"Please, just let me on!"
"Sorry sir, but we have regulations."
"Regulations? I am a citizen of the US. I served my country, and this is how my county serves me. I am looked down upon while leather and aftershave walks past me. Hundreds spent on a single meal for two, yet I collect cans and tips to buy a single meal from the arches at night. I try to get a job, but I have no address, no phone number. I am stuck because of your regulations. And does help come? No, the ones who do good - our...
Not that I mind being dead. It's nothing to be saved from, really. Oh, at first believe me, I railed against it, bracing myself for whatever fight or hell lay before me. But after about an hour it seemed pretty clear to me that nothing was going to happen.
Literally, nothing happens when you are dead. To from your own view point anyway. Granted, I do not have a body to call my own anymore, but being dead feels surprisingly like being alive does. Only with less worry. And not taxes of course.
But if you can read this, and...
The movies always told me that it's the girl who usually hurts. It's the girl who usually waits, and the girl who usually feels lost in love.
My life isn't a movie.
I'm here in the forest, like Bella waiting for Edward, staring at the clock she gave me, counting down the days, the hours, even the minutes. Like a teenage girl pining over a college boy, I want nothing more right now than her in my arms, curled up on the grass beside me.
She can be thousands of miles away. She can be attending classes and working her...
She didn't look at him, just opened the back door at the (deeper than usual) scratching, but it wasn't the cat to which she'd turned her back.
Dane took another well-aimed pump at the car. The iron pipe splattered headlight glass all over the curb.
"Good fuck!" I sputtered, "What's wrong with your freako eyes?"
"I'm sick. Some sort of crow disease. Can't be helped. Hand me that roll of tape." He pumped his fist while taping diapers to the antenna with his free hand, reeling to some invisible unholy orchestra. Probably electro. Probably some sort of depeche mode shit zonking around in his gourd. His eyes bugged yellow and I knew he had finally gotten news that yes, it was cancer, and yes, it was hereditary....
My great-grandfather was an explorer, an occupation prevalent when one had more to explore. On the the archipelago of Tierra del Fuego, he learned to speak Haush, a language near extinction since the 1920s. He taught the language to his son, who passed it on to my father. While we played catch on the front lawn, my father taught it to me, a word relayed with each pitch, returned with each throw.
Three generations dead, I exited the train at Buenos Aires.
Shape. Contour. Line. Plane.
My mind is swimming with terms; it's hard to know where to begin. Think. THINK!
Placing my hands strategically against my forehead, massaging in circular motions, attempting to eradicate the oncoming hangover, I catch a whiff of last night's Sauza and the whole experience comes flooding into self-consciousness. Exactly what I've been avoiding, but it's upon me now, and the midterm examination worth forty percent of my overall grade just doesn't seem quite so vital. By contrast, the almost irresistible urge to vomit has quite suddenly taken me, and now I am reaching for my bookbag...
he ran into the room, his heart pounding, and his clothes soaking wet. He couldn't believe what had happened. Today had started off so well, everything going to plan.
He had woken early, before his alarm, excited as a kid at Christmas. He'd gone to work, where he had tried in vain to concentrate on his work.
Every second had seemed like an hour, but finally 5pm had come.
He had sat across from her at the restaurant, his heart in his mouth. She had looked lovely; more beautiful than she had ever looked. Her golden hair shimmering in the...
We sat on our toboggan at the top of the hill behind the house. It wasn't much of a sliding hill, but it was easy to walk up, so, there you go.
Me, Jenny, Eric and Becky took turns sliding down on the hot pink crazy carpet and then struggling up the slope in ski pants and too big boots. It was only the third or fourth snow of the season and between the melts there was just enough of the white stuff to pick up a bit of speed on your descent.
Eric or Jenny came up with the...
One scoop chocolate, one scoop... The ice cream scoop clatters on the counter top, empty. I stare at the perfectly rounded scoop of flawlessly smooth chocolate ice cream sitting in the dark blue bowl as if it might jump out and bite me. I imagine the ice cream breaking down into tiny little calories and attaching themselves to my thighs, my stomach, my arms, my face, forming rolls of soft fat on my body. The ice cream falls with a soft plunk back in the tub. With a snap, the lid takes away my guilt and I shove it to...