The pistol was cocked, ready to go. It was a bit overwhelming for me, having the power to just end a life. One pull of the trigger, and the poor sap in front of me had slipped from the mortal coil. Such great power.
The man in front of me slid down the wall, the blood trailing from the back of his head creating a noticable streak across the brickwork. Someone had to have noticed the noise, because sirens started blaring and spinning red lights activated.
I ran and jumped out of the window, crashing through the glass. I could...
Leaving was not a new idea.
it was a known fact that it was the Best idea.
but leaving.. was Not the easiest.
it wasn't the packing or the finding-a-new-home
or all of the usual headaches-
it was what was being left behind
this not-so-little conundrum has kept me here for exactly three years to the date.
you see..
it was built here, it can't leave here..
literaly, it cannot fit out the door.
saw it in half and take both pieces? ..no
burn it and save the ashes? but it's full!
stay? i guess so..
Leaving was the easiest decision to make, and the hardest action to take.
Clearly, it was better not to have to work for such a person. But on the other hand, if he left, he'd be leaving his co-workers to face her incompetence and maltemper himself.
What was he supposed to do? He had "Assistant Manager" on his resume now, it'd be easy for him to find other work. But over the past 6 months, he'd become good friends with a lot of his employees, who were all fun, smart people.
But, but he looked for another job. And he...
Anyway, after the assembly, the fourth-graders signed up for whatever instrument interested us.
"I like the saxophone!" So my parents signed me up for the saxophone.
Later, when we went to the music rental shop, I was presented with the saxophone. I was confused as it did not resemble what I thought was a saxophone. Where was that brass tube that slid in and out?
What a dumb kid! I wanted to play the trombone, but thought it was called a saxophone. I never protested, shy and passive as I was. So I learned to play the saxophone.
I never...
There was blood on my pillow. For that matter, there was blood in my mouth; It tasted like copper. I don't usually notice the taste of blood, but this caught me somewhat by surprise.
I got up, gargled some water, and carefully probed my mouth with my tongue. As far as I could tell, nothing hurt, and no more blood was coming out. Maybe I cut myself early in my sleep.
I got up properly, fully enjoying the freshly risen sun which was busy spraying it's yellow rays through the forest canopy. There was a fresh campfire pit just visible...
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.
It occurred a while back, and while I was living, I thought it was pretty unfair. Most people get 60, 70 years of life. Enough people got 30 or 40 years of life.
I got 25. By the time you're 25, you're only finally getting your last degree, your first bit of experience, stepping over that last big stone in your path before you enter the real world. The one where you earn enough money to do...
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.
Love Alisha
Tyler read the note his girlfriend had left tacked to the corkboard in the kitchen. "Fucking crazy cunt," he said to the empty apartment.
I'm dead. It wasn't part of the plan, but I'm really dead. The plan involved Scotch tape, 10-gauge wire, and a grey kitten. It ended me, though. And I guess that means the plan didn't work. Because me being dead wasn't part of the plan.
I'm dead and it's no one's fault but my own. The bridge was a last minute addition to the plan. So was the kite. It was one of those kites from the drugstore--cheap plastic, make in China or Poland or somewhere. There were thin wooden dowels. Not quite strong enough.
I'm dead and I think...
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 lived a short life. Just 42 years young; at the peak of my career as a well-renowned chef in New York City. Most people say it was an accident; the gunman ran into my restaurant, and randomly shot rounds into the kitchen and at the restaurant patrons.
As a dead person, unreliably, I can tell you this is not true. I say unreliably because no one will ever know that I am telling the truth here....
I jumped off of a building once, and landed on the next one. I had to. The building was crumbling from the foundation up because one tiny sliver found its way across the massive concrete block and decided it was hungry. So it expanded and soon enough, the building was shifting, leaning on the right and then switching, crumbling more and leaning on the left.
It was a leaning tower and I had to jump from the sinking building if I wanted to live peacefully. Not all of jumped, though. Some wanted to stay, saying it was their home because...