The day after tomorrow, this will all be over.
"You always say that," she whispers, as she tucks her feet up under herself and wraps her arms around her knees.
"One day it'll be true." He answers, heavy boots clunking on the wooden floorboards as he made his way over to the girl. "I got you something to eat." He handed her a sandwich and leant against the wall to watch her.
"How many days has it been?"
"It would be easier to tell you in weeks."
"Just let me go, please." They had discussed this many times, the talk...
"The day after tomorrow, this will all be over." He promised. Jason kissed Anna's hand as he said it and then returned his focus to the road.
"I know." She whispered into the passenger side window, "I just wish it could be over now. I'm so tired, Jason."
"Baby," He didn't break eye contact with road, "It'll all be over soon. And then we can start our life together. Isn't that what you want?"
"Yes." She sighed, "I just didn't want it this way."
"Well, this is the only way it can be." Anna knew he was right and she...
I'm not sure what's wrong with the site today, but it doesn't seem to be working for me. When I click for the prompt, the clock doesn't appear. Talk about a pile of rotten potatoes.
Chazz sat back after moving off a ways. He wanted to see the reaction. It wasn't going to be easy for the old man. Chazz had a picture in his house of his granparents sitting together on the beach. Most beach chairs were low to the ground, these weren't, these afforded old folks a short trip to vertical. The women weren't memborable, but the men were. Both we wearing white undershirts, one V-neck the other not, black shorts with gold clasp belt buckles, and black dress sock up to their knees. The old man was dressed the same way.
He...
Potatoes. He was so sick of eat potatoes; mashed, baked, steamed, roasted, jacket, it didn't matter what topping or how much butter he slathered on, enough was enough. Not that there was any money for toppings or butter. Yesterday he'd gone to the shop at closing time and lurked just out of sight while the already reduced items were being further reduced. Once again, he was able to score a large bag of King Edwards for 29p. Excellent, he could make that last at least three days, maybe more if was able to get some free stuff out of the...
Potatoes.
That's all the six year old girl would eat. And it seemed that no matter what else I tried to serve her, potatoes was it. She wouldn't try anything else. Wouldn't look at anything else. All she ever wanted? Potatoes.
"Honey, what are we supposed to do?" I sighed, sliding into bed that night. "We went out to the Olive Garden. And she asked for potatoes!"
My husband chuckled a little. "Well, look on the bright side: at least it's a vegetable she wants. Could be worse."
"This is bad enough! No protein! No grain! Heck, even sugar would...
Fitzwilliam scowled as he surveyed the meager farms that bordered his own. One in particular, owned by one Aiden O'Dell, grew nothing but the wretched root. Apparently the folk here were simple enough to enjoy living on it.
And foolish enough to depend on a single crop for sustenance, he mused inwardly, pleased at himself for being so much better than the mere peasants.
He whistled as his convoy of carriages continued on the road to the port, its armed escort trudging along in silence, but ever watchful, in case of attack by the occasional band of ungrateful Irishmen. He...
Potatoes. They were on my plate at dinner. I ate them. They tasted fine. After dinner I went to the bookstore and thought of you. I think of you there most, though we never shared our favorite books with each other. I don't know if you like Tolstoy or Camus, Kurt Vonnegut or George Orwell. But I think of you most often at the bookstore. Or the library. Anywhere with a million stories and possibilities between fresh and aging paper. I think of us that way, a million possibilities; a story waiting to be written or read. A story to...
In the harsh twilight, he knelt and dug.
In the bottom of the phoenix-grave, he spread the spores that would feed on and support the beginnings 0f all life.
In the sharp, glassy soil, he placed the seeds of a new planet.
In the unmeasured, empty space of an hour, he changed the course of the universe.
In the flat gray expanse of weathered silicates, three thousand potatoes rested.
In the dead methane-carbon dioxide atmosphere, the harsh actinic sun slanted down, undimmed by ozone.
In the cool, moist air of his time machine, he left the dawn of the world,...
My fiance loves potatoes. She loves potatoes, like, more than a friend. But only if they're in french fry form. She's actually a french fry sniper. If I order food accompanied by fries, it's a guarantee that throughout the course of our meal, she will surreptitiously steal fries one by one until my stash of salty goodness has been completely plundered.
I have no defense for her fry-stealing ways. She's an addict. There's no other way to describe it. I want to stage an intervention and have our friends and family sit her down and confront her about this. I...