When I crossed the street, my mind was rapidly flashing with the dreadful information. I sprinted to the bus stop, and scowled, to find the bench, filthy, and obviously occupied by a sleeping homeless man. When the bus came, I boarded, along with a woman that had just walked by, her high heels clattering on the pavement. I observed the driver, as I always do, sitting in the front, and deciding if he has a criminal background or not. If he does, I'll get off at Washington, the next stop. I tapped my feet on the floor of the bus,...
Mia and John sat by the stones, and no one noticed them.
"You shouldn't be here." John explained.
"My dad's hated here, so what? I need to know the truth."
John ducked under a tree, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Your dad is traced back to you. His enemies are yours now."
"You mean people want to kill me?"
"Just people you're dad took from." John said quietly, a blur against the dark stones.
Mia looked at him, incredulous. "It could be any of these people."
She looked around, and saw people through windows, walking through the streets,
It's not easy being funny.
People expect things of you. They come to you down in the mouth, looking for a laugh. Most of the time you can oblige them, but it's hard creating something from nothing. I'm not a music box that you can wind up and expect to hear a tune. At least say "please."
I guess it comes from watching too much television. Sitcoms really mold a kid who spends half his day on the couch. That, and a willingness to tell the truth to people's faces.
Anyway, it's easy to ask for a laugh. It's just...
The children were not at school. They were not at home. Monica was frantic at the thought of Danny and Eric being missing. Where did they go? It was 7:30 pm on Wednesday, the day they usually got out early and went to Mrs. Frank's for what they called "playtime" before Monica got home from work. But Shelly Frank said they never arrived off the bus, and the Principal said they didn't arrive at school that morning, and Monica's husband, Max was notified. "That bastard," thought Monica. After 3 years of being absent, Max was still a contact for emergencies...
She closed her eyes and disappeared. The notes swallowed her, refusing to let her go. The beat aligned with her heart beat, giving her the illusion of impossible strength. The music grew louder until it was an explosion--as if thousands of butterflies instantly fluttered. She wished she too could fly away. Fly like the waves of the sound. Fly like the butterflies.
But instead, she was bound like the hair on her head. Bound by responsibily. Bound by expectation. Bound by fear of the unknown.
Lost without a hand to hold, Shelly, looked both ways down the street. Dropped down from the curb into an alley between fender and bumper and peeked her dark brown eyes along the concrete corridor.
A dark station wagon rolled by, riding heavy and low. Momentarily, her reflection stared back at her in the tinted window, haloed in the streetlight. A brick caught in her throat and she swallowed, but it wouldn't go away.
Shelly turned stood there, arms out, resting on hood and trunk and swallowed and gulped and shook her head and bounced up and down, hoping the...
Emotions are tricky things. They are the things that fill us with that warm, semtimental feeling that we get in our chest while our hearts are busy taking picture so as never to forget the beauty of a moment. That emotion we might call love. They are the pounding of blood running pushing its way through our ears, sweat streaming down cheeks, and our breathing heavy and laboured. That emotion could be named fear. They are also heaviness that seeps through our body after a long day of disappointment and getting nothing done. This is discouragement. But emotions, good or...
She hid behind the thin sheet of fabric. Her hair gently fell upon her bare back as she felt the breeze gently brush against her bare chest. Her eyes shifted from left to right as she watched his every move. He walked to the edge of the bed and began to unbutton the wrinkled dress shirt he sport that night. The shirt reeked of hard liquor and a slight hint of nicotine. She breathed in the heavy scent of sin that floated through the room. Unable to control herself, she let out a soft moan. He turned towards her direction....
"It was a cold and stormy night..." I read as I began to read another mystery novel. A lot of stories begin with this phrase/description of the scenery. Whenever I read it, I don't imagine something bad is going to happen because I have read it many times. But rather, if the opening scene was to describe a more creative and original scene I may be more interested. These are the thoughts that roam through my head as I try to do the reading assignment for my high school literary class. It's impossible to focus when you cannot read through...
The samurai didn't know where he was.
It seemed similar to the forest outside his hometown. But it didn't feel right. The sounds seemed different, The air felt different. He didn't feel as though he'd been transported, and yet... something felt wrong, as though something were missing yet there all at the same time.
He continued his wanderings before coming across a wood and metal track. A strange trail, to be certain, but one that would certainly lead him to the nearest town, hopefully to make sense of his clear lack of orientation.
The sounds did seem different, especially along...