She began a cigarette.
She thought about the beginning, when both of them wrestled with being simultaneously addicted to and afraid of each other. The fear was its own pleasure: they both noticed that the adrenaline of their hours apart was worth infinite foreplay.
She watched the first part of the logo turn orange and then grey. The image lasted in the ash for a second before mixing in with the image of the paper.
Later, she began to notice a strange emotional trajectory in their evenings together: the impulse, the sex, and then sadness, or disappointment. The sweat turned...
She shifted slightly, adjusting her spine against the doorframe. People kept screaming at her to get out of the door way. She was too tired. She had been there too long. The people, who were screaming, had no need of the door. They had much need of her. So they screamed. She noticed that her nails were clean and bloody. She thought that she would have to dirty the nails with a towel in order to stem the flow of blood.
"Couldn't have picked a better night for it... or a better doorway."
This was the message that she had...
Fecking parents. Stupid betches who sent me to some Asiaman country. Like, the Olympics were here or some shit? Margo watched the gymnastics because she says those skinny betches give her inspiration.
So the plane. There's some old shriveled mushroom man who murmurs some language in his sleep. His elbow keeps bumping mine, mind my bubble betch.
Some dude picks me up at the airport. No English, obviously. Why the feck don't you speak English? I thought everyone learns it in school. Whatever. My parents sent me here for culture. Sorry if eating dogs and people yelling squiggly lines at...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. But was pushed away, rudely by a tall man. He walked in, I had seen him before. Years younger. The features were still the same. He walked straight for me, not hesitating. Called to me: "Jacob.". The voice too was familiar but different somehow. His eyes were my father's, the nose too. But it was not him, nor was it my brother.
He talked fast: "I have to prove something."
I didn't know how to reply, I couldn't place him. That face, I felt if I...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. Being a professional, I have no time for such girls. My life is full of alcohol, women, and meetings. I also work on occasion, but if that were the reason I came into my profession, I would not currently be involved in what I do.
Do I care about the world? Funny you should ask that. Just the other day, I sent a donation to a charity. I felt bad because people are starving... somewhere.
My girlfriend is beautiful. She has done modeling for various designers...
she was tired. she was cold. she was a ninja and she was hungry. hungry for revenge. they were out there she just had to find them. the ninja girl gather herself and left the doorway. time for payback. out in the streets, people stared at the ninja girl. she ignored them and walked right passed the throngs of people. weapons must be located for ninja zombies wouldn't die on their own.
after weapon collection it was time for zombie hunting.
remember to cut off the head first this time she reminded herself. there are no points for style when...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. It wasn't a normal doorway because when I say doorway you think of things like wood and brass nobs and, possibly, hinges.
This had none of those.
And it was hardly a red gown, because you are likely thinking of something you'd take to a ball, or if you're the really twisted sort, and I can tell you are, there's an image of a piece of clothing given out to a somewhat disturbing institution, or asylum, for those less inclined to modern verbiage or intent on...
"I can't write something like that" I said gruffly.
It was in the darkened room as I stared upon the sunset of the days of the world.
"What are you talking about?" said the 2nd person in the room.
"Me" I said
"Just go with the prompt" said Darrin, the 3rd person.
"Okay" I sighed.
"Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway, clutching a Tec-9 in each hand. She kicked the door open and let loose a barrage of bullets. A hail of gunfire, proceeded by a red mist of blood. She went...
The wolf had finally lost her, but she had lost the basket of goodies for her grandmother, and the old woman only had until sunset before she would pass away.
Red got up and dashed through the shining, wet streets, knocking into people without pardoning herself all the way, desperate to get her hands on something, anything, that she could bring to her grandmother.
Then she saw it: Me Hing Shao Pun: the Wolf's Garden, a restaurant that had opened up in the house her grandmother had been born in. The wood frame exterior was dark, a rusted loudspeaker warbled...
Once, in Beijing, you were there. You were here. Doorway. Phone. Stammer.
She clutched round her that red gown, shawl over shoulders, and stood. Stands?
I am across the street, with you. Table. Café. On the table: phone, keys, change. Two glasses.
One and a half minutes ago, I hit "record" on the phone and slid the phone toward you. Between you and me.
You cleared your throat, and said:
Once, in Beijing, you were there. A young girl, a gown too big. You saw a couple across the street. One older, thin, thin-lipped, a look of resignation. One younger,...