He ran into the room, his heart poundinf, and his clothes soaking wet. He had never felt sich all consuming fear as when he had walked into her bedroom to find her gone.
His darling, his little one, the part of him that was part of his wife as well. His Bella.
The ransom note was pretty standard so the police said. £5000000 pounds. Non sequential. Not marked.
He had the money, so he got it together and walked to the meet.
They got the money, but his Bella wasn't there. He heard no more from the kidnappers.
The police...
"Mary?" a middle aged, crows footed woman queried as she stepped over the threshold.
"Mistress…" the young maid gestured her in, both blushing. Somewhat flustered the farmer's wife surveyed the room.
"Tom!" she blushed on blushes. Something the old woman had not thought possible. Interest upon Interest. Clearly no Pythagorean shape would ever do this web justice.
"I haven't said naught, Po… I mean, Mistress." the plough boy blurted. He was good at blurting, the witch noticed. It was good he had found what he was good at, at such a young age.
"Meg, I need your help again…" the...
Susan hopped onto the train headed to San Francisco. She was running from her fears, reality, and the one she loved the most, Sal.
As the train made it's loud whistle, and started to leave, Sal came running out of the train station door. He looked up and saw his Susan leaving.
He went running after the train. He jumped down onto the tracks and ran as fast and hard as he could until he was finally able to grab ahold of the railing.
He pulled himself up onto the train, hanging by one arm and a partial foothold....
There was a stage. A microphone. A guy with a guitar and another at a piano. One spotlight trying to mark out everything up there and missing the edges. And that was it. If the audience in the jazz bar had been expecting anything more, anything grander or, well, jazzier, they were disappointed. Most were. It was a good place to be disappointed in.
It was a good place to spend money when it had nowhere else to be spent too. That’s mostly what these people were doing. Spending money that they didn’t know what else to do with. Spending...
One scoop chocolate, one scoop blood.
I went inside the intensive care unit and felt the humid air. Everyone--mum, Paulie, Randy and grampa--was there. I approached dad's bed and leaned my right ear to his mouth.
He was asphyxiating, and there's no doubt he's going to get through another day. Yet, his words echoed through my head like a whisper resounding inside a cave.
I told him I just did the regular errand and took care of some things for him. He stopped.
Drip. Drip. Drip. The blood plopped to the concrete floor like a leaky faucet. He contemplated about the throbbing pain he felt with every plop.
He enjoyed that feeling. Concentrating so much on one pain over and over again. The first time he asked his boyfriend to blindfold him and punch in him the face - his boyfriend thought he was being dirty.
"You like it rough..." he had coyly responded.
The problem was it stopped being about the pleasure and more about the pain. He wanted to feel the warm liquid glop from his mouth and puddle to his...
"But I don't understand," said Marie, carefully patting her French-inspired doo. She had enough hairspray on it to make it impervious, not only to wind, but to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune as well. "Why can't you explain this to me? What do you mean they've had enough cake?"
"Don't worry about it, Ms. Antoinette," said Katie Couric with a grin. "It's nothing to lose your head about."
*rimshot*
The giant surveyed the landscape, wondering where all the people were. Truth was, he didn't know he was a giant. Everyone else he had ever come in contact with was a giant, so humans - the little people he had no knowledge of - didn't exist in his mind. Yes, he saw them, but they were nothing but insignificant little insects, ants, only there to annoy and crush.
He marveled at this world, so green and rocky, so unlike the limitless cloudy floors of his huge domain. He reached down and picked a few blades of grass, and at once...
I will put my fingers together and pull the grass up from the roots. I will do it before my mother comes outside. If I don't she'll ask "what have you been doing out here all this time?" But if I do, I'll have something to show for myself. I'll give her the stalks of grass as if they are flowers. She may thank me, but she more likely will wonder why I bothered to dig up the good grass.
I will move away from home one day soon. I will plant a garden where I live. I will make...