The whale thought better and steered away from the shore.
I hurled a pearly conch into the surf and dropped backwards into the sand. Fiddler crabs filled the orchestra pit, their claws grinding salt and sand into no music. Two fronds breezed an applause, each clap sounding like "mock, mock, mock."
Alone, but not alone, the silence drowned by obstinate life.
The chocolate scoop was all she wanted. However, the lanky boy behind the counter of Baskin Robbin's wanted to give his number away as well. In any other sinaro Jenny would have jumped at this opportunity, but the boy with the greasy hair, fuzzy eyebrows and a horrible wink did not please her. The boy still stood with her cone in his hand. Now he was getting irratating.
"Hum, thank you," Jenny tried reaching for the cone as a huge hint. He didn't take it.
"Do you have any plans for Friday night?" Oh boy. He was so clumsy with...
"I hate him. He could get hit by a car randomly in the street, and it wouldn't matter to me. It would probably make my days better."
Anyway, it happened. It would. And so then the whole school was plunged into mourning of varying depths. Mourning of the grievous type, and mourning of the more celebratory kind.
Let's be honest. He made everyone's life miserable. He never bothered to even sit. His room was the hallway, not a desk.
The administrator who suspended him that day couldn't stop questioning himself: could I have done more? Should I have done it?...
Quantum leaping isn't always fun. Not when I end up as a woman. Find it unnerving especially as all I was hoping to do was to channel the skills from one of my parallel selves.
I needed to cook a three course romantic dinner and knew that there must be a Galloping Gourmet self somewhere out there, expert on wines, the best cut of meat and good at table decoration.
Jasmine, was not at all what I wanted, especially as she was a concubine to an extremely ugly Prince, even though she did know how to cook. She was his...
Some days you feel every second of your age. Becca looked at the balloons in her hand and back towards the building. Seven years hard labor, or so it felt, and she was still working in the same department in the same job for the same company.
A breeze lifted her hair and tugged at the balloons. They struggled against her grip, the ribbons seesawing in her hand as if each wished for freedom.
"What are you doing, Becca?" The voice reached out to her but the woman stared up at the floating orbs. The sun glowed through them and...
Twist. Twist your t-shirt to ring out the blood and water. Shake. Shake your head again and again. It's over. It's gone now.
Your palm feels cold against your forehead, but the blood is hot. Hot and wet and it feels funny because there's no pain, only heat. And you can see but its not the same somehow, like when you look away from staring at the lightbulb and shapes dance around you.
I hear pounding. Like drums. Hammering a distant rhythm but wait... no. It's in my head. It really is. Blood. Pounding, marching through each stressed canal like...
It started like any sunday morning, with coffee brewing and the literal show Sunday Morning on cbs when we decided to walk our 140-pound saint Brenard, and our smaller dog Casey down by the lake. We had Casey on the leash when Bella, our Saint Brenard, crashed through the brush and tumbled upon a deer that had bedded down. Casey fought her way off the leash and by the time we had found them the deer had gone into the water rather than to face bella. Our two excited dogs of course rushed right in after it
The Waves were...
Leaving was the easiest decision to make, and the hardest action to take. I had to get out of the Martian prison and home for the past six years. John, the guard bribed to allow me to escape and take secrets stored in memories I could expose back on Earth.
A ship was scheduled the next day which would take me on the long journey home but modern technological advances meant I would get back to London sixteen hours later.
I regretted leaving behind my friends, knowing their fate but someone had to expose the lies about the great new...
My tiny, paper-thin dream floating on the darkness of my memories. That's all I could feel, all I could see, all I could hear, day in, day out. Taunting me. Tempting me.
If only I did. If only I didn't. I could be Somebody if I weren't so frightened of being Somebody.
Trapped in this limbo is a game for no man. The future is lovely and bright. It exposes me for what I am. The past is dream and lingering. It holds onto me with every tiny hook it owns, each day adding a new one.
To be free....
When I arrived, the hyena was circling him silently, and the silence was what bothered me the most. It should be cackling. But it was just quiet. I'd seen enough hyenas hunting to know that this was wrong.
I looked at my options, felt out with all my senses to see what living creatures were nearby. Posessing the photographer was no good, since he clearly had no weapons and not much physical strength, even with my intellect of fighting capabilities. If I possessed the hyena, if The Shadow was already inside (and I knew it was, no hyena was that...