The results were in. And Harry did not like them.
He had signed up for this dating website, which took surveying to a whole new level. It said that it required a DNA sample to help find your one true love. Harry sent a few hair clippings, some dead skin and a urine sample.
They sent back the urine.
As he opened the letter, he stared in horror. It was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen. Curves in all the right places, straight lines in the others. A smile with brightness that could blind an eagle, and eyes...
I was nothing like his mother. Didn't look like her, act like her yet he told his friends we had to split up because I was like her. WTF. He told me that he no longer fancied me so why say I was like his mom.
I'd known him for over a year, we'd split up and got back countless times. I imagined that this time it would be like the others. He split up then pretended it was the drink. Although this time I decided I wasn't going to accept his apologies any more. This was final.
Jim called...
It would be a long walk. To no where. Ending some where. A where long off. Tulle of mist. Footage of stage. A wide glow of white pixels condensing to green. Corridors of sparkling black. A long walk but he took it.
I am breathless. My heart is in my stomach and pounding around like an indoor hockey match. Staring deep into the eye of my accuser I beg: "mercy!"
The clock ticks furiously past the minutes. One, two, suddenly five have passed and I am sure to pass out from the sheer weight of the moment.
Does Miranda find true love in those five minutes?
Oh curse you fickle fate, you demon of home electronics and urban sitcom.
My bladder yearns at attention but suppress its screams I must; the DVR needs repairing. The show must go on.
In streams and,...
She was a goddess.
Her sacrifices were mostly time; her father was procrastination, and through him most of her sacrifices were received. Her temple was the internet, the pub, every conversation which began "I read somewhere - ", or "I saw the other day - ", or "Am I right in thinking - "
Quizzes were her festivals. Celebrations of (arguably) useless knowledge. The glory of simply knowing something, with no comprehension of whether it was to be useful or not, the pleasure based in facts.
She was worshipped frequently, albeit unbeknownst to most.
"Hey! You! Jackass!"
Geoff was trying to make eye contact -- or, failing that, ear contact -- with the ferris wheel operator below. Geoff and Jo had been stuck at the top of the ride for more than five minutes now. And the effort might not have been so much in vain were they not surrounded by a cage.
No response. Of course.
"Will you knock it off?" asked Jo. "He'll get to it when he gets to it."
"It's just. Gah!" Geoff started rocking the ride. Back and forth, back and forth, the range of motion increasing each time....
I sat there every day waiting. But nothing ever happened. I hoped if I sat there long enough that she would come back and everything would be back to normal. I knew that when she was pulled from the car that there was no turning back. I thought maybe if I had her in my mind, it could reverse that awful event that caused so much pain and grief. At least I am not alone on my journey back to recovery with my family and friends by my side hopefully I can move on. But I know truly that I...
Daring to be noticed for the first time in her life, she pushed her chair back and stood up.
"Malcolm, what are you doing?" The teacher frowned slightly.
"They're not freaks," she said, quiet but emphatic. "And they're not faking for attention. It's not a disorder, and it's not an illness. It's just a way of being."
The words had been running through her head for the past twenty minutes as the teacher had started talking about gender identity disorder, in which people didn't identify with the biological sex that they were born into.
"I'm sorry, Malcolm, but it's in...
The voyage was all fun and games until the iceberg came.
Nobody had invited the iceberg, and it seemed to show up out of nowhere. One moment, Rockwell was painting the dog on the banister, the next, the iceberg was full frame in the painting, like someone who hasn't noticed that you're taking a group photo and decides to walk right in front of the camera.
There was no use reasoning with it. It was obstinate, unmoving, rather dull to boot. At dinner that night, the usual good cheer in the ballroom had evaporated. Everyone was silent. The old colonel...
The body is the lie. The woman who speaks to you face-to-face
with a carefully controlled flex of muscles around the eyes
and the upward curve of just one side of her mouth
that tells you "I'm amused at whatevever joke you just told"
The polite look of interest that cleverly morphs into concern
with a downward press of eyebrows
and a slight lean forward accompanied by a sympathetic noise
they are all walls that look like doors
You would know it for the avatar it is
if you realized she never reaches out a hand,
never bridges that social...