Dancing, the camera so close, so infringing on the intimate margin between her face and his chest, she tore her gaze from the lens. Awkward, having two camera men so near.

She turned in his arms, leaned towards him and he lifted her by the waist, and she lifted her leg, forming the shape of a four.

On the stage again, the cameras rushed with her as she leapt across the stage. When she stopped and stood to her toes, a camera met her at eye level. She looked directly into the lens.

"Oh." The man's left eye, peeking from...

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"But why are there cracks?"
"Each of them is a single stone."
"Where do the stones come from?"
"Stones are made by the Earth. These stones..."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why does the Earth make stones?"
"Time and pressure."
"Not how. Why?"
"I don't know. But these stones are shaped by people."
"Why?"
"To pave the road."
"Why?"
"So we can walk on it."
"That stone is broken."
"It will be replaced."
"They have more stones?"
"They will make more."
"What if they don't?"
"What if they don't what?"
"What if they don't make more?"
"They will make more."
"But what...

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She didn't look at him anymore. He knew that it was too late for their marriage. Betrayal this time was over stepping the boundary. Twice already. They passed days and nights like strangers, polite yet unemotionally connected.

Lisa did not know what to do. Never expected to be in this position. Couldn't face the future, alone. Yet knew she couldn't bear to be in the same room with him let alone in the same house.

None of her family were around anymore, she didn't want to have to move again, relocate, make new friends, go over the same lies. She...

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The tracks screeched as the train hurtled through the curve. "Is this normal?!" she screamed, "Are we going to die?"

"It's looking likely!" he shouted back as he tumbled into the roomette. Crawling on his knees, panic leapt into his eyes. He scanned the floor, sweeping his hands over the carpet, under the seats.

"What are you looking for?" she shouted as she braced herself in the hallway.

"Nothing. It's nothing. You know, at times like these, when disaster looms, we must ask ourselves what motivates us, what grand ideas guide us in our illusory walks towards our certain doom....

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He'd spent hours in the living room, with a stack of tapes and the home theatre system, recording, rerecording, and generally keeping the neighbors awake. "It's sort of loud in here," I said to him.

He spent hours scrambling around the house searching for the sharpie to label his mixtape. "This will be perfect, if I can only finish it," he said to himself.

Unable to find a sharpie, he ran out the back door, grabbed his bike and churned off into the night.

I hopped in the car and followed behind at a safe distance. He stopped off at...

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My sister was called Heather. She only lived three years. I've never been told what really happened to her, only that she was taken away from us too early. I used to lie awake all night, terrified of someone coming in through the window, dragging me out of bed, over their shoulder, down a ladder, running across the back lawn, through a gap in the fence and into a van. Driven away forever.

It wasn't until I was about eight years old and settling into a new house (we'd moved four times already) that I came across a scrapbook of...

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Walking briskly through the grey tainted forest, beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, gaining momentum before they trickled down his sullen face. The pale moon was high in the sky, befriending twinkling stars that seemed to swirl around whenever he tried to find consolation in their presence. From far away, an owl hooted into the night.

He didn't have a hand to hold. Lost, yet not lost, he was confused. Knowing who he was, what year it was, and where he was were all facts that he had down. But he wasn't sure of his exact location. Then again,...

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My nails had been long. I'd given up biting six months ago. But ever since I tasted his blood I couldn't stop putting my fingers into my mouth, chewing the skin, licking up drops of redness. Hoping it would satisfy my craving.

It didn't.

I kept looking at necks. Middle aged triple chins the type with thick white hair growing under. Women too scared too pluck them out. Or too blind to see.

Throbbing Adam's apples on smooth soft skin. Younger boys looking into my eyes, misreading signals. Lustful.

My history professor, all nose hair and stubble. Wondering if there...

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I have writers block.
Urggggg.

Okay, I should probably explain myself. I am a writer.
Well its more like I would like to be a writer.
Unfortunately, my brain does not possess this talent and I am here, stuck in a coffee shop because I heard that's where Joanne Rowling wrote "Harry Potter."

But, now that I look around I can't help but notice the clear boundaries between strangers in a coffee shop, in which only waitresses can cross. Even then, for a short period of time.
Maybe half of us here are on either our laptops or cell phones....

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After the murder I found it hard to recall what happened in my personal life but only remembered other things.

The autumn leaves were not covering the muddy lane as usual this time of year. I was grateful to Mother Nature to avoid the hard toil of removing the crisp orange leaves, too sticky and gooey with liquid earth deal with a power tool.

The deer from the woods below ignored my home made devices to deter their rampage over my immaculate lawn and ate the rose heads in the large bed in the middle.Bright pink, deep red, white, burgundy....

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