"What are you laughing about Jes?", inquired Sally.
"I just had the most wonderful dream", replied Jes.
"Can you tell me what is it about? Did you dream about winning the lottery? Or becoming a sophisticated cover shoot model? Come one now, spill it here? I want the details!"
Jes hesitatingly replies, "uhmm, well its about an ordinary day. I was in a beautiful beach and oh, i can only just imagine the warmth of the sun, the smell of the sea breeze and the feel of the wind in my hair".
"It was just perfect day", Jes added.
"That...
Draya looked out through the trees to her castle. She had been in hiding ever since the rebellion had started. Her father had sent her to a place where Bishop Fenson couldn't find her. He had wanted to kill her. She was the heir to the throne. Shortly after she had been sent away, she heard the news that this bishop had killed her father because he felt he wasn't being given the respect that was needed by someone of his status. The months had been long and hard and she had waited, making plans.
Now was her chance. Draya...
"Your team is to find the contact code-named Scurvy."
"Scurvy? Boy, he sounds pleasant."
"Actually, she's quite humorous and accommodating. You'll understand when you meet her."
"What time should I set out."
"Now."
"Great, thanks. I'll take my own rig."
At 0800, I landed on the beach where Scurvy was waiting for me. She didn't seem particularly pirate-like in any way. I handed her the documents, she scanned them, then threw them in the air and set them aflame with a snap.
"So why do they call you Scurvy?"
She stopped mid-stride and leered at me. Hilarious, indeed.
"We've got...
The city was empty and so was she. There was an echo in the quiet streets and an echo in her ear. She had heard this sound before--this sound of nothingness--and it reminded her of something. That vacancy. It made her think of her marriage. That was the sound of her marriage, that emptiness. She felt comfortable in that sound. Above her a streetlight snapped on with an almost audible sound. She could hear the click or maybe just imagine it. The electricity lines opening, sending current to that one lamppost so that it could shine with its weak light....
Taste is a matter of where and where you grew up. I am lucky enough to be born in a Country where taste can be seen and savored on a daily base and almost everywhere. Italy is made of taste; great taste, not only concerning the food, but it applies also to cars, shoes, clothing, manners and beautiful ladies. We all know what a man should do to make a lady feel great, isn't that considered taste? When we eat at home or at the fanciest restaurant on the coast do we know what wine is to be matched with...
But I call it "swing theory." It's sort of an uneducated, improvised explanation of how everything clicks. How one digs the atom. Why one gets so coo-coo for photons. What hip event is on the horizon.
It's crazy, baby. Quantum bums.
I jumped.
In a few years time I would be able to pin down the thought processes that had led to possibly the most insane decision of my life, but right now all I felt was the surge of adrenaline as I took that leap of faith and laced my fingers with those of the man next to me. The almost stranger, the man who'd watched me across the room for the past month. We'd barely even spoken until two days before yet here I was, my hot sweaty hand in his, leaping into the unknown.
I couldn't help it,...
You can count me out. Everybody knows he's not my favorite person. I'm not debating that.
Take the way he eats: He makes these noises. He SINGS the chewing. It sounds sort of charming right at this moment, but in point of fact it's gross. Nobody wants to hear a turkey dinner set to Ave Maria. Two weeks planning a meal, you want a moment of silence. Some good old-fashioned reverence. What's happened to that -- what is it -- an emotion? These days, it's gone.
As I said, I don't like the man. But I also don't like crows...
They were listening. I wasn't worried though, It's not like I had anything important to say. Just knowing that they were there though, behind the thin two way mirror staring at me as if I had something to do with the disappearance of the third missing person this week. If they only knew that the worst thing that I've ever done in my life was stollen a pack of batteries from the Walmart down the street from where I grew up when I was 8. There was no convincing them otherwise now though. They saw me running from the scene...
What had just happened? He tried to focus on where he was but his head was aching. Why wasn't she with him?
Vivid images started to flash into his head and his limbs tingled with the sensation of cold.
The boat. It was gone and it had angrily and unjustly taken her with it. There was nothing that he could have done - or was there?
As he had grasped her wrist with all the strength in his body, he had looked into her blue frightened eyes. Suddenly his hold on her had weakened and she fell down into the...