"It's simple," he said. "A simple plan for world domination. The Moon is the key. People need the Moon. So if we threaten to destroy the Moon, everyone in the world will have to do what we say."
This guy was ranting and raving. I sighed, and continued to humor him. "How the hell are you going to destroy the Moon? It's massive. Do you have any idea how massive it is?"
He waved his hands dismissively. "We don't even need all that much destructive power, just enough to produce a credible threat."
"Even if you had a credible threat,...
When I see these flowers, and this man standing here (that's me, by the way), and I see all the men with guns walking behind me, I'm supposed to say that the flowers remind me of a lady. I'm supposed to taste the dust in my mouth, remember my comrades who gave their lives, understand the difference between pride and loyalty, duty and identity.
Mostly, I remember not knowing where I stood with any of these things; thinking that this was the process to figuring it out.
We're all figuring it out, aren't we? To know where you stand is...
The Rivermen had her boxed in. Two still waited for her at the bottom of the stairwell behind the knockoff Bayeux Tapestry--now ripped to shreds by blades. Two more on either side of this room, this tiny, gaudy bedroom that her mother had spent months decorating. And though she knew at least one of them would come bursting through, knife drawn, she couldn't stop staring.
The water was clear as she looked out over the bridge at the river flowing past her. It was as clear as the choice that she knew she had to make. She had to leave. She would not kill her baby. The child didn't deserve to be born to a father who didn't even want it. She could feel the baby kick inside of her as she tightened her coat. He had been really angry when she had told him about the baby - he'd even hit her. She just couldn't go back and risk both of their lives.
She...
He walked back, the small rocks crunching under his feet and the lips of fish sucking to his fingers, as if they were still alive and able to do even that most simple of things. It was a daily walk, and one he was quite accustomed to. It was a monotonous job, there are only so many times you can make the same three mile journey before you start to get bored of even the most beautiful trees and streams. Of course, he may have been able to appreciate them longer if they hadn't been cut down and irrigated away,...
100 feet away. He is only a hundred feet away. That's all the distance that I would need to cross to be in his arms, to be able to kiss him, to find the comfort that I am missing and to feel safe.
A hundred feet.
I have never wanted to move so much in my entire life.
He knows me. It has only been a few weeks and yet I feel it, He Knows Me.
He knows that when I'm unhappy I need to write, he knows that I believe in God for the small things not what they...
Deluxe. I ordered a deluxe meal. Where, you might be wondering? Not McDonalds. Not BK. Not Whataburger. Not Chick-fil-a. No, I was trying a new restauranut down on 57th street, you know, in the bad part of town. Normally, I don't venture out that way to often. However, my favorite comic book store recently located to 55th street, just two streets over from this new place. So, after I bouight the newest copies of Batman, X-Men, and Green Martians From Outer Space, I went over to the new restauranut. It was called "Tom's Eatery". "Hmmm....", I thought to myself, "Thsi...
The lamp wouldn't turn on and I had to sleep in the dark. I had to imagine what was lurking without light. I was afriad at first and then my eyes adjusted. My pupils opened up. In the morning the sun came in a few strands at a time and I realized that I was still alive and the monsters, goblins, all the things I'm afraid of didn't get me. The light doesn't have to be on to feel safe. Safety is still there with light. I listen to my dog snore and she snorts. She is fat and I...
The dystopia is a genre of fiction designed to teach a lesson about society by imaging a future society warped in some terrible way. The interesting thing about dystopian novels is their reliance on a single, antagonistic character to provide a terrible monologue of exposition to the horrified protagonist, explaining just how and why society went bad, and why the system must persist.
George Orwell's 1984 has O'brien, Aldous Huxley's Brave New World has Mustafa Mond, and Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 has Captain Beatty, the remarkably well-read "fireman" who has turned his back on all that literature had to offer...
Dear Santa,
My name is David Jordan. I have ben a very good boy this yeer. I would relly like a new He-Man toy and maybe a Night Rider too. My litle brother wants some Linkin Logs. And Santa, could you bring mama a new car. She recked hers last week.
Ill hav cookies and milk for you when you get here.
Thanks Santa,
David