"I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead."
His eyes flickered open squinting in the unaccustomed sunlight. He started to rise but remained immobile. Panic began to set in. It was then that he noticed the girl slumped against the wall face ashen white. She glanced up at the ceiling and his eyes followed hers. He saw the skylight and his struggles became frantic. She was smiling now. "A trap. The bitch must have dosed herself up with ", he thought. those dammed odourless garlic...
Giving in wasn't an option. The first time Ted died he didn't really notice, being in a full on berserk. One of his incisors was embedded in the top of his shield. He only felt its loss after he lay beside the gnawed wood, head split by a centurion's short sword. Like most warrior souls, he didn't leave it there of course.
The second death was a spear. Ted bled out over a few days, his last fevered thought - blood poisoning - being one of confused pride he had all his own teeth 'this' time.
Ted's third demise was...
Where the sun sets, and the wind blows, two girls run across the ocean, having fun with each other. The two girls live their life, thinking of nothing but themselves. They have the time of their lives until... Water blew and high tides came, separating them from having fun. They clashed in the water, half dead. Everyone had barely survived as the tsunami occured. The tsunami stopped crying whilst people swept amongst the shore. They cried in sadness, all lost and disgraced. They were seperated not even remembering a thing. Who knew bad things would happen to such close, nice...
The visitor asked, "Can you write a story without a prompt?"
"I don't know," said the writer. "I've never tried."
"Really? You mean all those stories you wrote arose from something you'd seen or heard?"
"Or something I'd read. Tasted. Felt. Wondered about."
"And the novels? The poems? That terrible album you wrote and recorded?"
The writer smiled. "Yes, all of them. I need to have something to start from, some germ of a concept that I can build on. It's like the way a jazz musician riffs off a set theme. They start with what they have and make...
As Thomas was smoking in an alleyway, he heard a scream. He walked out of the alleyway slowly, being observant of his surroundings. He then heard the scream again, he followed the sound of the scream until he heard it grow louder. Thomas took out his umbrella as a weapon, he looked into the alleyway and saw nothing. He looked behind him then looked back and entered the alleyway again. He looked around and all he could see was trash cans or some cardboard boxes. He looked straight ahead and saw a man being cornered by someone wearing all black....
It had been a long morning. The shouting and screaming had been relentless, as it always is with three children under six. She had spent the hours trying to patch up arguments, mollify sulkers, and generally bring a sense of cheer. Even the thought of their friend's birthday party had not raised a smile at one point. She felt like she was near the point of giving up completely.
The twins eventually seemed to decide that if they got ready they may enjoy the upcoming festivities. By quarter to twelve they were dressed in their finest party outfits and starting...
There was nothing like getting the supplies in every month with the boys to lift everyone's spirits. Goodies, magazines, and letters abounded and everyone was excited waiting anxiously for their packages.
Sergeant Thomas was sorting through the packages and arranging them into groups to deliver when we came across a package for Lt. Roger. The Lietentant was a quiet sort that never received any sort of mail and never wrote any letters. But here before them was a nice package addressed to him that smelled of perfume and tobacco.
Thomas, thought it would be good to give the package to...
I shot my butler.
No, actually, I did.
Yea, I know what you're thinking. "This lady's crazy if she's just gonna write about shooting her butler as if it's no big deal. She's probably writing from jail."
Well, I'm not in jail. He's actually fine. It was just.... In the craziness of that day... I didn't even know it was him. One minute there was no one there but the smoke in my eyes and screams in my ears, and the next moment I had a gun in my hand and there was the butler. He took a step toward...
"Faster Faster Faster Faster!!!!" he yelled from the front seat. "OK." the other guy punched it. "Too fast! Too Fast!" he yelled, white knuckling the armrest. The other guy hit the brake. He flew forward and met the windshield. "OOF!" "Don't crack my windshield." the other guy said from the driver's seat. A phone was dialled. "Ian broke his face!" At home... "Ian, let me see..." "No." "It'll only be a minute..." "No. No. NO!" "*gasp*" "What happened? ouch ouch ouch..." it's a little crooked."
It was a swarm. They were trying to get in. Surrounding the house. I was running frantically throughout the house, making sure every window and small crevice was locked and closed up. Leaving no gap, or space to get in. The house was air-tight. After a while, the buzzing stopped. The swarm died down, I was safe. I walk outside to double check and I hear one last buzz, closer than ever, as if it was in my ear. It was on my shoulder. I pick it up and see a little insect. It's wings were long, it had a...