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...
She opened the envelope and screamed. The paper didn't so much as drop to the floor as simply fall apart in her hands, clear liquid eating its way out of the corners and seeping everywhere, floor, clothes skin.
She screamed again as the contents of the envelope liquidated the very flesh from her hands. She turned sharply as the back door banged, meeting the horrified eyes of her husband through a blur of tears.
"Holy fuck," was all that he whispered as he grabbed the 'phone from the side and dialled 999, barking orders for an ambulance.
"Why would they...
She knelt on the tile floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that broke? The dust swirled from the broken jar as water trickled out, bits of greenery carried along with it. World jars were expensive, and none to easy to make or acquire.
Another small little universe left to dry on the floor. She wept a bit as she tried to sweep the glass together with her hands, avoiding the sharp edges. She really should get a broom, but the strength to stand seemed to have left her. Why did...
Potatoes. All she could think of were potatoes. Since going on this diet, she was even dreaming about potatoes. Chips, drenched in vinegar; jacket potatoes filled with cheese; mashed potatoes; roast potatoes; any kind of potato. She was obsessed.
Every diet book had drilled it into her that carbs are bad, so if she was to drop two dress sizes before her best friend's wedding then potatoes were strictly forbidden.
She was excited about being bridesmaid, she really was. It was such an honour, though not totally unexpected, she and Haley had been friends since preschool. It was only natural...
She hid behind the thin sheet of fabric. Her hair gently fell upon her bare back as she felt the breeze gently brush against her bare chest. Her eyes shifted from left to right as she watched his every move. He walked to the edge of the bed and began to unbutton the wrinkled dress shirt he sport that night. The shirt reeked of hard liquor and a slight hint of nicotine. She breathed in the heavy scent of sin that floated through the room. Unable to control herself, she let out a soft moan. He turned towards her direction....
She pulled the book off the shelfe and flip over a few pages. The images were beautiful, the paper such a wonderful quality. She stroked it with her fingertips, feeling the inc on the page. What a book. So old yet in such good shape. The language was unknown to her, some form of chinese maybe. She could fing no price on it. WHat were the odds that she would be able to afford such a gem? She put it back and ambled through the store. Nothing else spoke to her. Finally she went back for the book and brought...
Scott winced as he saw the woman spread the fingers of her left hand on the table. Of the standard complement of five, she had only her pinky and thumb remaining. The others appeared to have been cleanly sliced off.
"Ouch," he said, taking notes on her chart. "What was your occupation?" he asked politely, trying not to let the sight bother him.
"Data entry clerk," she said in a laconic, bitter tone.
"I, ah, yes, I can see how that would be ..." Scott coughed to disguise his confused verbal fumbling. He wrote some more, primarily as an excuse...
Oh to drown in ones finest. Her shawl spread around her like tentacles, the pearl necklace, restored to its natural place shimmered under the sodium lights as the diaphanous skirt became squid-like. To prepare for this moment, to understand that you will be suspended in front of hundreds, thousands on a good night. Perhaps there is no better way to die than in front of an adoring gaze.
There would be no death of course, no final throes, no panicked look. The calmness of the water as she let herself go limp, felt herself carried by the eyes of the...