Walking towards the light, the people wondered if they would be provided clothes or would they have to keep walking in the nude. They were unaware that they were still dressed in their own clothes. The drugs made them see the world around them incorrectly. They looked in awe at the lush green foliage, trees, grasses. All they could see ahead was the magnificent building, the place where they would be saved, rejuvenated, find themselves in heaven.
By the time the drugs wore off, they would find themselves in hell. All the rapists, murderers, backstabbing gossips, paedophiles never looked back...
The dream had been wonderful, yet it would never be real. All property already let. Already sold. Already gone.
"Renting or buying?" The neat young executive type, sipping his coffee next to me, pointed at the property paper. I'd been looking for 6 months and it was killing me.
"It's murder." I shifted to give him space to sit, and sighed. "I own a small shit hole I've got to get out of. You an Estate Agent?"
"No, but these guys will get you somewhere to rest your bones…" My gaze followed his finger to a small ad tucked under...
He hadn't wanted the light there.
She had insisted - there was light on her, light on her voice, lifting her up, letting them all see her. He was playing too (had a solo during one of the songs, actually) so why shouldn't they see him?
He'd tried to protest that it wasn't traditional, and she'd just given him one of those looks, the one that made him certain that if ever (...when) she did get signed the record label wouldn't be able to force her into one of those moulds they seemed so fond of.
He'd stood his ground,...
Gradually. Ever so gradually, he noticed her work routine. She'd come into the shop below the CCTV camera that gave him his vantage point. She'd stop, check her skirt, then turn and wave. Wave straight at him, it seemed.
Once when he spilt his coffee he swore she looked up, about to greet the camera (or him?) and then the smile vanished. As if she had seen what had happened and was sorry for his stained pants.
In trawling through the back footage, looking for a pattern. Something to identify who had planted the device that had wrecked half the...
"Rush! Hurry! We must get off the street before anyone realizes we've left. "
"Mummy, why?"
"Because I said so."
"Because he's bleeding, Mum? Is that why?" I grasped the edge of her suitcase, let it carry me along, my feet nearly leaving the ground. Breathless, visions of things much different from sugar plums. Blood. Screams, a distant siren, the smell of cordite. Done. Rush! Move! NOW! Hungry, what, no time. Leave the cat.
Down the stairs, falling, falling, falling out onto the cobblestones. Scent of mum's sweat mixed with tobacco, and the stench of death. Train sounds. Off to...
Water. It was flooding into the windows and through the doorway. It continued to rise and I continued to panic.I couldn't die. I couldn't die. I HAD to make it out of there. No - I gave up. Just after letting myself slip beneath he water I felt two stong arms wrap around me and pull me out of the water that was killing me. When I was above the water, Ilocked eyes with him. He came back for me! I was shocked - especially after what I'd said to him earlier that day. "Why are you here," I managed...
I'm with stupid remarked the t-shirt. Very appropriate I thought considering the look on his face as he and his friend harried the younger boy. I wanted to step in but I had always shied away from confrontation. "If it gets and worse I'll step in" I told myself, hoping it wouldn't. In my reverie I never noticed who pulled the knife not that that mattered much, the result was still the same. He must have been stupid to have carried it with him.
"Wait, so he hit you?"
"Yes, but it's not what it seems. He's been really stressed at work. He swore it would never happen again."
I could tell she wasn't convinced. Cheryl, self proclaimed leader of our little girl's coven. Tea and cake Tuesdays. I'd always felt like I was a token member really. The others had more in common than me. Mousy little me.
"He's a brute. You should leave him." Amy blurted out over Death By Chocolate, then snorted her Assam.
"Or kick him out!" another chorused. Kate? Earl Grey. Victoria Sponge. As usual. Very bland girl. No...
He heaved a sigh as he walked down the hallway. The revolver hung heavy in his hand. He had no idea what model or brand or whatever the gun was supposed to be. He'd gotten it at a pawn shop for $15, along with a little blue soldier toy for a mere 50 cents. It was cheap. The paint on the toy was chipped, but its expression of determination haunted him.
He was exhausted. He was done. He couldn't take this any longer.
"Hey, kiddo..." He called. He'd reached his son's room. This was probably the first time they'd talked...
It wasn't like that. It wasn't. She hadn't led him on. Or him her. It wasn't like she'd planned to have an affair. There, she'd finally said it. An affair. With her boss. Her married boss. Her dreamy, overworked, misunderstood boss, Tim. It wasn't like it was sordid, or wrong. It wasn't like they'd been indiscreet. It wasn't like any of her colleagues had known. It wasn't like she'd expected him to break it Off. It wasn't like he wasn't kind. The bastard.
"Tim, you bastard. Why do you care enough to want an end to spare your wife?"
It...