god finger-painted the sky in blue, and glued on layers of fluffed cotton for the feel of it. he carefully arranged macaroni noodles below it, forming the shapes of volcanoes, of funeral pyres. he was making a field. he imagined sun ripened workers tending his pasta land, sweating and itching, and he made it so. they did not have time to wonder who created them. god was thoughtful enough to give them mountains to look at. he was proud of that. he took his artwork home for his mother to see.
The disco ball was turning. That was the first indication that something was wrong. That disco ball hadn't moved since 1982, when his brother put it up in his parent's attic to make room for his Tattoo You poster. The disco ball had hung for 30 years from a four-by-four, good solid wood. ("That wood ain't going anywhere, his dad once told him. That's old country wood, original American oak. Before all this," and let a wave of his hand tell the rest.)
He was up there in the attic when the disco ball turned, revealing it's multi-faced mirrored squares,...
I was not going to give him the satisfaction of see me cry. I wasn’t going to beg or cry. Somehow, a blindfold was better. This routine of binding and blindfolding me before torturing me had been going on for days...maybe even weeks. It was best that I didn’t see what was coming. I didn’t want to look at him either and I didn’t want him to see the tears or fear in my eyes.
And he was at it again. The kicks and punches....it was almost like clockwork. I switched off completely. There was no point in screaming and...
He exited the train at Buenos Aires. That was as far as his ticket would take him. He wandered around the city for a while afterwards. It wasn't much, so he boarded a flight to London. The flight stewardess was pretty, but not overly so. Her hair was perfectly tied up in a bun and her lips were pink, straight out of a Barbie Doll. He smiled at her. She smiled back. That was as much as he would allow himself.
When he got off in London, he walked to where his house had been. He stared for a while...
My father had died.I was lost without any one to hold my hand.I was left alone. With no family.My hand just banged against my side as I was walking. I am now walking , lost , without any hand to hold. Since my father's death I haven't felt the same.He promised me he would be back as he left on his journey to Singapore he whispered into my ears and said "I will come home I promise". He had lied. He had left me. He left me to fend for myself.
I am lost. I continued to walk through the...
I'm lucky that shirt was red already.
I put it through the wash, but the stain doesn't seem to have come out, but I guess I can explain it as bolognese sauce or something. I took care of any signs of what happened, I mopped the floor, cleaned everything else, and then made a slight mess so things didn't seem suspicious.
I probably shouldn't worry so much, but my mother is visiting and if she finds out, she'll scream, so I'm panicking a little. The clock says it's 17:54, she's supposed to get back in five minutes. That isn't long...
"Josh, I'm leaving." She felt the tears burning behind her eyes as she spoke. A look of hurt, confusion, and concern began to etch lines into his forehead as he stood.
"What do you mean, you're leaving? Where are you going? Why?"
"You know why I'm leaving. I can't just stand by and watch everything from my old life die away while they try to rebel against the things your family are doing to them! I can't be here while my life is with them." The confusion and hurt vanished from Josh's face, but the concern remained, softening his grey...
I don't understand why it's so hard to lose weight. I know what I'm doing wrong but can't stop. Multi bags of potato chips, carrot cake with creamy frosting, sedentary lifestyle. I used to be such an active man, always playing some kind of sports, walking at least two hours daily as I hated driving in bad traffic to work. It's not as though I have a void to fill, like many other overweight people. I am happy.
So why on earth can't I change???
Martha, my slim wife doesn't even mind my protruding belly (or at least that's the...
I always imagined that I'd feel nothing. Instead, I feel everything. Every paper cut, every broken heart, everything. It's like a million voices echoing in my head, vying for attention. I tip my head back, letting the wind rip through my hair. It's calming. I feel the knots in my shoulders relax, the pounding behind my eyes ease. This is it. It will soon be over. The pain, the misery, this life. It is almost over. I glance down at the crashing waves. It's a long way down. Noone will ever recover it. Its time to say goodbye. Time to...
"Let's go!" She ran down the lane next to her apartment building holding a green balloon in one hand, high above her head. She grabbed my hand in her free one and dragged me after her. I ran to keep up with her and smiled. Always full of surprises.
"Where are we going?" She threw back her head and laughed. I loved that laugh; it was sunshine mixed with love and a smile. Looking over her shoulder at me, her dark hair blew around her tanned face. Her smile lit up her eyes and made her come alive. It also...