Flying home on a plane always made the man feel the same way. Confronting the (insane, brilliant, necessary) idea of flying through the sky, unnatural (he was an animal after all), yet completely commonplace (everyone does it), consistently put the man in a nostalgic, wistful mood. He'd picture his wife sitting on the edge of the bed, the afternoon sun coming from the window, happy to see him. He'd think on his kids, the way they were; a mixture of exasperation and wonder. He'd think on work the next day.
Grateful. That's how it felt.
He'd cut planes in half....
"I can't write something like that" I said gruffly.
It was in the darkened room as I stared upon the sunset of the days of the world.
"What are you talking about?" said the 2nd person in the room.
"Me" I said
"Just go with the prompt" said Darrin, the 3rd person.
"Okay" I sighed.
"Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway, clutching a Tec-9 in each hand. She kicked the door open and let loose a barrage of bullets. A hail of gunfire, proceeded by a red mist of blood. She went...
The sounds of the jungle echoed all around Jane as she swang from tree to tree, frantically listening for the slightest sound of another human hiding in the canapy.
Swinging on the expertly tied ropes her beloved had woven much before she was a dream in his heart. She must find Safura before it was too late.
Clutching the half full elixir closer to her heart, she leapt down into a clearing feeling a prescence close by. Stunned, Safura looked her straight in the eye, dropped the other half of the elixir she was carrying and slinked into the shadows....
I was scared. I could see another perspective of myself. Did I want this to happen? No. But, did it happen for a reason? I had everything jut a few weeks ago, it went away so quickly. I knew that something bad was going to happen as the outcome, but I can't even bare the thought that this would happen. I feared that it would be the end, but it slowly sank in, mind and body. I thought, this isn't so bad. The freezing water feels like a thousand needles stabbing me in every part of my body. My back...
Ridiculous.
No, it is, it is actually ridiculous.
I haven't thought about him in months, haven't thought about him like that in years (...well, other than the odd hiccup, but I'm only human)
It is his birthday today. I don't even know how old he is.
I don't know if I care. I don't know if I should care.
I loved him - thought I loved him (did I ever anything-else him?) - for years. Lived with him for years. Wanted him, desperately, for years.
He never wanted me.
Loving someone who doesn't love you - never will - is...
Until now she'd never thought of herself as pretty. But now, in the mirror, the morning light slanted in underneath the almost closed blinds, she did.
He lay, still asleep, his hair tussled, blankets twisted around his midsection, one arm under the pillows, another across his eyes.
She walked softly from the mirror, and stood over him. Her thin fingers reached out and caressed his cheek.
He groaned and turned on to his back.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror once more. She felt like Aphrodite, or Helen of Troy. She bent down and pulled something from under...
I stood in a Bollywood-style costume, obediently serving drinks to the guests at the Thomas' party tonight. It was a big one; "everyone who's anyone is here," in the words of Mrs. Thomas.
"A champagne, please," a man probably two years older than I said quietly. I looked up and saw piercing blue eyes and defined cheekbones - this guy was fine. Not like it'd ever matter, the Thomas' would never let their best teen servant date, but he was hot.
"Coming right up," I mumbled, seeming to have lost my confidence. I poured too much and spilled the extremely...
"I'm sorry", the two words that shattered her world. She let the dial tone ring out, as a hot tear ran down her cheek. A tingling sensation ran down her spine. Thoughts raced through her mind, while time passed so slowly. Everything was going so well, what could she have done wrong?
Her natural instinct was to run, but she couldn't move as the cool air threatened to choke her. Clambering over her bedframe and wrapping herself in her warm bedcovers, the ones where she'd spent hours talking to him on the phone. The moon shone through her window, reminding...
He pushed open the thin metal handle on the fingerprint-streaked glass door and the din of the bowling alley got cranked. What the fuck was he doing here? Three or four pieces of jailbait giggled past in a rush and he tried to avoid looking.
Mallory was always late, he thought. Couldn't get ready to go out without at least one girlfriend to help. It was almost pathetic if it wasn't true that she was way, way, way the hell better at being social than he was. Why else would he be at a fucking bowling alley on a Friday...
Spinning. Reams and reams of golden thread passed through her fingers as the spinning wheel conutinued on its endless spiral of revolutions. She had blisters now on all the fingers of her right hand. Blood seeped from under her nails and dulled the glow of the thread as it piled higher and higher on the floor beside her. She wondered what the point was but knew she couldn't stop. He would be back soon and then she would know her fate. Spinning. He said that if she got through all of it he would give her her freedom. She didn't...