I am still half dreaming as I open my eyes against the night. The alarm hasn't gone off yet, shaking me awake with its awful, soul grating shriek, and it is not yet morning. I glance at the slime green display on the clock - 2.18am. Not good. Something has disturbed my sleep at this usually, thankfully, unknown hour and I just hope that I can ignore it and drift back down into my rest.
I try, but there is a sound, or some movement, or maybe it's both things, and my eyes are open again even though I wish...
In the little house, Brigid waited for the big lady to leave. She wanted peace, and the special sound of wind when no one was around. Kneeling people interrupted the woosh of air that made her forgetful. Kneeling people made her remember everything about praying and wanting things outside her little house. This was a House for Not Praying, for Not Wanting. But all these big people came. A miracle had happened here and she couldn't get rid of them. The gravel she laid out specially over what had been soft grass cut into their old knees and young knees...
The light was bright. This made a change from the usual dreary greyness of the sky. I walked along the street whistling to myself, this was the first time I'd been outside in the sun for what felt like months. I could feel a light breeze caressing my face as I strolled into the local park, leaves rustling in the wind, some falling to the ground around me, dancing in sync with the music I was humming in my head. I smiled to myself as birds darted back and forth across the beautiful blue sky.
I found a nice spot...
"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...
He didn't know what to say. No one did. It had never landed on anyone's finger before. The fabled winged bug, unlike any other on this planet, stayed away from all lifeforms. Of course there were stories about what would happen if it actually did touch someone, and he guessed he was about to find out. Would he die? Would untold riches come his way? Would he become the most famous person on Terra 12?
The bug, which felt lighter than a feather in his hand, looked up at him. He couldn't help but wonder what it thought. Or did...
Rip Van Winkle was a story that I never understood. How could a man that slept for forty years in a forest, aging all the while, just waltz back into town and have such and unremarkable story? Imagine having an absolutely perfect memory of the incidents, the setting and the culture of a time before this. I've always loved history, so I guess I'm just gushing out of a personal fetish, but if I was to lock myself away for years and come out of it, I would like to think that someone would really appreciate my particular knowledge.
Walking...
"I can't sleep with her next to me," I'd protested.
And, predictably, Elsa had looked wounded and said, "Love me, love my cat."
So I loved her cat. I mean, how could I not?
And a few days later:
"I can't sleep with the TV on," I said. "I'm sorry. I've tried."
"Okay, Julie," said Elsa reasonably. "That's fair."
And she turned the TV off, even though that got her to sleep quickets.
And a few days later:
"I can't sleep," I said. "It's just a thing. Go back to bed."
And she looked at me, and then she went...
"Looking at things changes us so it is impossible to look at anything the same way twice," said Foley.
I did a double take and looked at him again. He had changed: something was sprouting from the top of his head and his eyelids appeared to be melting.
"Is this me or you this time?" I asked him.
He said nothing, but gestured upwards, extending a single finger to the sky above our heads. There was the moon, a milky smudge behind the racing clouds. Suddenly it came into full view and it had changed, too. The moon would never...
The idea that bad luck happens when a black cat crosses your path is completely ridiculous. Maybe if the creature trips you up while you walk, but certainly not in any superstitious way. There are no gods or demons that control our destiny, and carrying a packet of salt to throw over your shoulder as a ward against bad luck is absurd.
Yes, yes, that kitten is adorable. No, I don't want to pet her.
However, didn't we pass a trashcan back there? I did take too many salt packets for my fries. I'll just toss out the extras.
Good Lord! What is that old fool doing. He is out and about with only a tatty old dressing gown and a pair of mouldy slippers on his feet. Thank goodness - he appears to have his pjs on, under that disgusting robe. People like that should be looked after. It is disgusting how families neglect their old folk. I would hate to grow old like that - put me in a home - NO - put me down first. I would rather have euthanasia than be reduced to a quivering, brainless, incontinent wreck. Thank goodness I am still young...