"You can count me out."
"What? Why? Come on, it's only one little job. The last one we'll ever need."
I looked at him warily. "I don't even want to know. Just let me go back home. I'd really rather not get involved in this."
"You're the best hacker we know."
"EX-hacker," I growled through gritted teeth. "I'm done with all of this."
"You're not done. Your heart is racing. You remember the thrill of a job."
I couldn't very well say no to that point, at least. My heart was pounding in my chest. I could feel the blood...
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. And it's absolutely nothing like I expected.
In all of the near-death experience stories I was told they talked about the light. So much so that I thought that I should walk into it, if only to see what was on the other side. Only there was nothing there, not as far as I've seen anyway. There's just the light.
I keep thinking that if I keep walking, maybe something will appear. But I've been walking and...
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.
Surprisingly, I don't mind all that much. It's much calmer out here in the abyss. There's a strange peace that comes with being nothing. Or, rather, not being. There is a difference, you see.
Because I am not, I am able to not be wherever I like. And I am not in the middle of everything.
While I was alive, I loved stories. Stories were incredible things. I would look for them everywhere-- music, movies, books, newspapers,...
Wine, you are wonderful. I won't shout it, I won't be heard about above the din. Nightlife never appealed to me beyond the very notion of it. I appreciate gatherings, but rarely the gathered. And so, wonderful thou art, wine.
I got tanked on pinot gris and focused on her adoringly. She had better legs than this too expensive wine I ordered with careless enthusiasm. Yeah, she was a showgirl. It's as obvious as the hangover I'd nurse in the morning.
If your parents are going to name you after a song, there are a few things they should think about.
For a start, it needs to be a good song. Actually, no, it needs to be an actual name. Nobody wants a kid called "You know what they do to guys like us in prison."
But it still needs to be a good song. A really good one. Not some one-hit-wonder.
And it should be subtle. I mean, "Penny Lane" - that's obvious. "Layla"? Not so much.
Maybe I'll change my name to Layla, when the forms come through. Or...
I jumped. I blacked out. When I awoke, head ringing and eyes spotted with colours, he turned round slowly.
"You ever heard of an Ox Bow Lake?"
"nuhuh" I said. Mind you, the gag would have rendered the same result as a Shakespeare soliloquy.
"sahwiwochee" Hell, it was different. Maybe if you were a dentist, this conversation would be less one sided. I eyed the man who had broken in to the lab, wondering if he'd had orthodontist training. He knew his way round a physics lab alright, but fiddling with the quantum accelerator probably wasn't the best idea. That...
My best friend is a guy called Peter and he's incredible at talking to people. He has a vault of information in his head that he's gotten from all of his past conversations with people. When he meets someone new he merely tells them what he knows so far about their hometown and then lets them build upon it, this he'll take to the next person he meets from there and so on. I was with him the other day and we were talking to a guy from south africa, we live in australia, and the guy was used to...
Lola is the best dancer in the class. I couldn't believe her moves the first time I saw her, she was that good. I am good too, everyone knows that. But to dance with Lola--that'd be a dream come true. Somehow, though, I couldn't get up the nerve to ask her, and the guy always has to ask., It's the way things are done, you know, even in middle school.
So today Stewie comes up to me and tells me that if I wont' ask her, then he's going to go up to her and tell her that I said...
Lola hummed a song she barely remembered as she sat on the middle step of the front porch. She would have sat on the top step but it had been snapped in half since the previous winter. Jeremy said he was going to fix it. Either later or tomorrow or the next day.
He had been saying that for months. Since spring.
By now she had gotten used to hopping over the hole. Lola hardly even cared if he fixed it or not.
He couldn't even mow the lawn. It was tall in some place, yellow and burnt in others...
Lola was no showgirl; but by looks you might think otherwise. Pin-straight, jet-black hair to her waist, a faux leather skirt, and a jeweled tanktop adorned her petite frame. She was rebellious; a 17-year-old "new kid in school," she was trying to make a good impression on the boys - she made more of an impression on her 7th period math teacher, Eric Harrison, a 29-year-old single man with math on his mind, and not much else until Lola showed up; front row seat, leather-like skirt wearing, flipping her hair like she had no cares about life. I watched from...