She had no idea why she'd put on her red party dress this morning. It was cold, it was overcast, and she had nowhere special to go. Still, when she'd awakened this morning, the thought that made her want to get up was not any of these:
- You have the entire day to yourself
- You deserve to do something fun
it was:
- You love the way you look in that dress.
So, on an autumn morning indistinguishable from the days that proceeded and would follow it, Sal was wearing her red silk dress, a natty trench coat,...
Did you believe, like me, that there were monsters under the bed? I would leap from the middle of the room, my feet thudding on the mattress, determined that no hands would grab at me from that dark , malevolent recess between bedframe and floor.
The woodgrain on the antique wardrobe would melt into the face of a hooded figure. The deep, soulless gaze visible only to my terrified young eyes. Yet the most frightening part of the night was the key in the door and the gruffness of the slurring voice.
No, my monsters didn't live under the bed....
With a thundering bang, the gate closed behind them. They had not realized that they were being followed. Startled, the pair spun around. On the other side of the gate, a female figure stood, a heavy, elegant cloak draped about her shoulders, her dark hair streaming down her back. As she raised her arm ever so slightly, the trapped pair caught the smallest glimpse of... keys! The woman held the keys to the gate in her hand and tossed a disgusted look over her shoulder as she turned and began to walk away in the direction of the manor.
The...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. It wasn't a normal doorway because when I say doorway you think of things like wood and brass nobs and, possibly, hinges.
This had none of those.
And it was hardly a red gown, because you are likely thinking of something you'd take to a ball, or if you're the really twisted sort, and I can tell you are, there's an image of a piece of clothing given out to a somewhat disturbing institution, or asylum, for those less inclined to modern verbiage or intent on...
Now, supposedly, if I start out a hundred meters ahead of Achilles, and Achilles is travelling five times faster than me, when he has covered that hundred meters, I will nevertheless have travelled twenty. And when he travels twenty, I will have travelled four. And when he travels that four, I will have traveled .8 meters, and so on and so forth, such that Achilles will never reach me. I win.
But Zeno, the cur, says that, eventually, Achilles overlaps me. "We know it from experience," he tells us. God damn experience! I know that if Achilles is continually arriving...
What was that? I swear to god, something just went under the boat. I don't know what it was, but it was shiny, and it was fast.
Is it lunch time yet? I like lunch time. Everyone gathers near the front of the boat, eating their sandwiches and chips. Most usually share, at least a little bit. It's not like everyone can eat all of that. Most usually share, but you gotta watch closely. Gotta be vigilant. And be careful of the gulls. They'll sneak up on you in an instant. They scare easy, but man, are they sneaky.
I've...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. Andrew wasn't sure whether the power had gone out, or whether it was just the bulb -- these silly bulbs were always coming from the closet and going into the trashcan -- but he flicked the switch back in the off position and headed for the hallway. Rounding the corner out of the closet, he could see no light under the crack at the base of the door.
"Goddamn," he thought aloud, and thundered down two flights of steps to the basement, where his lighter illuminated the breaker panel. None of the switches were tripped,...
I read the note that proves nothing except by its very existence.
Details.
I caught the thrill in your eye when the first tear fell.
Details.
I could never report you but nine out of ten questions, I answered correctly.
Details.
You're right, I suppose, that you never hit me.
Details.
Broke your pinkie moving a couch, eh? Left because she was a bitch? It always goes the same but it's never, ever your fault?
Details, details, details.
It was supposed to be a nice relaxing drive. We were going to my mother's house for Christmas, the presents all stacked up in the trunk and carols playing on the radio. I sat in the passenger's seat. My husband was driving. It was getting a bit late, but we hoped to reach her house by about ten. Not a lot of traffic. Nice country road. But that all changed. I had closed my eyes and was about to drift off when I heard a loud, inhuman scream. My eyes shot open and I looked at my husband's pale cheeks....
The lamp wouldn't turn on. He struggled with it for what seemed like half an hour, swearing under his breath, and then swearing out loud, loudly out loud, freaking out both of the cats in the apartment. He would apologize to them later. Anyway, they should be used to it by now.
And then once he got the damned thing on he couldn't turn it off.
He wasn't going to waste half an hour on this useless project, too. He wanted to go to bed. He simply unplugged the lamp. That turned it off. That worked. Now the apartment was...