I think this site is like a power juicer to the armadillo-skinned oranges of writer's block.
The traitor looked at the girl with caramel coloured eyes through the bars of her cell. His glance paused at her bare breasts, then travelled up to meet her shimmering gaze.
"All you had to do was look the other way, and run with the rest of them," he said. "But no. Your stubborn principles got in the way and look where they have brought you."
The girl stared at him, whishing daggers in his eyes, his heart and his groin.
"Now, now," he said. "You don't seem too receptive to the guards advances. It's a shame, things would be...
When I was twelve I went to sea, aboard a small ship. They hired me to clean and sweep and feed the men, in exchange they said they would take me across the ocean to the new world.
A week or two after shipping out, a storm rose on the horizon. The wind she blew and rain she fell and waves crashed into the sides.
The captain went first, and then his crew, leaving just me and another, a drunk.
The sails were torn, and the bow was pierced, the hull became full of water. Neither of us knew how...
Taste. The middle, forgotten brother in the family of senses.
They don't have helper dogs or monkeys for people who can't taste anything. No one is working on smaller and smaller devices to amplify or stimulate tastebuds.
You can either taste or not and no one really cares.
The one good thing about not tasting anything is you can win all kinds of money on the playground by eating things. Things that might seem disgusting.
I was the richest kid in elementary school. I'd takle bets and then down worms or bugs or the digusting ham and peanut butter sandwich...
Until now she'd never thought of herself as pretty. But now, in the mirror, the morning light slanted in underneath the almost closed blinds, she did.
He lay, still asleep, his hair tussled, blankets twisted around his midsection, one arm under the pillows, another across his eyes.
She walked softly from the mirror, and stood over him. Her thin fingers reached out and caressed his cheek.
He groaned and turned on to his back.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror once more. She felt like Aphrodite, or Helen of Troy. She bent down and pulled something from under...
"Goodnight, don't let the bedbugs bite," her mother said, tucking her in tightly.
"Bedbugs?," Julia asked, her voice trembling.
Her mother said not to worry, it was just an expression.
"Besides," her mother continued, "our house is much too clean to have bedbugs. So no need to worry about them."
"Shouldn't we maybe vaccuum the mattress first, just to be sure, Julia said, kicking at the heavy down comforter.
Her mother lay a hand against her forehead and brushed the hair back from Julia's eyes. She sat down on the bed.
"You just want to stay up and watch television,"...
"I got a garbage brain," he sang as he swam.
"What?" she asked, spitting water.
"I got ninety six ears and ninety six eyes," he continued.
She knew she wasn't going to get a straight answer out of him and plunged down under the surface. She let the air escape her lungs as she sank deeper into the turquoise water.
A brightly coloured fish swam passed her. She wondered what kind of fish it was. She wondered why she hadn't ever been curious about fish before. Her lungs started to hurt.
She kicked and stroked and soon broke the surface....
"I shot my butler, but I did not shoot the chauffeur" Mrs. Kensington said. "I don't know who could have done such a thing. That poor old man."
"The butler or the chauffeur," the detective asked.
Mrs. Kensington coughed with polite outrage.
"The chauffeur, of course," she said. "The butler can rot in a thousand hells as far as I'm concerned."
The detective flipped back a few pages in his notebook.
"You say the butler had been stealing from you," he asked, scratching his nose. "Did you have any proof?"
"Proof is in the pudding, as the maid would say."...
The city was empty. It was early Saturday morning, the sky was grey and rain fell lightly. Almost imperceptibly. This was his favourite time. It felt like the entire city belonged to him. He would wander down abandoned streets, look into windows of the closed shops, sometimes he would even sing out.
He started humming loudly as he walked. A pigeon heard him and thumped his wings and took off, landing a few feet away.
He hopped over a puddle next to the curb and sang out load. "They call me mister Pitiful, baby that's my name."
This is freedom,...
Waves lapped at her toes as she stood in the wet sand and looked across the sound to the island. A small plume of smoke rose from the chimney, hidden behind black spruce and birch trees.
She could see the canoe tied to the island's dock, rocking gently with the waves.
The image of the waves coming in both directions unearthed a memory or feeling she had kept buried for quite some time. Tim's waves had pushed in one direction and her's had surge in the opposite.
"What was in the middle. What pushed them apart," she wondered.
Outnumbered three to one. And I think A fourth was creeping up behind me. They fanned out across the mouth of the alley and whispered to each other. They walked forward slowly, and together, I chuckled a bit when I imagined them to be a dancing troupe.
They saw me laugh and slowed their pace, not by much, but just enough to show me I had rattled them.
Cold, black steel appeared in their grimy fingers. One knife, one section of pipe, and the lead man pulled a snub-nosed pistol. A .22, a woman's gun. I wondered how close I...