The water crashes onto our feet. His hand lets go of mine as he turns away from me. He tells me he can't let me do this. I just shake his thoughts away. If you loved me you'd stay with me. I look at him and smile. He was really remarkable. I sweep away the hair that had fallen into his eyes. Our lips embrace for the last time. He tries to hold on to me but I push him away. I walk into the water as the waves takes me under.It's colder then I imagine. I can hear his...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway.
My lost daughter. Well, actually that isn't who she was, but as soon as I first saw her I convinced myself it was. I always do.
So far there had been sixty five possibilities.
John, my second husband was a patient man. Had to be. He was rich so indulged me. Paid for our trips round the world whenever there was a possible sighting. Gave me hope when everyone tried to convince me it was time to grieve, not continue searching.
Suzie would be fifteen now....
The lamp wouldn't turn on. Lucy shifted, humping herself up on the mattress to look at the actual location of the light, fingers searching to see if, perhaps, she just hadn't hit the right button. But it was still there. The cheap lamp she had bought with her sister at Target while decorating the apartment she hadn't wanted to get.
"Unf," Lucy muttered under her breath. Light bulbs. She had no clue where light bulbs were. Forcing herself up, she headed out of her room and into the bathroom, flicking on the light there. But still, there was no light....
"You just have to reach."
There was no response. I looked down at Bunny, who had reached a moment before and felt the horror of the moment. He had returned to the down. He was nothing more then the fluff he was filled with any more.
I couldn't reach him, and he could no longer reach me.
We'd been together for so long, and I thought I knew him. But there it was. He was looking down, just a little to the side, and the black buttons of his eyes were no longer bright and interested, but simply buttons.
"Please,"...
As per usual, our conversation lasted two words:
"Hey"
"Hi"
And that was it for the rest of the day.
I can't explain it. It's not like we were friends or acquaintances, or even enemies although some might've described our relationship as such. We certainly had a bit of an obsession with one another, but whether it was in a negative or positive way (one can {and will} argue that obsession is never a positive thing) I can't be sure.
But everyday was the same; walk in, greet each other, and stare from the corners of our eyes.
It wasn't...
Holographic women are all the rage. Easier than humans to be around. No talking back or gorging on chocolates to ruin their figures.
Only costs a thousand a minute, for a rich guy like me it's nothing. Won't be long before the price will be cheap so everyone will have them.
Dating agencies will be redundant as everyone will have their own virtual mate, eager to please. With the headgear it feels like you are with a real live woman.
Today I had a shock. Mirabelle somehow changed into a man, mistake in the software I guess, but until much...
£18000. That's all it would take. But it was more than Charles had, that was certain. He gazed in wonder at that glossy, dog-eared magazine page. Awe, even. He had been looking at that same page every morning for the past fourteen years and with a sigh he would fold the mag shut and let it sit on his lap and lean his head back and rock. The rocking chair had belonged to his father. That was the only thing of his father's that he ever got. The cancer got him, a few years earlier. The rest of the family...
Twist. Twist your t-shirt to ring out the blood and water. Shake. Shake your head again and again. It's over. It's gone now.
Your palm feels cold against your forehead, but the blood is hot. Hot and wet and it feels funny because there's no pain, only heat. And you can see but its not the same somehow, like when you look away from staring at the lightbulb and shapes dance around you.
I hear pounding. Like drums. Hammering a distant rhythm but wait... no. It's in my head. It really is. Blood. Pounding, marching through each stressed canal like...
The music was beautiful
Mournful
The dress was lovely
Black
My chest was tight
Crying
My mind was spinning
Gone
I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead.
I'm not truly Welsh of course, being that my Great Grandfather's Mother's second husband was from Scotland. A secret shame that the Family has bourn quite well, considering. When questioned over my flame coloured Ginger hair, relatives successfully hinted at the local milk delivery representative as explanation. An obvious solution, except for the fact that her hair was clearly and obviously dyed, but there you go.
So, our family are what Cwm-yn-Canu locals would call "incomers", not...