Wine. Specifically, white. She hated white wine. She wanted red. The buzzing warm feeling was building. Building the way it had when she'd been inside the LHC doing maintenance. No one knew she'd been there. No one could explain how she'd survived. Then in a blink, she hadn't been. That was when she realised something Quantum had happened.
She perceived a reality where the waiter had gotten the wrong bottle from the shelf, picking red instead of the sought for white. He'd lose his job later that day for continued disobedience. His wife would commit suicide in four months, when...
The pistol was cocked, ready to go. Aiming at the highway man was easy, pulling the trigger was the problem. I couldn't do it no matter how much I wanted to. His dark brown eyes bore into my soul, that's how if felt at that precise moment. My body responded, unexpectedly, primitive feelings, not appropriate for this situation. My older, pregnant sister and I held up enroute for our summer vacation.
His long black hair fastened by a long navy ribbon, his light mahogany skin, full lips smiling at me was all I could think about. The right eyebrow raised,...
Absent. That's what I was called by my fifteen year old daughter. The absent father. She did not know the truth, I worked undercover. Danger. Security. Empathy. Love. I had it all but I had nothing for my own family. That isn't true, I thought about them in the spare moments, pulled up images in my mind. Reflected on those special times tucking Beth into bed while she slept, unaware I'd be staring at her, a light in the hall illuminating her face.
I knew Beth thought I didn't care. I know because that's how I felt about my own...
“Right next to the heart-shaped waffle maker, that’s where it sits.” Like so many other thoughtful, can’t-miss gifts that were utilized immediately and then quickly forgotten about.
“No, not the deflated exercise ball, it’s there on the other side. Can’t you see how neatly and purposely it’s stacked?” A thin, film of dust had collected and moisture had started to claim some of the top pages. But it was all still there, the zenith of my existence and purpose in this life.
“No I’m not talking about heart-shaped waffles!” She’s antagonizing me now… “Oh, haven’t you heard? They were all...
Vanquished.
I was confused. This isn't how I expected the novel to end. Who committed the crime? Where was the last chapter with the explanation, the satisfying ending the reader could ponder on when the final lines had been read?
This book looked identical to the others in the bookshop the next day but twenty pages were missing at the back. I was waiting in line to exchange the book when I had a strong mysterious feeling not to.
Returning home I sat on the battered red leather sofa and opened the last page again.
More words than I expected....
It was ridiculous that at my age I could not do anything without my parents getting involved. They were overprotective, talking me out any everything, listing all the possible negatives so I ended up believing them.
At fifty three I was single, living off their generosity, sharing hobbies, going on holiday with them, waking, eating and sleeping the same times as them.
Never had any friends, boyfriends, jobs, excitement of my own.
The police psychologist didn't think it that unusual that I ended up on a criminal career path, he told the court it was inevitable given the strange upbringing....
I shot my butler. His name was Greg. I shot him because I don't think butlers should be called Greg. They should be called things like Alfred or Jeeves or Cadbury or Pennyworth. Not Greg, who was from New Jersey. He didn't have a British accent. He lisped. And he was a dwarf. And his armpits stank. And he insisted on working naked. That wouldn't have been so bad if his scrotum hadn't been seven feet long so that it dragged behind him when he walked. True, it helped keep the marble floors a little more polished, but grandma kept...
Now, Ma'am, your academy sounds like a wonderful place for Peter, but there is something you should know about my son before you take him on. Well, you see, he's not like other boys. Yes, I know he looks normal enough but he... Peter is a very - how do I say this - high maintenance teen. He can - well, look out the window. See how he's not talking to the others? Oh, he's talking her out of his pocket. That's Tinkerbell, Ma'am. Shh - just watch. There's the pixie dust and... he's flying. (Oh, thank the good Lord...
In memory of Sanvee Ali, age 5.
He will be remembered in our home and in our hearts.
A coffee before bed.
For the soul that never came home.
No need to add sugar, because the dream will give the sweetness.
And when the morning comes, I'll make a coffee again. For the empty soul and empty days.
No need to add sugar, because im faithful to the dream.
Before the night comes, my life is always black and bitter.