Pristine. Vacant. Blankly inspired I suppose.
I stood there stiff at the edge, the reservoir grasped my echoes of desperation, but regurgitated full truths. I was to die.
Only my faulty pretences did I end up here, it was only by my willingness to give up on all that was once so attainable. This rock here is the last tangible relic of my hope, but in my full awareness I know it is.
Where did this all start my thoughts of unforgiving failures? It started at that dream, that heart-wrenching dream. In my old home that creeked with emptiness and...
She told me never to open my mouth, never to talk. She said I am nothing, no one, and not even a mere object. But I did, I gave my self an excuse to talk, as I bulleted down Quincy Lane, and ran into the cemetery on North Boulevard. I walked over to the tombstone that represented what ever life I had. What ever excuse I had to be a happy person. For the next hour, my teardrops fell on the stone. And quietly, under my breath, I read the words engraved in the stone.
IN REMEMBRANCE OF TOM E....
"Big wheels keep on turnin'..." Paul's hands beat on the steering wheel in time with Lynyrd Skynrd as he drove down the highway toward town. "....A Southern Man don't need him around anyhow!" he sang loudly, dancing in the driver's seat. His dark eyes shone with glee as the music pumped him up. Soon, Paul reached his destination and turned into the parking lot, waiting for the song to end.
Finally, the music stopped and Paul pulled the key from the ignition. Gradually, his heart beat returned to normal and he straightened his red tie and white Polo shirt and...
The old lady was in real trouble now. She did not feel the grey touch of the dark hand as it stroked her wrinkled face, marking her. It would come for her soon, the looming shadow of time, and there was nothing she could do but grow older and weaker. She sat in the back of a black car, and her destination was the foundations of the departed. Accompanying her was her sister, wearing the same black dress. Everything was the colour black today. It was the symbolic colour; the colour of the dark one. The lead weight of a...
In the beginning, he tasted like rainwater: salty. Dried sweat around the rim of his mouth, a taste that clung to his mustache bristles like saltwater taffy.
In the beginning, he was rainwater, and I was a pool. Splashes hit the bottom. He said, you are a the ruin of mankind, rising to the tops of the trees. He said, you make me greedy to reach your destination like a home.
In the end, he tasted like a mountain top. Stretching high above the clouds to breathe a privileged cold. And I was a seed that could not grown on...
She could tell I was faking it. The smile across my face only a slight glimmer of what it once was. Telling my wife I loved her used to be so easy; kissing her face, brushing my fingers in her hair. They were all lies now.
I had only just found out a bit ago about her affair. Long done and over with, it had been with a colleague of mine back in 2002. It only lasted a few months and all the while, I had no idea.
It has been eight years since that time, but only now am...
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.
I didn't want to do it, really. Jimbo was fooling around at the register and the clerk was eying us nervously. Next thing I know I'm holding the gun while Jimbo vaults the counter. He's crazed and scared and mad and his voice is shaking and the clerk is pissing himself and I know this is gonna end bad. I'm waving the gun like a toy and I get this weird feeling in my gut and my head starts to sing and I feel anger well up and my vision narrows and I'm yelling too now and the guy is...
by the time the cops can, I sneaked into an alleyway to avoid the cops but as soon as I ran around the corner of a random building. I was outnumbered by 7 police cars and 24 officers all pointing there guns at my head ready to not hesitate and shoot. But why were the cops after me? now that is a story i can't explain much about.
It was last tuesday, a young woman was knocking on my apartment door at 6 in the morning. I hungover from the night before from getting wasted and partying. I got up...
Centuries collide and we find Marie Antoinette, victim of the Today Show questions. Cue Katie Couric:
"Marie, why couldn't you give your husband a son?"
"Well, Katie, "
"No Marie! Why?"
"Katie,"
"MARIE."
"Madame Couric"
"WHO is Madame Couric? Call me Katie, now answer the question, better question, though, explain your infamous 'let them eat cake' phrase."
"..cake, hmm, cake...let them eat cake, boy these studio lights are dreadfully hot, my white face is dripping and this foot-tall wig is absolutely scorching my head."
"MS. ANTOINETTE!"
"hmm? Oh yes, let them eat cake..well"
"Get her out of here Matt. Next...