It was the moment she'd been waiting for her whole life - she just hadn't known it.
She hadn't known she'd wanted to disappear until she could.
On the one side of her was the crashed train, the people screaming, the police trying to keep control, ambulances - so much chaos and pain. Explanations and stories.
And on the other...just sky.
It wasn't as if she had anything she needed to escape from, but that was the point. There was nothing in her life that meant that much to her. She was trapped by her own monotony. Changing her life...
You had me at ox bow lake, knee deep in dark water. "It's not so bad, right?" you said.
"It's no Jersey Shore," I said, "But I guess it's not that bad."
You crouched so that you were neck deep in dark water. "You gotta get your whole body in."
Then, a gunshot. I spun around quick and covered my breasts with my forearm. I heard you laughing behind me.
"City girls. Can't take em nowhere." You leaned back and did a halfhearted backstroke. "Just a hunter probably." I sunk in a little more. "Come on," you said. "Come swim."...
She'd always come running when I called. That one girl I relied on throughout the toughest of times. I couldn't imagine a day without her. Beautiful tawny eyes that stared at me with loyal knowing. Full of wisdom and life. I'll never forget her.
The tousled mane of golden locks always framed her just right when I saw her. She looked delightful, so happy and bursting with youthful energy. Her smile lit up my world, my lonely, oh so lonely world.
There was no one else around me, but for her... My dearest friend. I look at her now and...
My email has been compromised, nevermind, nothing I write or receive is of any importance. The girl on the bench was full of self pity, having one of those 'the world is against me' moments we all get when we have too much free time and not enough to do. Usually by choice as usually there is too much that needs to be done but we prefer to surf the internet, read self help, watch tv or simply drink ourselves to oblivion, overwhelmed at the mess we ignore.
Jodie was a successful fantasy fiction writer, had a reliable good looking...
She couldn't go outside very often, but when she did, it made her feel like the cancer wasn't as bad as it was the day before. It was summer; Lea had to go outside in her almost hospital-like pajamas; sanitary and sterile for her safety. Her mom sat on their apartment stoop as she watched Lea splash in the Manhattan fire hydrant. The trees looked dead around her still, and made her worry about Lea; her only daughter, at 12 she was already dying. Terminal illness doesn't warn you when it's taking over; it's not like the President declaring war...
I don't like hotel rooms. I don't like the idea that anyone might have stayed in here before, slept in that bed, used that bathroom, that toilet. I prefer my own place, but that's impossible due to the fact that my boss has seen fit to send me on a course to 'improve my communication skills'. That's a joke. My communication skills are fine, thank you very much. I just don't like talking to him because it sends my blood pressure sky high. But that's beside the point, I'm here, and I'm staying.
I'm staying because I can't leave the...
The room was dimly lit with the candles he had scattered before she had arrived. The meal would be served in just a few minutes, a creation to do any chef proud. He had left the wine to breathe the required amount of time. The stage was set. He set the plate before her and frowned when she showed no sign of appreciation for his efforts. He poured her a glass of wine, an excellent vintage. Still, she showed no joy or surprise.
He batted the wineglass away and it shattered on the far wall. With a swipe of his...
"The day after tomorrow, this will all be over." Such a fucking cliche.
Sure, our road trip would be ending soon enough, and we would be returning to our miserable, monotonous, minimum-wage jobs that regularly take us to the very brink of sanity... but to pretend that everything we just experienced would be concluded as soon as we return to home port strikes me as truly false.
The thing that he seems to miss is the continuity of events which develops out of the dynamic relationship between what we do and otherwise experience, and the way we see our fundamental...
It was like one of those stop-motion films. Or maybe it was more like that handful of pictures his mom brought out when she was drinking. Dealing out snapshots of her life as if she had a chance at a full-house when the rest of them had just folded and walked away. The one dimensional images coming faster and faster.
He remembered the phone call, running out of the apartment without a jacket, the feeling of panic. Had he even closed the door? The car, his wife waving at him from across the busy street. No, that was wrong. That...
You had me at 'ox bow lake'. But the time machine accidentally switched itself on and didn't stop until I was back in 2012 where I started. I spent months in regret afterwards, looking online at the black and white photos of you with the rest of your Native American tribe, uncomfortably posed for the camera. I could not mend the glitch in the machine, could never return to a life with you. Sometimes I spend time with your ancestors, I have made friends with little Jimmy, your great great great grandson. I can imagine that he could have been...