later, a movie franchise would be born, as well as subsequent televisions hows. There were comics, novels, and Star Trek fan conventions. The words "Trekkie" and "Trekker" entered the lexicon.
It landed in 1966. He landed in 1966. The Great Bird of the Galaxy, Gene Roddenberry, landed his series on our television screens for the first time and the world would never be the same again.
The sound reverberated through the streets. The sound regenerated through the beets. The sound remunerated above the seats.
Then, the sound transubstantiated inside William Butler Yeats, who became a poet.
The sound instantiated outside the session scope, ultimately causing a null pointer exception. The sound invigorated the soccer players and re-elasticized their cleats.
The sound was of a kitten who had received some treats.
I don't know what the hell this is. I think I'm having an off day.
The daring were punished but Alexia hated living at boarding school. She slipped her feet out from under the blanket on her bed, already fully clothed. Quietly, so as not to wake the other girls, she walked to the window, grabbed a warm shawl to wrap around her shoulders, and flung her legs out over the edge of the window sill. She carefully propelled herself forward, flew gracefully through the air, and landed on the ground beneath her window.
A smile spread across her face as she began to walk away from the large brick building that had been her...
He was standing on the sidewalk below, jumping up and down. A passer-by might think he was crazy, but she knew better. He always did things with good reason. She smiled at him as she walked by and murmured, "Hi." He looked around like a startled deer caught in a floodlight, but she was gone. She had dissolved into the doorway.
Maybe he's really happy, she thought, as she walked softly up the stairs, careful not to wake the sleeping house. Sometimes, when she was happy, she felt like doing that. And she felt like never, ever, ever stopping. Maybe...
The sky blue sea swayed under the ultramarine sky. The sun is an amphibian, I thought. Then I wondered if any creatures lived in the sky and the water, never touching the land, and what would you call that?
A fisherman walked towards me on the boardwalk, handling a bagpipe. A boy followed with his fingers hooked into collapsed crab traps. A wet nylon rope dragged behind, leaving a wiry, drunken trail from where I never bothered to know.