Tell her, he told himself. Tell her before it's too late. From a scuffed-over, leather-upholstered chair near the front window, he watched her. She turned the crank on the machine. Or knob. It made a screeching sound. On the counter she banged something hard. Again.
He looked around. No one noticed.
She swiped at the counter, then her hair. She was wearing some kind of kerchief. That's not right, he thought. And scrambled for it, what do they call it: This pleased him.
Haltingly, he crept forward. Praying no one would notice him, because they might stop him before he...
I rolled down my window. "Can I give you a ride somewhere?"
"Ditch the car."
"I thought you wanted a ride." I had pulled over. I'd been trying to help her out. She had green hair. Green, then, white, then medium brown at the roots, but it looked passable on her.
"You are ruining this city. This city is a tomb, because of you."
"You're a sweetheart, aren't you?"
"Fuck off."
But I was worried about her. "Hey, where's your mom?"
She didn't move. I waited. "Where's your mom?"
Frozen. I backed up, signaled, parked. It was so bright I...
Not really that pretty
But lovely
Strong
flowing
She sat on the beach watching the last sunset
We were tense and sad but the sun did not care
When I remember will I think of the beautiful sun?
The beautiful you?
Not really that pretty
Striking, alive worthy of the perfect sunset
And so much more
She'd been a good wife. Comely and passionate, even through bearing 6 children (4 of whom survived) and I'd only strayed but once.
Of course she had known straight away, but had nodded; she wasn't perfect either. But while I loved her, and she me, we'd understood. No one can bear everything alone. And some loads were the cause of each other.
I'd known she had gazed upon others with a lusty eye. To be honest, I wasn't as philosophical as she; fierce jealous rage had filled me with hypocrisy. I learned a valuable lesson in self-delusion, but maybe not...
I have wanted him since the first time I saw him on the screen. He wasn't my type, but he drew me in anyway. Classic good looks mingled with eccentric behavior to form this beautiful creature. His voice on the radio spoke to me intimately. His words dissipated into a fantasy, he said only the things I wanted to hear. I hear him say, "I've been hoping you would notice me like I noticed you." Oh, and I have. I have and I want. That he could see me how I see him. That he could know me and love...
Green cover holds me. Oak Tree stands guard behind me. Sun warms me. Stream sings me to sleep. Sleep meets with Dream and carries me into the depths of Imagination where everything is what nothing ever was or will be.
"Hello, that was quick. Only 40 minutes on hold…"
"How can I… help…you today?"
"I stepped on my wallet and cracked my credit card. I need a replacement, please."
"Are you the primary card holder?"
"No. That's me wife."
"Can I speak to the p…"
"She's at work. I don't have a job."
"I need to speak to th…"
"You didn't last time… it took an hour of me convincing you I'm authorised on this account, but…"
"I need to speak to the primary card holder."
"But I'm authorised to access this account! Last time I had to talk to...
Martin Adams began to type. He wasn't sure what to say; a fact that the repeated DELETES and EDITS made clear. Love letters were so much simpler in the pre-computer days. You'd write what you felt, scrunch about 3/4 of the pages up and throw them next to, if not in, the bin. Then you would belabour whether to post the thing. Sometimes you would, then regret it. Sometimes you wouldn't, then regret it. Now all he had to do was click SEND. Or not. Not click SEND that is.
Martin wished he'd managed to set up that clever thing...
story by Monsterbat, typed by mom:
"Sit up, please."
She sat up, her hair gleaming, her eyes glistening. She'd gotten these for free since she had gotten the deal. Show one picture of yourself in the magazine, get one physical therapy session free. She said, "You aren't very qualified at this; are you?"
Another arm got wrenched off. "Oops, sorry."
"You know what, that's it. Even if I'm a zombie, I have some rights. And if I hadn't eaten the court, I'd take you to one." Blood started dripping from her lips.
"Why don't you make a zombie court," he...
Written by Monsterbat:
The mouse didn't know about the afterlife. It just started to move. After that evil cat had eaten him whole, it felt extremely liberating to climb back out of the jaws of death. It travelled to the nearest art supply store, and started to look around. It finally came to the big cheese: a large, yellow coloured notebook with holes made to give the illusion of a dairy product. Mr. Whiskers screamed with joy. He strained to open the notebook. He achieved his goal, but not without a price. The strain was too much. He began to...