Kent was stabbing someone. I think it was Mary. Maybe it was Bill. I don't know. The important thing is that it was a person and he or she was in the process of being killed by Kent, who everyone called "The Guy Who Likes to Stab People." Once he tried to stab Tony buy Tony was wearing chainmail so it didn't work. Later they went for figs.
Kent finished stabbing the person, who then died. The person was red, slick with blood. I didn't know if it was a man or woman. When he was done, Kent wiped his...
The audience stared open mouthed at me. They've probably never heard that much senseless profanity before. But blaming me, they can't. I told them my material wouldn't fit here, but they wanted me to do it anyway, so now they have to sit through it. It's as simple as that. Admittedly, I could ease it up a little, or better yet, I tell them my "Aristocrats" version. That'll teach granny not to ask me what I do for a living. I really hate these family gatherings...
In hindsight, the solution was obvious. They had sat there for nearly half an hour, staring up at the stars. She'd tried to figure out why he was so quiet. He'd picked her up at 7, right on time, survived her dad's "look of death", and taken her out on the river in his boat. Now, sitting on the little sandbar, the remains of their picnic sitting in the basket beside him, he'd gone silent. She wondered if she'd said something wrong, something that made him regret ever asking her out in the first place. Or perhaps he was bored;...
"You can count me out." he crossed his arms and leaned against the Maserati in such a way that made Jill know not to cross him again. But, despite the little voice screaming at her in her head, she did anyway. "Oh, come on, Finn, nothing's going to happen. Don't be a chicken." His features darkened. "No. I'm not going in there, and there's nothing you can say that will make me." she groaned inwardly; for 19, the guy sure could whine. "She isn't that bad, Finn." she said, exhausted with this argument. "N.O." he spelled it out for her,...
There was a girl that I used to work with at the Goodwill who had eyes that were far too close together. Her body was pale and soft, but not a way that is sweet and makes me want to bullshit about marshmallow metaphors. Everything about her drove me to edge. Especially when she talked about her brother and how much they hated each other. I hated him, in my mind, just as much as I hated her.
On most days, she would rub her wrist in pain. The first time I ever asked about it was a mistake. She...
The following is excerpted from IrishAbroad circa 2000:
Flashback .Sunday morning 11am...Woke up to the sound of me oulwan bawlin up the stairs..."Will ye get bleedin up, and go and get me the News of the World outside the church for jaysus sake, out til all hours last night"....Me head was bleedin spinning...I could never handle those rock shandys. I was rackin me brains tryin to remember what happened with Suzie, Phil, and Mags, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember...The waft of Kearns` sausage’s wrapped in batch loaf smothered in lashings of grease was what greeted me...
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?"
I didn't mean to do it- Honest to God, I swear he left me no choice. It was like he watered down my tea on purpose, just to irritate me. And he was always acting so suave to my mistresses, as if he owned the goddamn place. So yes, I shot my butler. But not to kill him or anything, really, I just wanted to scare him a little, I was never gonna pull the stupid trigger or anything. So I pull out the measly little hand gun, and he just goes white as his dainty little gloves he was...
The city was empty. I lost my way back in the dark unfamiliar landscape, absence of neon flashing landmarks to guide, silence unnerving me like nothing ever had in my one hundred and eighty years on this planet. Since immortality was the norm, the world had changed beyond all imagination, people no longer wishing to stay cramped so scattered around the galaxy, Earth abandoned, unloved, only a few of us remained as guardians. But in essence we were prisoners of our grandparents greed, innovation and biological advances.
I am a very lonely man. We all are.
Dear Santa,
Hi. I'm not good at beating around the bush, so I will get right to the point. Here is my list for Christmas this year. I realize that it is April 15th, and I am late in filing my taxes, but I felt this was more important than filing my taxes. Also, I really, really, really don't want to file my taxes. Anyway, my Christmas list.
1. I'd like a pony. A plain, brown pony is fine. If you can bring one named Trigger or Lightning or Sidney Applebaum, that would be terrific, but really, just a regular...