I think I have died.
There was a strange man looking at me, clothed in black with blue eyes gleaming from behind a hood. I tried to peer into the darkness of that hood but could make out nothing save the eyes.
He explained to me that I had died, but not to panic. Death was not as bad as people would have me believe. Rather than the end it was a new beginning. He was here to point me in the right direction, then the journey was my own.
Journey? I knew nothing of a journey. I just guessed...
I took a ball, and threw it against the brick wall, to have it bounce back. I threw it again and again, to have it come back, back into my hands. I thought about my decisions, about how I threw away my future, and my life. He told me to do it. I know he did. I blame myself, not him. I threw the ball again, and heard the loud crack of it bouncing of the wall. When I hurled it the next time, I threw it as hard as I could, and rocketed back to me, through my legs,...
I lost my grip on the wheel.
It was a dark night, yet the sky was completely clear. It was a tired night, yet there had been man cups of coffee. It was a restless night, though everyone was laying down. It was a night full of oddities.
I sat forward in the seat, trying hard to hold onto the wheel as the car began to skid around on the road. The longer I tried, the harder it became. I slowly began to lose my grasp, and I realized how all the events that had happened that night led to...
I lay siege to it. This was war and a fast and furious assault seemed the surest course. There was a front to push forward, barriers to overcome, landmines to be defused. I was young and relentless and eager; I couldn't lose. After every foray I watched the scaffolding rise again, higher and higher and each time I tore it down, waiting for the walls to fall. Eventually I tired of the advance and retreat. New orders came. I couldn't win this battle and there were other wars to fight.
Years later I returned to that once fragile country. A...
Fault. Always so unclear.
Perhaps the fault was mine. Perhaps I shouldn't have pushed so hard. All I wanted was a taste. Just a glimpse of what she was thinking. Was I really in the wrong for that?
"Look. Just... Tell me what's wrong."
"I don't want to."
Obstinate. Here I am, just trying to figure out what's wrong with her or if she's okay and she doesn't want to share with me.
"You know you can tell me."
"I can't."
"I'm not going to judge you for anything, you know."
A shrug. Too bad, she's saying to me. You...
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...
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...
Goodnight!
I said that to him five hours ago and I have still yet to join him.
Damned insomnia.
Sucking the life from my brain, the energy from my soul and making me want to twist the necks of birds as they mock me with their dawn chorus.
How did I get here? Consorting with the godless hours. Joyless hours offering endless opportunities to think. To think about the past, the grey future and the uncertainty of existence.
I click the remote onto channels spewing out drab stories or, in some cases, none at all.
'Closed' it says on the...
I shot my butler. He was really making me mad. You see, I had told him several times to stop buring mt toast in the morning. He also had a nasty habit or overvooking my eggs. Nothing worse than overcooked eggs. Well, so you see, I had to shoot him. But he didn't die, which kind of made things worse for me. I only grazed his elbow. I knocked some bone chips off and not much else. He didn't even tell anyone it was me! he made up some story about slipping on some water on the floor of the...
The drive had been long and hot, and Mac's head barely cleared the top of the steering wheel. Betsy was being an incorrigible fuss, and Mac was silently fantasizing about slamming on the brakes and shoving her out of the passenger side door.
Maybe it was the hat.
He asked her, begged her not to wear the hat, but she knew it would get under his skin like nothing else (except maybe singing show tunes as loudly as possible, so she popped it on her head with a smile and hopped into the truck without saying a word.
That was...