I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead.
Surprisingly, I don't mind all that much. It's much calmer out here in the abyss. There's a strange peace that comes with being nothing. Or, rather, not being. There is a difference, you see.
Because I am not, I am able to not be wherever I like. And I am not in the middle of everything.
While I was alive, I loved stories. Stories were incredible things. I would look for them everywhere-- music, movies, books, newspapers,...
The argument over the preferred pronunciation of "Pax Romana" bloomed into a bloody fistfight, not that it was terrifically violent so much as the pugilists were notorious bleeders. The patch of snow on which they sparred began to resemble the flag of Japan as arms unfurled, elbows snapped back, and fists clenched so tight, thumbs overlapped knuckles.
Inside, my kung pow shrimp cooled under the air vent.
Forget all you know about everything. Forget history in it's whole. What If you'd not only have the power to control time, but everything else ? Not in a B-movie ' timemachine ' kind of way, no,no. Meet Ivan Barbossa. The undeniable man. The man who never dies, and when he does, he just shows up again. He only dies when time and space stop existing. The end of all things mean his end as well. This man has been around since the beginning of time, seen the first cell evolve, or met the first man and woman to have...
The air raid sirens were going off. I could tell. Even from the thousands of feet above, I could hear the wailing of the sirens call. And that was fine. Most of the people below us would be dead by morning anyway. The tell tale rumble of the US sky-boats shook the fuselage of the Junker we were in, signalling our commanding officer to greenlight our jump. In the dwindling light of evening we leaped from our Ju-88, nicknamed Hati, and plummeted towards the blooming flowers below.
Allied parachutes blew up below us as we rocketed towards the earth. I...
I could have danced all night. At least that's what I thought. Nobody told me that these shoes would be the bane of my existence - what 13 year old goes to a school dance in anything but flats? At least that's what I thought.
I will never forget my eighth grade school dance. I've never danced so hard. My feet never hurt so bad. I had never had so much fun in my life! The dancing, the singing, the laughing, and, oh man, the pictures. I still have them. Real pictures, unphotoshopped pictures, the kind you had to get...
Green bows were her signature hair accessory. Abby, with her fiery red, curly hair, always had a green bow. Her grandmother thought it was special to represent her Irish heritage, her mom thought it was a phase. Last year, when Abby was 8, she wore rain boots wherever she went. The green bows were just "a thing."
In school, though, the bows didn't go over so well with the other kids. Abby was teased for always wearing them, gettin called names for looking the same everyday. Bonnie was a mean girl at Abby's school, and ripped Abby's favorite green bow...
Twisting, turning, bending, breaking. Well, I haven't broken yet, but I sure can't bend much further without snapping in a million pieces. I mean, how many lies can a person twist before they break? I've been living this life for so long that you'd think lying would just be part of the job by now. I mean, come on. I'm a spy. It shouldn't be this difficult anymore. At the beginning, sure but not now. They stand in front of me and I can see in their eyes that they aren't quite as clueless as before. Oh boy. The boss...
After fifteen minutes of sex texting I put on my long fur coat over my nightdress and left the house, hoping none of the neighbours were outside and would notice my bare legs as I got into the car. The lights were off at Dave's apartment as I pulled up but I knew the door would be left open. My high black stiletto's would have announced my arrival, he knew it was time to click shut the last handcuff to the bedrail.
I climbed ontop of him,rubbing myself on his bare chest, feeling and hearing his response. This time I...
What is that, Dad, I asked.
It's the tree, he said. A tree? I repeated. No, he said, it's THE tree. The tree of knowledge, the source of all wisdom and power. Once upon a time humans ate its fruit, and that's why we got smart. It's why we made all these clever machines, you see.
It doesn't look like much, I said after a minute.
Oh, well that's not the FIRST tree, he said. It was planted from a seed of that tree. The original tree is long gone, and this is its last descendant, which still has all...
The conversation lasted two words: Why now? The blank stare that met Angela's question was all the answer she needed. The time didn't matter, it never mattered. All that he was concerned about now was getting to the engine room.
Without looking back, she spun swiftly on her heel and stormed across the deck to the lift, already standing open, waiting for her. This was the day they had been waiting for, and she would be damned if she would allow something so trivial as a fleeting moment of emotion overcome her and destroy all that she had trained for....