The darn woodchuck was bothering me. He was a smart woodchuck. He had a bucket of red paint, which he was using to paint the golf course. "Ha ha ha," laughed the woodchuck. "I am painting this blade of grass right now. Watch as my paintbrush, which is laden in red paint, strokes the blade. See? It is red now. Ahahahaha!!!!!"
I was having none of it. I do not like the golf courses to be red, especially the green, which is called a green for a reason. You don't call them red or blues or yellows, do you? No....
No, the blood stains in the carpet don't come out. Yes, I tried. Yes, I did my best. No, there's no lingering smell.
Press conference for killer. Talk shows, radio interviews, Good Morning America 3-minute-segments before commercial break. They don't throw hard question at you. They give you chance to explain yourself. They don't press further.
Smiles, genial smiles and well-trained laughs at cued moments. We get along in front of audience. He laugh at joke about face victim made before death. Well there you have it, he say to camera. Inside the mind of a true killer, he say....
I can taste the tingle on my tongue the second it touches. I can smell the sweet/sour, crisp, smell. The food is amazing here. They have things I have never seen before. All of the yellows, oranges, blues and reds. The rainbow of food. The tastes of everything is new and refreshing. None of it makes sense. How can a place like this, make such beautiful flavors? The new discoveries of flavors and smells fills my mind. What new things can they even make? Find? The question lingers in my mind.
She was so happy. Hiding from her friends. She'd always liked this game, hide and seek. She hid in the doorway to the back of her house in her new red gown her mother had saved money for months to buy. As much as she liked hiding, she felt so proud in this red dress that she wanted to run out and show off her new dress to her friends some more, but they all seemed to be more interested in the game. As she crouched in the doorway, she noticed a little bug crawling on her gown. She screamed...
She shifted slightly, adjusting her spine against the doorframe. People kept screaming at her to get out of the door way. She was too tired. She had been there too long. The people, who were screaming, had no need of the door. They had much need of her. So they screamed. She noticed that her nails were clean and bloody. She thought that she would have to dirty the nails with a towel in order to stem the flow of blood.
"Couldn't have picked a better night for it... or a better doorway."
This was the message that she had...
In the beginning she thought he was an alright gentlemen. Until he began showing little bits and pieces of himself. Now it seemed ridiculous that she could have fallen in love with this boy-man, this immature piece of bones, flesh and nothing else. She laughed to herself, almost becoming hysterical at the thought that she could have been shackled to this man, that as a Catholic, she would have wrestled with leaving him and when she eventually did, she would have to wrestle with a feeling of guilt for the rest of her life.
Which brought her to God. Funny...
Outside her bedroom window the bells of the church called out to the diminished congregation. It seemed sacriligeous somehow that, while the floral skirted spinsters sashayed into the chapel, she should be lying here wrapped in his arms. Jayne wasn't religious at all despite her most formative years spent eagerly attending that little Methodist chapel. At school she had always excelled at Religious Studies., but life and it's course in cynicism had cured her of all that.
She nuzzled deeper into his arms drinking in the smell of sensual sweat, knowing that in a few short hours he would be...
She has to save them. That's her job. That's all her job's ever been. She has to sit on top of them, explode into feathers and squawks when needed, brood for days when they're stolen, make countless vows that she'll do better next time.
She likes her jokes, Mother Hen does.
Easter Bunny can steal them every time. He pleads, too, every time, of the scarcity of eggs on the planet, of how hard it is for an honest bunny to make a living nowadays, of the lack of belief in himself, the fake plastic hunts for things that were...
Aurora Moondust Boardman was gripped by a mixture of fear and excitement as she read he Great, Great, Great Grandmothers words. Back in the early 21st century a rather twee social network called Twitter was de rigeur. Nowadays they had the Social Implants that allowed thoughts to be transferred to any of their Optimim Subscribers.
She talked a lot about '@Pesky_Kid' whom Aurora presumed was her Gt, Gt Grandfather. He was famous for his daring exploits in th 50's when he pioneered the first Mashed Potato Wars computer game and retired a millionaire at 20. Kate (as her ,Gt,GT Grandma...
She'd always come running when I called. That's why when she didn't come, I freaked out. My girlfriend was kind and gentle. Sweet and caring. I was very depressed before she died. When I called, she'd come running, whether I needed someone to bake a cake with me or someone to keel me from shooting myself in the head. I loved her. She'd always come running when I called. I called her that day in a state of panic. I couldn't find my watch, someone must've taken it. She said she'd come. I waited for about an hour before calling...