…and at some moment you realize how wrong you were all that time. You don't need this anymore. Absurd. So annoying. You hear same phrases, stories, noises. And you cant do anything about it. You try to explain but what can you do when you are not used to explaining yourself. You have that stoned look on your face and not a thing can disturb you now. Because all you can hear are your thoughts. All you can feel is…and you make your first shot...
Same silence, the only difference is that you can actually hear that ear-breaking noise. Three...
I had never really considered how high your presence made me. It was just not one of the things that troubled me as I soared far above the clouds when I held your hand. What did it matter to me the distance from the ground that each of your kisses took me? It wasn't as if people as in love as I was ever had to worry about the consequences.
I wasn't shocked that we didn't work out. You never opened up to me, you liked being miserable, you had a girlfriend. I was naive, insecure and adored you. Of...
He was coming. Footsteps down the hall.
And, of course, he was alone. Nobody else inhabitated this old house - his wife had disappeared, a long time ago now. He can't blame her, it's impossible to blame her, after that - after their son (their son, their child, their baby) was born, she had retreated into herself.
Of course their son chased her, raged at her, destroyed her. Mothers hating their children is meant to be post-natal depression, but does that count if the child is goading her, forcing her to hate?
She has been gone for a while now....
We stood watching lights of a city I would soon leave behind. Atop the hotel roof, we clung to each other on my last night in Cleveland. The triangle-shaped Rock Hall was lit beautifully. The river below, the stadium where the Browns played just a short ways away. It had been an incredibly hot day for Ohio; yet we held hands the entire day. Woke up with fans blasting, drinking ice water that had turned lukewarm overnight. My feet stuck to his hard wood floors, making squeaking noises as I walked to the kitchen in my summer pajamas; a night...
"This is a little weak on the nose, and blunt in taste. To put it mildly, I wouldn't serve this wine to my guests, nor likely drink it for pleasure." Those were the only words I have ever received, in written communique, as it were, from the famous wine critic Perry Daniels. It was also my first review as a vintner. Unfortunately, besides being in the show, it was also published in the Post. A shame. And great annoyance.
Because of this man, my start in vintering is in somewhat of a decay. I am looking in to brewmaster jobs...
She hadn't felt like this since she was six years old. Once, at a circus, she had begged her father for a balloon, swearing that she would take the best care of it . She realized now that his protests weren't cruel-hearted, but frugal. That he didn't have the money. That when he begrudgingly gave in, it meant that the family would have to go without that week, so that she could feel the joy of holding that light, floating orb above her head by a string, feeling the gentle tug upwards that whispered of something more magical, more ethereal...
As he felt the air spin around him, he stood up. He could no longer see anything except the pocket watch that he had been swinging above his head. It helped him relax, but he had not wound the old clock in several days, and it was getting slow. As he looked at it now, he realized the arms of the clock had melded into a number. Four numbers. 1264. He didn't know what they meant, nor what was happening, but he knew one thing. He was going to find out. He took a step foreword, and felt a million...
It was becoming night. Quickly, stealthly, Navy SEALS approached a haunting compound. Sand-surrounded, barbed-wire covered; its contents unkown, its inhabitants, suspected. This was do-or-die time. The code "Geronimo" was on everyone's minds. This desert, this foreign country, was their home for the past year. Now they had Presidential orders, "capture or kill," "wanted, dead or alive." It wasn't just read off of an old saloon poster. This was it. With intelligence officials watching, and waiting, the world went about its business, until five hours later, when everyone got word of the actions that occurred inside that haunted-looking building. A terror-leader...
I tapped the pencil on the desk, each tap with a rhythmic beat. I was creating a song in my head. A voice snapped out of it, "Daze. Daze, Wake up!" snapped the voice. I suddenly sat up straight and opened my sleepy eyes. "This is the third time this has happened. Please go to the principal's office immediately." I groaned and stood up, in front of the class. I looked upon them before leaving. I saw May, the pretty girl who never bothers to talk to people like me. She had dusty strawberry blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and...
In the event that you perchance upon a mythological entity, and said entity or, dare I say, entities, have desired coconuts, the directions for capturing said coconuts is as follows:
Step 1: Determine if entity — say, your brother — is malicious in intent, or simply a selfish flesh-eating neanderthal.
Step 2: Break his ankles, or perhaps if you feel lucky, both pinky toes.
Step 3: Steal said coconut, bash open with rock and/or machete.
This of course can only work in aforementioned mythical kingdoms. If your brother is Pelops, and you are Tantalus, then you are fully fucked. Perhaps...