In this world there is no pain, no disappointment. No one can hurt her here.
In this world she's in control. People look up to HER. They LOVE her. They admire her beauty and style and uniqueness. In this world she can be as silly as she wants.
She can break all the rules and STILL be looked up to as Role Model.
In this world there is no pain, no disappointment. No one can hurt her here. She is a child as well as an adult. She is a hero. An angel. A warrior.
Anything she dreams off, she...
It had been a long morning. The shouting and screaming had been relentless, as it always is with three children under six. She had spent the hours trying to patch up arguments, mollify sulkers, and generally bring a sense of cheer. Even the thought of their friend's birthday party had not raised a smile at one point. She felt like she was near the point of giving up completely.
The twins eventually seemed to decide that if they got ready they may enjoy the upcoming festivities. By quarter to twelve they were dressed in their finest party outfits and starting...
Shape.
His kneaded the dough, enjoying it's firm elasticity beneath his fingers. Shape.
Celeste was like that. Firm. Yet pliable. She let him bend her to his will with little resistance. And god damn... she had a shape.
As he coaxed the dough into long snakes, visions of Celeste's creamy smooth skin flooded his memory. His hands worked on autopilot, braiding the challah loaf. What they really wanted to be doing was kneading her delicious rear end.
He loved the ripples each time he spanked her full bottom.
Shape. He admired his challah loaf.
Some people have never touched the snow, or swam in an ocean, or taken an elevator to a rooftop.
I once watched it snow on the ocean from a rooftop. I took the elevator to the lobby and walked out to the beach.
First I stood in a sandstorm. Then I ran in a snowstorm. Then I fell in the snow and the sand.
The snowflakes looked like stars falling from the night.
The rock where my sister died dominated the landscape like a giant defrocked mushroom.
My parents were standing beside me, waiting for my response as I looked up at the seaweed and the striations. I wasn't sure what they wanted me to feel.
"It's cold," I said.
"We were just up on that ledge," said mom. "The tide was coming in, but the sun was setting and we wanted to watch it."
"Thought we'd just wade back to shore afterwards," added dad.
"But I lost my balance and slipped. Pregnancy does that to you sometimes, messes with your inner ear....
I looked at the passport, and then back up at the woman standing in front of me.
"Are you serious?" I asked, a puzzled look on my face.
She looked sad.
"What is to be funny?" she said, her broken English somehow endearing.
"I don't know how they do things in..." I turned her passport over, and looked at the country name listed. It took up three lines, and many of the letters just looked like squiggles to me. "...your home country, but over here we do things differently."
"Is me!" she smiled, and I felt my tough exterior melting...
"This is your fault," his wife said to him. If you would just put your mother in her place I wouldn't have to and we wouldn't be fighting right now.
He replied loudly, "My fault? How is it my fault she's nosy? She doesn't mean anything by it anyway. You don't have to be such a bitch about every little thing."
"Oh. My. God. Seriously?" She was on a roll now. "It's your fault she's so nosy because you never say anything at all to her when she crosses a line. And once again, I wouldn't have to be such...
I was walking to grandma's when I spotted the yellow box with a question mark on it. I liked it so much that I leaned against it and stuck a little red thing in my chest. Unfortunately, the little red thing was poisonous and I died. My eyeballs fell out and my skin ripped open and I bled everywhere. Then my body shrunk so that I looked like a voodoo doll. I am still standing against the yellow box with a question mark on it.
bruno went to Kentucky Fried Chicken to buy mashed potatoes and figs. He only had...
As he wandered through the countryside, he couldn't quite believe he'd done it. He'd done it. Gene Black had actually done it. Finally. And although it had been something he had been planning for months, years, maybe his whole life, he didn't feel quite as good as he thought he would.
He had dreamed of being a murderer for as long as he could remember. He had wanted to feel life draining away in his hands, to watch as the soul departed the body. If it did. It was all about experimentation and, perhaps understandably, there was nothing he could...
This dream was better than waking. In it, his father took him fishing at Lake Oconee. They spent hours in their boat, rods in hand as they stirred the water in search of large-mouth bass. In the dream, his mother waited on shore, watching them with a fond smile as she prepared to cook dinner.
This dream was better than waking. For, in waking he realized that his father was still dead. He had been dead for six month, ever since an IED took his arm, half a lung, and his life. Now, the young man drifted through the days...