Midnight on the roof and I am still standing in the same place he left me. This wasn't what I had planned; losing my virginity on the tar and gravel roof of the Shop and Save. Especially when the guy that took it was hiding from the cops.
His breath smelled like gummy worms as he kissed me. His hands cold as icebergs, I just wanted it over and done. I was tired of being the only nineteen year old that never knew what it felt like to...you know, do it.
I didn't expect it to be so quick. Fast...
Seed sack in one hand and broom pole in the other, Johnny Appleseed approached a patch of freshly tilled earth. Four rows, twelve feet long each, ran parallel to one another. With the broom pole in his left hand, he faced the first row, made a hole and dropped three seeds within. He sidestepped six inches to the left, made another hole, dropped another three seeds in. At the end of the first row, Johnny briefly glanced back over his shoulder and caught a hoarding chipmunk stuffing his face with seeds from a hole he'd just sown four feet away....
The Americans landed as planned. Somewhat off course, one of them, Jon from the Bronx recognized the farmhouse. "It's Helena's" he said breathing out, relieved. "anyone got a smoke?" he said smiling and looking around quickly at his buddies.
"Are you shitting? this woman's a spy and God knows who's in there with her. Ten to one there's Germans", said the Captain snapping the Camel right out of Jon's mouth. He grinned and the Captain motioned for four of his men to advance.
In the window, Helena seemed angelic. The man at her feet was indeed very blond, the men...
I'm waiting in the emergency room. Fluorescent lights illuminate the sickly sterile floor, casting ghoulish reflections on the wall. The woman next to me coughs, and I shirk back.
"Sampson, Lila?" A plainly pleasant voice calls out. I blink before I get up.
The soles of my shoes stick to the floor, slick with residual cleaning fluid. My fingers have fallen asleep, pinpricks careen up through the tips.
"How is he doing," I ask, feeling disembodied. "Has it grown back?"
There was originally only one photograph. Now there were two. Well, two halves. Incomplete. Roughly cut down the middle of the bay, neatly bisecting the bench. One was lightly discarded in a pile of "Things to do/sort."
The other was folded and refolded and bent again, then sat in a wallet. Strangely, the one that was thrown aside was the more loved. It showed regret. It showed hope. It showed Faith.
The tattered half showed bitterness, anger, loss. Odd, really as the original showed promise. Anticipation. Love. The man who captured all these strange emotions just thought they were a...
I slept inside the dream I didn't spin from yarn
this time inside my dream
i didn't spin another lie within the tale
you never sold to me
I look inside this bed I didn't make
the spell i didn't spin
from yarn inside my dream
I couldn't sell this dream to awakened eyes and ears
and dreams never do
sell themselves well outside the walls inside our hearts
I bake for you but do not eat
I draw for you but do not sell
I sing for you but do not sing
The things and songs from stolen dreams...
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...
In 1921, he flew from the Great Rift Valley. Ever since then, Luke had been a hero, from New York to San Francisco to everywhere in between, he was known for conquering the seemingly impossible laws of physics and flying from the valley. But he didn't reverie in his fame. Instead, he settled down in Castor, Arizona, keeping a simple life tending to sheep and cattle for the local farmers. Ince in a while, a television crew would show up and he would dissapear for a while; no one knew where he went. Except for me. I knew exactly where...
Whoever said a picture was worth a thousand words had never met Frank.
The man had never met a camera he didn't like, a paintbrush he couldn't weild with the skill of an accomplished demolition man. He didn't just fail to capture his subjects, he mutilated them, butchered their faces on canvas or in gelatin print to the point that the destruction itself was an art form.
Shadows cast a sinister light on the angelic face of his little girl. Brush strokes created abhorrent textures in the golden halo of his wife's hair.
Artists were said to put themselves into...
I looked up at the cathedral door and I thought this is what it means, this is how it all culminates, in this big round arch towering above my head. It was like a mouth, opening wide to swallow me up and draw me down inside, to consume and digest me. Just like the church, I thought. This is what it does. Consumes me.
After I'd breached the threshold, the sounds of the war outside hushed and all I heard was the soft murmur of the others, deeper inside, the soft crying of lost and destroyed. Here's where we come,...