The dream was better than waking. I floated, all the past troubles seeming to dissipate before my very eyes. Luke was nowhere to be seen, which was a relief, because in days past he had haunted my dreams mercilessly. I noticed that there was no one else in my dream, just a thick, white mist. Like a feather bed, i laid in the unusally substantial mist, in a mystical dreamlike state. I saw a shape, a dark figure coming through the fog. It was Nyxie, my facility director. Her red hair floated like me, but she kept to the ground....
We all have a demon, a monster, something of a dark creature around us.
There are many types of these creatures. They tend to look the same though, darker than the pits of the deepest holes and overwhelmingly dripping of toxicity. Once they have hold of you it is very hard to to get rid of it. There are many different types of these creatures however.
Some make you feel like you’ll never feel happiness.
Some stop you from eating.
Some will pretend to let you feel happy until they let you crash and crack.
Some will make you harm...
The gate closed behind them and there was no looking back. What went on inside would be difficult to remember anyway; like a dream that fades after the first cup of coffee, leaving one with but a shadow of a strange feeling that lingers over the rest of the day.
Anne and Bobby had been walking in the woods as the snow fell and Boris, Anne's Laborador retriever, ran ahead. They stopped to kiss in the falling snow, and suddenly noticed that Boris was missing. Running and calling, they came upon a fence they could not recall from any previous...
Ring, ring!
Ring, ring!'
"Hello, this is General Kuznetz", I stated. "Yes, I understand".
"There has been a change of plans Lieutenant. We must send in our ships".
I clenched my wrists together. The moment was here. The sound of the ships' engines filled the area. Slowly but surely they can began to move. My palms were sweating profusely and my lips compressed together like a lid on a jar. I closed my eyes together, unable to look at the scene unfolding before me. A slight but stratling tingle ran down my spine.
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...
He looked into the surface and his heart stopped a beat, two beats then three at what stared back. His chest caved inwards as a slow smile stretched and rippled across a paler face than his own. The eyes were grim and long and dead and they beat him into submission with a starving stare before he kicked his own ankle and fell to the ground, dirt scraping pits into the palms of his hands. He licked his lips and looked above about him. The roof of the hut looked like the inside of a boat falling from the sky...
It's breathtaking how many times I've had to smell this. The curiosity overwhelms me. So begins the search for my companions. After all, who investigates strange smells without company? Speaking of company...where is everybody? This nose of mine struggles to pinpoint the four-legged friends I've come to know over these past few months.
Something is off.
"Skipper," I think to myself. At least that's what the farmer calls me. "You know better than this to delay the inevitable."
I strain, nose and ears working in tandem to take in the faint...wait...yes. there it is. The distant sounds of howling. Distress....
We take the ability to breathe for granted. It's the basic function that keeps us alive, you would have thought that we would keep a closer eye on it, that we would pay attention to how many lungfuls of air we consume every day. But we don't. We don't think about that mundane process because that is not the element of breathing that adds a spark to life; it is the thieves that trade in such banal fare that creates the interest.
For a breath once stolen is never forgotten. Whether it be by the view from a hill over...
'Have a nice day,' said the lady at the counter on the way out of the face painting store, which was covered in cheerful paintings of children's cartoons. Micheal was clinging onto his mother's right hand, a box of face paints for his fifth birthday party in the other.
'What's that shop Mum?' Micheal asked, pointing to the desolate looking store across the road, its lights flashing dimly.
'That is-er,' she said, trying to conjure words to keep him in the shade of innocence
'Your father?' she gasped, trying to comprehend what was going on.
'Is Dad buying adults from...
Flan in the face, flan in the face, flan in the face.
A wild grin stretched across his face, an expression of pure exuberance, of joy and abandon, just before the pie tin splattered the gelatinous goo all over his tweed coat.
The students were gathered outside the lecture hall, sprawling in the hundreds in the oppressive heat. Here and there, groups had clustered beneath the maple branches, trying desperately to stave off exhaustion. They had been at it for two days already: the most notorious sit-in in America's higher educational history.
As if to further puzzle the wayward boomers...