Today he awoke to the blaring sound of thunder. "Again", he thought to himself. It had been just like this for 38 days straight now. The long hours throughout the day and evening. The animals making their sounds all the time, never ceasing sometimes; the frogs, he couldn't stand the tree frogs.
And there were the ladies on board the boat, always nagging, "Noah, do this", it just never stopped. Actually at one point he was completely ready to abandon ship and climb up the inside wall of the hull and out that little window and float off to wherever...
The bear was furious. He could no longer spot where the rabbit had gone. In the New World Order, this was something that rarely happened anymore.
"Aggghhhh!" he roared has he ripped the nearby tendril tree from it's root. The weasels would have to spend a day replanting the tree, but Ferfar didn't care. He would be in much deeper trouble for losing the Silver Velveteen rabbit. There were only 12 of them left in the rabbit warren out of hundreds of white Cottontails, which were the pride of this part of the Order anyway. Perhaps it was because they...
The quality of the sex we were having in the wheat field is indescribable. It was better than any sex that I have had before. The sex would make the toes of a dead woman curl. It was great sex. I am quite certain you'd be jealous if I went into any lurid details about the sex that we were having in the wheat field, her legs up in the air, me doing things that you have only read about in books. The sex was great. It was not just great, it was amazing. This was amazing sex.
We were...
"Come on," Ricardo yelled, growing more frustrated by the second. "That guy is still trailing us. Step on it!"
"I don't know, Ricardo," Mark sympathized, "he looks homeless, and he probably needs help."
"Step on it!" Ricardo demanded. Mark obeyed.
Sam was just an average guy, at least he had been - but one day, he lost his job, his wife, and his two daughters at the same time. And he was cast into the streets. Sam tried to live his life, but it got harder every day, and he was in a state of severe depression. Sam had attempted...
It was his job to paint portraits of people. They'd give him huge sums to paint them. Just look in the mirror, idiots! But it was his living, and he did it well. He lifted his brush to the canvas and glanced back at the young lady, who smiled. He smiled back weakly and started to paint. He loved the way the brush flowed over the canvas like ink out of a pen. It was beautiful. He painted slowly but surely, letting the paint take him where it needed to go. Soon the painting was finished. He showed the young...
I don't like hats anymore. My friend from camp always wore a hat, and so did I. We would switch hats sometimes, wearing each other's hat for sometime. He let me wear his hat to Art one day. I drew it. I was so proud. That was in, oh I don't know, August? The end of summer. I lost that drawing. God, I miss him. I really do. I imagine him moving to my home town, him still wanting to be friends with me. Everything being ok. But that's never going to happen. I get the feeling sometimes like he's...
"What can't you just try to understand?" I couldn't say how many times I hurled those words at someone. My parents, siblings, friends, just about everyone. Each time the words would leave my mouth, they would leave me curled up in a corner somewhere dark and quiet, my heart throbbing and bleeding and aching as I try to stop my tears. But eventually I would let them fall. Tears are really quite good at washing the blood from my heart. The wounds never really heal but they scab over and leave scars that I know will be opened again if...
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...
A flash of red. A tiny girl huddled in a doorway, solace from the stinging wind. She was alone, completely alone, in a place that used to hold hundreds of thousands. Grey as far as the eye could see, except for that beautiful red dress. It was a gift from her mother. The result of much whining and pleading on her part, and saving and scrounging on the mother's. 3 days ago, on her birthday, she had opened the ornately wrapped package to discover it. She was so happy.