I'm trapped. I came to the beach, ready to relax. Ready to escape my work, and every annoying person in my life. But now I'm caught in a storm. I don't see anyone, it's just me. A large palm tree accompanies me, falling over more every second. He's dying, just like I will. Can I run into someone's house? There are abandoned beach houses, probably locked. The storm rages even louder. It's thumping reminds me of my boss, ready to kill whoever used his coffee machine. I see waves start to form. Large ones. They threaten to destroy me. Wash...
I am different.
I know it.
They know it.
They being society.
In our society, we are to dress the same, act the same, our names are the same, and the only thing different about us is our eyebrow angles. Strange, isn't it? I know there are a few like me in the world, but I don't know where. When I was very little, my parents lived on the edge. They would be different, and the society would scold them. When I was three, they were to be killed. Before my parents died, they decided they wanted me to stand...
I found the ring on the bowling green. Slipped in my back pocket for later as I was in the middle of the tournament. Forgotten after the many rounds of congratulatory drinks. Left on the bedroom chair at night. Fallen out in the morning and rolled under the bedcovering to be found by a very suspicious wife the following day.
She didn't believe my explanation - that I had no idea where it had come from. Her catalogue of resentments opened and recited in a monologue, devoid of tone or expression. I packed my suitcase and went to stay with...
There's somebody standing in the corner of my room. I have no idea who they are. I don't recognise the outline, the shape. I think the figure is a woman. She, if she is a she, is tall and slim, almost skeletal, like a witch. This thought scares me. I don't want to be visited by a witch, especially not the ghost of a dead witch. Which is worse? A live witch, with a wand and a broom? Or a ghost witch, with neither because she is no longer a physical substance? Would the live witch or the ghost witch...
It never quite made sense to me, but maybe it's not supposed to. Here, my heels. There, my toes. One to the other and one to the next, and this is called walking. And this way it's called dancing. And this way it's called running.
And stand right here and feel the water, cold and cold and cold and squirming I reemerge, my breath barely able to contain my laugh.
And here are stockings, they go on like this, bunched and then stretched until the legs are consumed. "Oh no, it's up to my toe," I'd sing, remembering. "Oh, gee,...
My sister signed me up for yoga the day before yesterday. And all I could think about were the yoga girl's toenails. She was the participant in front of me, on a pink mat patterned with yellow flowers. Sitting in the most uncomfortable position of my life, it was her toenails that bothered me. Sitting 10 inches in front of my face, yellowed and cracked, with an attempted cover up of aquamarine polish. "Excuse me, " I wanted to say, "That toenail polish does nothing for you." Or perhaps, "Excuse me, could you help me get my elbow out of...
The disco ball was turning.
The Mighty Fwarriors turned in shock. Their ambush on the Gold Chain Club had been going well - too well. Now they watched, as the disco ball slowly turned...into Disco Bull.
"Curses!" shouted Melissa, leader of the Fwarriors. She'd hoped that just once, just this one time, they could have a successful ambush, but she knew that it was probably too much to ask for.
Superheroes, supervillains - these are normally pretty clear cut terms. One group fight on the side of good, the other on the side of "evil". But in the real world,...
The tigers snarled at each other as they fought over the prize. Eyes narrowed, they watched for the slightest hesitation, the smallest weakness, in their enemy's eyes and stance. Finally, the larger of the two feinted to the left, then ran right with his booty. Quickly, the other followed as the world waited with baited breath.
Then, it happened. The great tiger leapt away from his pursuer, seeming to soar. The buzzer went off a split second after the ball dropped into the net and the crowd roared as the score changed: 63-59.
"I guess not everything's better in Metter,"...
Shape. Contour. Line. Plane.
My mind is swimming with terms; it's hard to know where to begin. Think. THINK!
Placing my hands strategically against my forehead, massaging in circular motions, attempting to eradicate the oncoming hangover, I catch a whiff of last night's Sauza and the whole experience comes flooding into self-consciousness. Exactly what I've been avoiding, but it's upon me now, and the midterm examination worth forty percent of my overall grade just doesn't seem quite so vital. By contrast, the almost irresistible urge to vomit has quite suddenly taken me, and now I am reaching for my bookbag...
One scoop chocolate, one scoop... The ice cream scoop clatters on the counter top, empty. I stare at the perfectly rounded scoop of flawlessly smooth chocolate ice cream sitting in the dark blue bowl as if it might jump out and bite me. I imagine the ice cream breaking down into tiny little calories and attaching themselves to my thighs, my stomach, my arms, my face, forming rolls of soft fat on my body. The ice cream falls with a soft plunk back in the tub. With a snap, the lid takes away my guilt and I shove it to...