The pistol was cocked, ready to go. The grip felt odd in my hand, and the barrel kept dipping down towards the ground. What would happen if I actually fired the damn thing? I was afraid it would fly back and smash my teeth out.
Nevertheless, I wrapped both hands around the grip as I had seen countless times on television and tried to steady the deadly steel. It wavered like my resolve at the sight of my nemesis, sprawled and harmless looking on the couch. But the second he awoke, he would look less like a sleeping kitten and...
Daring to be noticed for the first time in her life, she pushed her chair back and stood up.
Mrs. Baer had not picked her for the reading group, but that didn't matter, because it didn't mean she wasn't good enough, it just meant that Mrs. Baer didn't KNOW how well she could read! Mom would say it, loud and clear Emily could hear it in her head, "If you'd just made yourself noticed, Emily, then you would not have been ignored!" This is what Mom always told both of her older sisters when they became too meek.
"You get...
Leaving was the easiest decision to make, and the hardest action to take. The thought kept running through Eddie's mind as he waited through another Dealer change. He removed his knock-off designer shades and attempted to rub away the hours of lost sleep. As the pair of pocket cards slid in his direction he affixed the shades back in place and took a deep breath. Contrary to popular belief perception is hardly ever brought on by a sweeping vignette of thoughts while staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night. Many times it arrives in moments of...
Of course, Heather was twisted. Everybody knew this except Gene, so of course he was the only one who ever professed his love to her. Except Heather wanted to leave him for just this reason; who would act unabashedly and intentionally weird if she did not want to be loved for it? Heather, certainly, wanted to be loved for who she was.
The two of them were watching TV. Good-natured, his loopy grin a chipper wave at the world, Gene turned to Heather and said, "Darling, I will make you a sandwich! Stay put, don't move a finger." She looked...
"Well shit, that didn't work," the conductor said.
He walked around the wreckage, pulling out passengers. Women, mostly. The men waved off his advances.
One gloriously attired woman emerged from a smoldering welt of torn metal as though she were departing at Poughkeepsie. Nary a scratch or displaced hat-feather.
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on," the conductor thought. What he said was, "Ma'am."
The day was still high above them, children kicking rocks along the tracks. The conductor scratched under his hat and wondered, well what the hell now?
A man sitting in the...
The floorboard creaked. The house came alive and... walked.
It did not walk as people walk, as things designed to move would move. No, a house is not meant to ambulate, not meant to be in a place different from the place it had always been. That was the first trial, overcoming years of inactivity, millenia of tradition.
But the house was determined to leave its lot, after its lot in life had fallen. All around it, other houses had fallen, eaten away by neglect, time, disuse. And while this house had not had resident or human inhabitant for far...
"Travel light, but take everything with you," he said, his sky eyes looking off into the distance, "you never know when everything will leave you."
I suppose it didn't matter to me anymore, whether or not i took my life with me. there wasn't much there, really, just pieces of broken hearts and crystal tears that hit the floor. His words still echoed through my hollow body, the remains of bones crumbling beneath every sorry heaving breath. "Why wasn't I good enough?" I had asked myself, but I never knew. Perhaps it wasn't me....Perhaps it was you. Perhaps it was...
Bombs were the last thing on his mind. The first thing on his mind was an egg salad sandwich. Then bombs. He had exactly two things on his mind.
He was a very simple fellow, a bomb enthusiast who ate nothing but egg salad sandwiches. He didn't even have a proper name. Just He. Sometimes He answered to His or Him, depending on the tense.
There was a bomb in the bedroom and, being a bomb enthusiast, he was enthused by this. The only way to defuse the bomb was to eat the fuse. The fuse was not an egg...
When the father arrived home to his squalid, Lower East Side tenement building, he was exhausted. He paused at the door to pose for a Jacob Riis photo, and then trudged though the entryway. The grit of coal from the furnace in the oil refinery still covered his face. This, despite the fact that we worked on the docks hauling fish. His apartment was in the rear of the building: a cramped, filthy space overlooking a pile of rubbish that the realtor had described as a “quaint fixer-upper with a partial city view.” He approached the door, removed a rat...
The pistol was cocked, ready to go. “Your turn” she said, as my hands trembled in fear. Why was I here? Who was she? So many questions left without an answer. I swallowed, breaking the piercing silence. She laughed. “First time playing?” she asked smugly, already knowing the answer. I stayed quiet. I could barely hold it. A beautiful 1873 Frisco Revolver, 6 chambers, yet somehow, that didn’t lighten my mood. I wrapped my hand around the Pearl style grip hoping for the best. It felt cool in my hands. I looked at her, she smirked.
That was the last...