I heard it again. "It's hell getting old! One, to say this is to show total disregard to the countless lives cut short never having the opportunity to experience all life has to offer living to an old age. Two, to say this is to show little or no realization that a lifelong of memories can only be gathered living to an old age. That's no hell to me. I will savor every moment. It sure beats the alternative.
SMASH!!
The glass shattered everywhere
she was hesitant and didn't know what to do she was homeless for so long that if she didn't break into a store for food she would of died
I havent eaten in months and I don't have money for food, my parents kicked me out at the age of 12, i slept on the filthy ground for 3 years until this man came along one day and saved me he took me to his house and feed me but little did I know
tat for the next 2 years of my life i would...
Starvation.
He'd heard the word before, used it - but he hadn't known what it meant. He knew that now. He had no idea of what it really meant, not until now, not until this moment (but he knew it would continue to get worse until he could eat, of course it would, that gnawing inside would only get worse)
His vision was failing, he was dizzy - he needed something, needed to find something to eat, or he would -
He knew it with a painful clarity. He would die.
Again.
It had been bad enough the first time...
The message was received.
"Prayers are needed for a friend. he has cancer."
Horrible! Terrible news!
Certainly not the kind to be wished upon anyone.
Within minutes the responses were coming in.
"Right on it Buddy!"
"My prayer list is never too long!"
"I'll be shouting out to the Big Guy!"
And I sat and wondered!
Is this same guy who said all gays should be dead?
Is this the guy who said all Muslims are terrorists?
Is this the guy who said all poor and homeless people deserve to be poor and homeless?
I sat and wondered, "What is...
The alligator with the cardboard mouth. The whipped cream on the stairs. Hollow clang. Syncopated clatter.
The brighter colors remind me of childhood. Not that adulthood has been faded yellows or softening greys. But a luminescent green or radiant orange triggers my primary nostalgia.
The set is bare. The slice of bread reads 5 in ketchup. A lazy harmonica.
When time runs out here, it starts over there. Follow the alligator king.
"Carry the wreath, Henry, your mother is waiting."
Father's terse words spoken from the side of his mouth, muffled by his coat's collar and the stub of a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He fancied himself a small-town Bogart. He was the only one.
Two days past christmas and we're out before dawn, getting decorations.
"For next year. Don't worry about it," he says, pulling the flask from the inside pocket. "Carry it another few blocks and maybe I'll give you a sip."
He drinks and staggers and coughs. The butt falls from his mouth and I crush...
They were listetning. I think they might have heard ebery word I was saying. Did I care? Yes, for they were the ones who controlled my mind. It all started when I laid down my head to sleep a few days ago. Not in my bed, but in remote field somewhere in west Texas. What was I doing three, near Odessa but not as far as El Paso? Intersting question, and I;m not even sure I know why. I just drove. Drove for miles and miles. Hours and hours. I was running from soemthing, something I didn't really undertsand. It...
Marchiel was wondering again. Wondering what Francis was up to. He was awfully quiet in the living room. She had left him alone for less than ten minutes to fold the laundry. He had been building towers contentedly, block by purposely placed block. But now it was awfully silent. When she got back into the living room the sliding door was open, and her 4 year old was no longer building with blocks. Marchiel raced to the door and stumbled over the thresh hold, as Francis, his big eyes all alight stood by the tree bleeding. An uprooted rose bush...
I was playing basketball with Michael Jordan, Lebron James, Carmelo Anthony, Kobe Bryant and Kevin Durant. We were playing 3 on 3. It was Michael, Carmelo and myself. We were playing to 21. It was tied 19 to 19, win by two. We've got the ball up top, Melo checks it. I run and set a pick for Jordan across the baseline. Jordan slides off of me, while I set the pick. Kobe gets through pretty quickly, but not quick enough. Jordan catches it in the corner and does a quick turn around jumper. 20-19. Make it take it, so...
Bombs were the last thing on his mind. Literally. Jim was struck dead-on in the head by a warhead, and, naturally, it killed him instantly.
But when Jim regained awareness, it was in a huge warehouse, cordoned off into a long line; others were standing in single-file, inching slowly toward what appeared to be some sort of bank teller's window. From the looks of the line, however, he didn't think he'd be getting service any time soon--the line doubled back on itself at least fifteen times.
Hours passed, people crept, and he eventually got within ten people back of the...