She remained there, trying not to be washed away by the torrent that unfolded minutes beforehand. It was a terrible scene, yet pleasant; watching the rain soothed the fire stoked within herself.
Did she wish to begrudge another man? Did she want to carry another grudge? Did she care to add another misery to her life?
He was standing on the sidewalk below, jumping up and down. A passer-by might think he was crazy, but she knew better. He always did things with good reason. She smiled at him as she walked by and murmured, "Hi." He looked around like a startled deer caught in a floodlight, but she was gone. She had dissolved into the doorway.
Maybe he's really happy, she thought, as she walked softly up the stairs, careful not to wake the sleeping house. Sometimes, when she was happy, she felt like doing that. And she felt like never, ever, ever stopping. Maybe...
The earthy smell of autumn leaves surrounded me and stimulated my senses. The crisp crunch of leaves was projected through the isolated valley as I gaped ahead at the distant disturbance. Harsh rustling and twigs snapping told me that this wasn't wind. This was a predator. My heart raced, its beats rapid and echoing through me. I tried to run but my legs were plastered to the ground, heavy as cement. And then I saw it.
She could listen all day. The raspy, melancholy vocals of the demo tape was not without flaws, but in this moment, perfectly delectable. Her own voice was breathtaking to her; after all, how often did she experience a conversational sing-a-long with herself? The sound was a breath of fresh air, nothing she inhale here, in the muggy city, at her perfunctory job, or with her otherwise dull life.
This was the sound of butterflies.
The viel of morning haze parted and she could see clearly now their large felt wings beating against the breeze. Pressing a hand to the headphone to try to pick up a sound, however faint. Quiet now, her breath held tightly. "Damn wont the wind stop just for a second." Finally, and she was not sure if it was even being picked up by the recorder, no time to check. Might miss my chance if I fiddle with it, I just hope its on. The sound was so soft it might be imagined. A voice, then a response. So small...
Spinning this wasn't going to be easy, Simon thought, suddenly conscious of his thumping heartbeat. What on earth was going to come out of his mouth? Oh well, sometimes you just have to plunge in and have faith that the words will come.
He stepped out of the wings and into the bright floodlights, smiling his confident way up to the podium. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he began. "Many of you will have seen the election results by now. . ."
He was a walking arsenal with knives strapped to his armor at forearms, biceps, chest and back. Two smaller throwing knives protruded from his boots. Across his back, a large Claymore peeked over his head.
He was a walking arsenal. Deadly. Powerful. Angry at the world. His deep black eyes burned with flame. His lantern jaw was clenched with determination. He eld himself erect, his arms resting easily at his sides. Suddenly, the call came and he swept into the undead hordes ahead of him, knives leading the way. His word came out at the last instant, slashing through the...
I knew that I could rely on her. No matter what the task, no matter how impossible the time frame or the scope of the task involved, she would get it done as quickly as humanly possible, and generally with a smile on her face, although sometimes she could look a little harrassed when I told her things needed to be done immediately. Producing 175 photocopies of a document which needed to be physically taken to six different areas all within 45 minutes and still whilst answering the phone and dealing with enquirers had been a little bit unreasonable, I...
the colours were too bright and he couldn't make out what the picture was. Joe liked to go the the gallery on a Thursday night because they opened late and he could visit there after finishing his stint as a bike courier.He squinted at the painting in the modern art section and wondered if his bid to seem interesting by going to an art gallery would ever pay off. He spotted a sad- looking girl standing by the darkened window and debated what his opening gambit should be, most of the things he had tried on his previous visits had...
There was blood on my pillow. A lot of blood. A ton of blood. Where did it come from? It seemed to be dripping from somewhere. I looked up. The celing was dry. I looked around, I felt my own face, hair, ears, nose...all dry. What the h*ll was going on? Then, I heard something. A step. Two steps. Steps moving across the wood floor near the staircase downstairs. Was this the source of the blood? Was it the cause of the blood? Am I next? I was not injured, but I was still terrifyed. Suddenly, something came bounding around...