The words hovered beneath my glowing finger, power incarnate. I lifted the text, spinning it lazily in the air, before hurling the curse at the image of my nemesis.
The photo I had ripped from the backcover of her book dissolved, dripping onto the table, her face hideously deformed, the black ink staining the tablecloth beneath.
"She thinks she can write horror," I said, the deathly silence of the basement swallowing my words. "She doesn't know what horror is." I smiled. "Yet."
From up there, I thought I could see it all, but there was nothing. I could see the vents on the roof of the building next door, and beyond that I could see into the window of the man who always kept his suit on until bed.
It wasn't supposed to be about the view, I knew. It was about living in the city and making the most of it, having a small nest to come to at night, to rest, to get up in, to walk out of, to descend from. The point was to be on the ground....
The water was clear but her conscience was not.
Carla gazed into the crystal goblet's depths, the sparkling liquid reflecting the sunlight that filtered through the kitchen's old fashioned windows. It was one of the things that originally attracted them to the old, refurbished barn. The glass irregular, thicker at the bottom, letting the natural light unevenly through its depths, like the sun seen from underwater.
Carla smiled at the memory. They had been happier then. Happy and in love and carefree, despite the financial uncertainty of starting a new life together. But they had scrimped and saved for their...
We come from beyond the stars. We are the Yorkie chocolate bars.
I was in Grade 4 and this giant living chocolate bar was walking around the schoolyard. We tried shooting it and pelting it with rocks. But nothing worked. The chocolate bar was too thick.
"YORKIE!" it screamed and then it tickled me. Or gave me a wedgie.
Man, I hated that thing. But I have to confess that in a weird way, I liked it too. Don't ask me why but for some reason, I sensed that it wasn't completely malevolent. No. Deep down, I knew there was...
I couldn't sleep with her next to me. i was half scared that she would just disapear, it had been so long since we had been here like this and I could hardly beleive it was real. I just wanted to watch her, soak in every last detail of this moment I knew couldn't last.
I wanted to remember how her hair fanned on the pillow. Some might liken it to a halo, but to me it seemed more like a lion's mane. I wanted to remember how she smelt, how her chest gently rose and fall as she slept,...
She leaned over, sideways from her stool, all tits and lips and curly hair falling in his direction.
"Got a light," she asked, sticking a cigarette in the corner of her painted mouth.
He set his beer down, just foam left and dug into his right pocket. Pulled out a lighter and slid it across the plywood painted like mahogany bar. She looked at the lighter, and moved her lips into a pout. Leaned in even closer and said "A gentleman would light it for me."
"You're in the wrong place if you're looking for gentlemen," he grunted, looking straight...
I couldn't sleep with her next to me. I knew what she had done. It was despicable; it made my stomach churn. But there she was, next to me, sleeping soundly, like a baby without a care in the world. Her breathing came in short shallow gasps. Her snores got on my nerves and as I try to sleep all I can think of is what she's done. What I've done, now that I know. I'm part of it. A romantic evening, a shared bottle of Merlot, shared secrets; too much. A night of passion, a night of disgust. Now...
When I was in Beijing, my dear, I saw a small lass with an ape of a face crouched in an alley and weeping for who knows who. I noticed she was wearing the cheap red cape I bought for you in H&M. When I was in Istanbul I saw a knock-kneed street performer whose laugh was the same as yours. Some graffiti that I ran across somewhere on the east edges of Paris resembled your handwriting, when you scrawled notes left for me coming home legless and too late. I say this not to make you think there are...
These three peasants are gathered round a plough, drinking ale and sharing a small knob of cheese between themselves. It's a sunny day in Northumbria and the midday sun makes it hard to work, so these guys are taking a break. The ale is cheap and the cheese is rotten.
"You see the sunset last night?" asks one.
"Yes. It was beautiful." agrees a second. The third peasant doesn't speak. He just stares lengthways down the field.
"See that cow?" he finally interrupts. "Rumour is that it's magic." The others are intrigued now and stare down the field at the...
100 feet away. She had only been 100 feet away.
I could have caught up with her, stopped her maybe, but my feet were rooted to the one spot, and hers were just about to float out over the edge.
She turned and smiled and waved just a little, her hand moving from side to side, like we saw the Queen do once on television.
Then she jumped.
Then my feet decided they were free to move as I wanted them to and I ran to the edge. I looked out and saw her head break the surface of the...