It never worked on Sundays. Not sure why. It was plugged in and the Hydro folks never disconnected us on Sundays. We could use the can opener Sundays. The microwave too. But the TV. Well, it would just sit there in the corner, gathering dust. We'd twist the knob but dang it all, screen stayed dark.
"Gol!" says Paw, who's about the biggest football fan in these parts. "I bought that TV just to watch my games and now it won't work."
"You can go down to Duncan's Bar," I suggested. "He's got all the games on the big TV."...
There was pandemonium at the track. Not the racetrack, not the dog track, not even at the running stadium. Nope. It was down on the railroad tracks.
The train driver had spotted a dog on the track and, being an animal lover - a lover of animals, that is, he applied the brakes a bit too sharply. This resulted in the slight derailment of the engine and most of the carriages.
People were quick to disembark and it appeared that there had been no fatalities and only one or two casualties. People wandered around aimlessly searching for the dog that...
He does not even see him. My goodness, quit taking pictures of me and turn around you moron. The hyena is laying low to the ground, covered by the brush, unless you look at him head on.
The hyena is inching closer to the human, who of course, is facing me. I need to get over there quickly.
My back condenses, and loads like a spring. SNAP. I am the fastest land animal. I should be able to get there in time.
I am off, and this feeling never gets old. The brush is tall, but not tall enough to...
"If you say so," I said, feigning indifference. It was best not to commit to something that would go south in microsecond, which I suspected would happen with Jacob's escape plan.
"Let's go over it one more time," he said excitedly. "At 2100 tomorrow, I'm going to shank Billy in the kitchen. The guards will come running to take me away to solitary, like they did the last thirteen times."
"You don't have anything to shank with," I said, annoyed at his overly dramatic air. "All we're allowed are sporks made of recycled corn, or whatever this shit is." I...
I woke around dawn, unable to sleep any longer. I wrapped the plaid blanket around my shoulders and head and climbed out the window. I walked through the small amout of dawn light filtering through the Brazilian pepper tree's enormous branches. I looked through the small peephole i had left for myself and immediately regretted ever climbing out that window. The reason: a 2 ton bear hurtling towards me. I felt unable to breathe. I tried to run, but my feet were rooted to the spot. as the bear drew closer, i said but one word: HELP!
They gathered in the woods with pounding hearts. Each of them a liar. Some worried about it , others took it in their stride. The camp fire burned and they cooked stolen beans. Cigarettes were passed around and consumed with guilty pleasure.
CRACK! The sound of a breaking twig. The law? They all darted into the trees. Stomachs flipping and hearts pounding they watched as a figure edged towards the fire.
'Hey guys' came a familiar voice 'look what I got'. She held up a bottle of sherry. 'Woot' The rest of the gang raced to share the booty.
How...
I've forgotten how to do this...how to just sit down, and type out my thoughts, or my feelings. I find that I'm constantly carrying my notebook around, with my favourite Pilot pens...and then I will sit, and I sit, and sit...and nothing happens anymore. In my room, in boxes and boxes, are books and books and books. Countless stacks of written word from a lifetime's worth of contemplation, emotion, trials and tribulations. But now....now I cannot seem to pick up the pen, or tap on my keyboard...it just doesn't happen. And what's most frustrating is how I am constantly thinking...
Until now, she’d never thought of herself as pretty. Beautiful, yes. Stunning, definitely. An angel fallen to earth, she’d occasionally even heard that one. But ‘pretty’? Pretty was little girl sweet and candy floss innocence. It was not her because it was not enough. Pretty just didn’t cut it.
She stared at herself in the mirror. She’d been doing the same thing for an hour now, barely moving, hardly breathing, not wanting a hair to fall out of place. Pretty was an insult. She couldn’t bear to hear it again, so she was going to make sure she didn’t. That...
As the Sun rose from His slumber,
She began to stir
in her little house of wood,
a coffin just for her.
Each day,
she hears them scrape
away the earth with shovels,
waiting until
finally
her final bed is done
forever for her to lay.
In the morning,
she awakes,
dead to others
yet alive in her dreams,
to the sound of falling stones
as they cover her coffin.
And, as the final stone fell,
she said a silent prayer, asking for
sweet dreams for her to keep.
And as the earth lay there,
the mound dug in the...
It was the last day.
General Richards was tired. Very tired. He had been walking for a long time, and there was still nothing in sight. No city of glass. Not even the path of golden bricks. They were nowhere to be seen.
He sat down in the dirt, even though none of the others were sitting, even though Eliza still had the energy to dance with her nurse. Of course she had the energy; she was the one they had all been giving all their food and water to. She was only a child. She held the future in...