Walking slowly through the bush, the elephant dragged its feet. Today he felt no joy.
The village lay behind him. Here were fields he could trample in revenge. Here were corn cobs he could eat, juicy and succulent. Here were the years growth of food supplies, enough to feed a family for a year. And he could destroy it all. If he chose to.
Today, he chooses not to.
Yesterday was different. Yesterday, he was fierce and proud. Head of the herd, head of the bush, head of the tribe; ah yes, he was the head of it all.
Then...
Circus time and the big top was humming with activity. Punters were arriving and children were shrieking for ice cream. The trapeze artists were warming up and I was standing holding one of the rope ladders steady as the Frazelli Family (Fantastical Flyers) were assuming their positions on the high wire.
Suddenly, there was a shriek from Bobobono, one of our clowns (not a very funny one if you ask me, but then I have never liked clowns).
"A child has fallen in the river."
At the bottom of the muddy field where we were camped, there ran a river....
And then there is the approach of Autumn and September impatiently tapping at the window, intimidating August, chasing it away. I reach out my hands in an attempt to catch hold of it, but it is already overshadowed by distance, one step removed. Only yesterday it was April and there was the whole of Summer; it was a time of promise and hope. I naively believed that I deserved it, that I would be delivered unblemished months. It was such a bad winter, so very long and cold.
But here I am on the edge of the season, dragging so...
This was the month she was going to do it. Yes, really. This time.
Sitting down at the keyboard she faced the blank screen. First things first, time for coffee.
Now she could start. Come on, come on, come on. Where is my muse?
She strokes the keboard, searching internally for inspiration.
PUFFFF!
At first she thinks the computer screen is broken. Or maybe a virus has hijacked her software. She peers in astonishment.
A green face is forming in front of her eyes. At first the details are vague and hazy. Then it grows clearer. Yes, definitely a face....
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...
"I think there's a problem with the design!" Clair blurted. The table of nerdy glasses and hazy schematics looked up one by one.
Burt suddenly took her by the arm, turning her slightly but firmly. "We're hours away from the prototype run and you think there's something we haven't considered?"
"It's the idea in general. If the particle resonance is what we think it is then why are we trying to counter the harmonics? I mean--what could that do to the very fabric--"
Burt collapses to a singularity point, everything in the room suddenly expanding at the edges and warping...
Blank is the landscape to a story that has not been writin yet.but with each passing charater the page fills up with a colorful tale of adventure, strife, mystery, loss of love, or even a beautiful poem about the way thing are. now as time goes on the page is now a range of tall moutians of climax and intrigue. Dotted with twisting roads and low planes of sorrow and strife. the page a beigins to take shape a buitiful landscape that many readers will hopefully enjoy to look at and be in. The landscape of the story can be...
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...
She sat staring at the skin of her hands. Her eyes traced the many lines, imagining the skin to be the brown, scorched earth of deserts, thirsty for life.
The wrinkled skin gathered above her enlarged knuckles, reminding her of dried fruit.
She continued examining her hands, wondering how the finiteness of life had come to suddenly feel so tangible.
Her veins somehow looked foreign. Her age had caused her veins to become like strange, throbbing, river-like threads of yarn, sewn to her flesh, invading her hands.
She rubbed the underside of her index finger against the rough surface of...
It was the fall that surprised me most. I watched as the sofa slid down the stairs of the women's dorm, I rushed down when it stopped at the landing, i lift the couch up and could see Amber, her neck was in the shape of an 'L.' She didn't move, she wasn't breathing, i looked up and could see her ghost standing over me, looking down at her body.
"Wha... what happened?" she asked.
"You fell, you...you're dead." i said, she started to panic, i tried to calm her.
"So, if i'm dead, how are you talking to me?"...