She clutched whatever she had to her chest. Whatever dignity. She thought to herself. I cannot, do this. But she remembers what her mother had told her. You can, you can. She knocked on the door once, but backed away, out of the doorway, and leaning against the wall. She heard a door open, and then close. While the rain closed in on her, as she stuck out her tongue and let it fall. She could barely hold in the laugh. She took a deep breath and tried again. She knocked on the door slightly, and this time, waited for...
The samurai didn't know where he was.
It seemed similar to the forest outside his hometown. But it didn't feel right. The sounds seemed different, The air felt different. He didn't feel as though he'd been transported, and yet... something felt wrong, as though something were missing yet there all at the same time.
He continued his wanderings before coming across a wood and metal track. A strange trail, to be certain, but one that would certainly lead him to the nearest town, hopefully to make sense of his clear lack of orientation.
The sounds did seem different, especially along...
Alarm clocks, women, toys and books;
Bananas, high-heels, dirty looks.
The clocks get bigger as they grow,
For Cleopatra told me so.
And in the middle of it all,
Suspended, that which cannot fall,
There lies a prickly yellow fruit
That renders chosen meter moot.
"I feel boxed in," she said.
"I'm sorry?" he replied, not quite understanding.
"Well, the basic thing is this: the image is quite boring, and the color scheme is obnoxious, a weird, misguided attempt at the painterly surrealism that Richard Linklater's Waking Life first presented in film. Add to that two gigantic butterflies, and the whole thing just falls apart. But despite the silliness of the painting, however, there's really no room for absurdity. Characters can't wave pistols around or smoke cigars or get hit in the forehead with boards. I'm boxed in. I have nowhere to go. It's too...
Chuntao was an anxious young girl, short and dumpy, who for money spent her mornings delivering leaflets advertising pizza to households in her part of Beijing. (For no money she spent her evenings playing the trombone.) It was a tedious and tiring job, and time would drag. One rainy day she reached the doorway of a house which perched at the top of an enormous stairway. Breathless and sweaty, she tripped on the doorstep and dropped her leaflets. As she bent down to gather them up, the door opened.
"Who are you and what do you want?" asked a man...
Mia and John sat by the stones, and no one noticed them.
"You shouldn't be here." John explained.
"My dad's hated here, so what? I need to know the truth."
John ducked under a tree, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Your dad is traced back to you. His enemies are yours now."
"You mean people want to kill me?"
"Just people you're dad took from." John said quietly, a blur against the dark stones.
Mia looked at him, incredulous. "It could be any of these people."
She looked around, and saw people through windows, walking through the streets,
He read the card quietly as he walked along the Great Wall. "Explore," it said. "Dream," it read. "Discover," it implored.
Well, he'd done all of that. He came to China on a whim with his girlfriend and explored the sites. He went to the Great Wall and to Beijing, to little towns and big cities,. He dreamed with her of starting a family when they saw a woman with her child nestled in her arms, a man walking beside her and holding her close. And he discovered, when she was shot down for the little bit in her purse,...
by the time the cops can, I sneaked into an alleyway to avoid the cops but as soon as I ran around the corner of a random building. I was outnumbered by 7 police cars and 24 officers all pointing there guns at my head ready to not hesitate and shoot. But why were the cops after me? now that is a story i can't explain much about.
It was last tuesday, a young woman was knocking on my apartment door at 6 in the morning. I hungover from the night before from getting wasted and partying. I got up...
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...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. She must have damaged it when she fell and she kicked the small wooden table it rested on in frustration. "Damnit!" she whispered to the empty room. "Damn, damn, damn!" Then she felt ridiculous. Imagine throwing a tantrum like that when she had other things to do, such as search the room, find the treasure, get out with all her bodily organs in tact... That sort of thing.
Not daring to switch on the main light and not able to use the lamp, she pulled her lighter from her pocket and flicked it on. There...