I am love with a robot. As she undresses for bed I know that her body will be perfectly matched to mine, her skin soft to my touch, her responses exactly what I need to hear. She wears whatever I suggest and buys what I tell her. We are the perfect couple.
The next morning she was gone. Note on the pillow. Sorry I can't do this anymore. I need to be free to be myself. She is in the living room, unplugged, wires pulled out of her heart.
She was a regular victim, the kind of person who flinched when she heard a loud noise, ducked when she passed beneath an airborne bird, stepped sideways in order to avoid each time she happened to pass by a pedestrian, puddle or crack. She looked for and expected (and here I'm talking about the worst) in everything. Forget good and better, forget fortuitous, forget fate being in your favour and good fortune... As far as she was concerned, it was always cloudy outside and it rained constantly. In her model of the world life was hard, living was tough, and...
The room was dimly lit with the candles he had scattered before she had arrived. The meal would be served in just a few minutes, a creation to do any chef proud. He had left the wine to breathe the required amount of time. The stage was set. He set the plate before her and frowned when she showed no sign of appreciation for his efforts. He poured her a glass of wine, an excellent vintage. Still, she showed no joy or surprise.
He batted the wineglass away and it shattered on the far wall. With a swipe of his...
The year was 1986. My home, a typical home in Suburbia, USA. My life, a typical American teenager, filled with angst and dissatisfaction at my lot in life. Little did I realize how that life would soon change.
The summer of my sixteenth year was hot and humid, as most summers were in sunny Florida. My car was an old Chevy with the cloth interior roof held up by thumbtacks, the best I could afford on the money I saved working nights after school at the local movie theatre. Weekends I'd drive to my boyfriend's house, past the streetwalkers trying...
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,...
I awoke, bleary eyed to an explosion of noise outside my room. I lay there still, playing the situation through my mind, wondering what on earth could be happening. It was cold, my face especially so. Suddenly I felt a wetness there and lifted my head so that I could look down at where my head had been resting. There was blood on my pillow. The smell of it hit me with some force and I almost fainted. I touched my cheek where it had rested and felt the blood there on my face. Was it mine?
The noises outside...
The pistol was cocked, ready to go. Aiming at the highway man was easy, pulling the trigger was the problem. I couldn't do it no matter how much I wanted to. His dark brown eyes bore into my soul, that's how if felt at that precise moment. My body responded, unexpectedly, primitive feelings, not appropriate for this situation. My older, pregnant sister and I held up enroute for our summer vacation.
His long black hair fastened by a long navy ribbon, his light mahogany skin, full lips smiling at me was all I could think about. The right eyebrow raised,...
"Well, I'm sorry if I led you on." My voice is sarcastic and bitter and a little more harsh than I'd intended but I can't take it back now so instead I use the momentum to carry my forward.
"Yeah, well, you did. Why did you have to go and stomp on my heart again, huh?" I can feel the hot blood burning in my ears.
"Too bad!" I scream as loud as I can. My throat is sore but I don't care.
"You know what? This conversation is over." I can't believe him.
"Fine!" I just want to get...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. "Shit," Mel muttered. "Jerry!"
Of course, he wouldn't come. He was in the tiny bathroom, savoring the one amenity included in the rent, his head bowed under the shower's heavy, erratic spray.
Mel moved over to the dusty window. Rocking back and forth with Ollie on her hip, she pulled the curtain aside and grabbed at a cloth sitting on the sill. Not caring what it was, she wiped at the windows and tried to see out. Somehow they never seemed to stay clean. Mel was amazed at the amount of dust that always seemed...
Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty.
Truth be told, until a year ago, she'd never thought of herself as all. The concept of self was one that she'd been struggling with for the past twelve months, and she was finally starting to get a grip on it.
The first step had been coming up with a name for herself. Her entire life, she'd been referred to as "that lot", or, at best, "the taller group". She'd been part of a team...a slightly taller team than the other teams, true, but a minor difference in height does not...