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...
Drudgery of the everyday. There's really nothing else to explain it. Banality of sadism. John, standing at the dump, Alka Seltzer pill wrapped in a piece of bologna for the birds. Has he ever thought what a bird might feel while its innards explode? That's not really the point. He wants to know if it can work. If he can leave a wake of destruction with nothing but everyday objects.
He watches the bird gulp down the bologna and retake flight. He sees it hesitate, and pop, it falls from the air, guts hanging out of its mouth.
Adam, working...
The butterflies danced outside her window bidding her to come and play. Lessons, lessons, lessons, She looked again just as a fairy slipped beneath the rose petals on her windowsill. She looked closer but couldn't be sure. Was that a fairy foot or just some dust. Mum was calling from downstairs. She looked around and then opened the window just big enough to squeeze through.
On the ledge her wings unfurled and she was off. Dancing in the breeze. The hummingbirds joined her and together they flew off to the honeysuckle where there was a party for the king....
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...
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...
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...
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.
"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...
Giving in wasn't an option. She - he'd not had time to ask her name - had wept, pleaded, then finally agreed. Shuddering, the way he'd imagined a suicide would cutting his own wrist, she'd - Hell, he should ask her name at least - placed the unpinned grenades one at a time behind his back.
The release levers successfully pinned between spine and the plastic that had separated driver from passengers, he felt their edges anew as he extended his arms to push against the bus's folding doors.
"Good girl. Get upstairs. When it's safe. When they're all gone....