Snip. Snip.
Pause.
Snip snip snip.
He squinted into the test tube. The stems of heather floated in the solution of sodium dodecyl sulfate, suspended, waiting.
Laughing at him.
Gene closed his eyes. No, he thought, not now. Not after all this. Not when I'm so close.
Flashback to the grimy street where he was born, eleventh child to a drunk and a slattern. When he dared say that he would grow up to be a scientist one day, oh how the neighborhood toughs had loved it. Another reason to pound him, day after day. "Gene, Gene the gene-machine, work...
Well, I'll have a go. I said, That's fantastic, you wont regret it I promise, it really helped me. I thanked Chris, I felt a bit anxious about him being so enthusiastic. I hate letting people down, including myself but I wasn't bothered about that right this minute. I left Chris to his Hot Chocolate, which was probably Luke warm by now.
In a few minutes I was out on the street, a breezy day in June. I was looking for a quiet bench to sit down and write a few bits down in my notebook. I don't know if...
One day a man called Gilbert played with small electrical appliances, he named this activity "duckery". He played so much his fingers became paranoid. This paranoia soon ran from his fingertips straight to his heart. After a couple of weeks he noticed a strange, yet, comfortable feeling in his upper right shoulder, he called this "proper". Proper became so "happening" that he made up words like "happening" and "bloodthirsty". But things started to take it's toll on poor old Gilbert. He lost his confidence in playing with small electrical appliances. He became depressed and fell in a coma, he named...
To run was the only thing he could do. He couldn't escape the overwhelming feelings.
He couldn't escape the overwhelmingly heavy burden of the path he was given. It was his path, yes. Or was it a shared path? He suspected it was, but there was no one who could verify it. No one. He was Forrest Gump, just running. And the Bubba Gump Shrimp Factory was his reward. Momma said life was a series of bumps-- raised sheaves of sidewalk to step over or turn around and avoid. So he runs.
"Of all the times my back has to go out, it decides to do it with a freaking hurricane coming," Susan fumed. "I haven't even had time to board up the windows or glue down the silverware."
The dark storm clouds crept closer and closer and closer to her home.
"Why is that godforsaken mailbox so far from the house?" she cried, needing to focus her frustration at being completely helpless on something, on anything.
Susan tried to stretch out her back, tried to stand up, but the pain snapped at her lower back lips whips. She cried out, hoping...
"Hestan... where am i?" said Vive as she came out of anesthesia. "You're in the hospital. You collapsed in the park three days ago. The doctors say that a clot developed in your aorta and you went into cardiac arrest." said Hestan, handing her a book. She smiled, then opened it and read for the next hour. A nurse came in and injected another anesthetic into her IV. two minutes later she dropped back into sleep. Then a doctor came in and said "Her heart is fine, but we still don't know what caused the clot. She was perfectly healthy,...
I did not like the look of it. It had what other people might call poor aesthetic value. This thought was somewhat pointless though considering the mastery within the thing. It was about the size and shape of a lighter but had the colour and rough, jagged, texture of sea washed rocks.
Jenny had always said to be careful in what I was doing. Everyone else either seemed to think I was a bit eccentric or maybe more commonly just a nut case. I think Jenny only worried because she had sympathy for me though. I resented that. In reality...
Tom watched the sun set slowly over the skeletal remains of Brighton Pier. He had spent the day wandering through the narrow lanes of the town, stopping in the curio shops, selecting strange items from dusty shelves. A pocket watch, its mechanism rusted by age and inattention, was warm in his hand. Its smooth surface, touched by a hundred hands, was plain and unadorned. He wondered who had bought it, seen it in the window of a watchmakers, taken it home. Who had carried it in their pocket. Had they perhaps stood at this very spot, looking out to sea,...
It was tragic. He'd just been gathering cotton for his sister's dress, just like she asked him to. He'd gotten tired, and made a sort of bed. The bear had smelled his dog treats that he always kept in his pocket, and decided that the entire package would be tastier. the bear had taken him in his claws, then realized that it's victim was still breathing. So it'd thrown him against the tree, then started ripping out his intestines. When his sister found him, he was a bunch of bones. The only thing left was his heart, purer than anyones...
The coffee was cold now, but she sipped it anyway, imagining the heat. She blew away non-existent steam and let the rain soak her skin. She had been sitting in the same seat for over an hour, waiting, waiting, waiting. There was still a part of her that hoped he was going to turn up. But most of her knew that he would not. The coffee she had bought for him was opposite her, and she watched the thin raindrops falling into it, making holes in the disappearing foam.
He had never told her that he would be here. They...