My singing was awful. Didn't matter as the audience were drunk, I could see Lorna sticking her tongue down John's throat as the light swept over the audience. They didn't seem to care that anyone might notice and tell John's wife in a text during the interval. After my horrendous attempt at Billy Holiday I heard a voice in my ear, it was a child asking me to talk to someone called Betty who had red hair, an addiction to pickled eggs and had three cats called Tom, Dick and Harry.
She was sitting in the last row and only...
I don't know, I just feel like I'm not really here at the moment. My mind is always somewhere else. I don't know where though, for you see I have actually lost my mind.
I feel like I'm split into four people. The solid me? She's just not present right now, I don't know where she is. Like I said, I lost her. I didn't mean to though...
I promise.
The saddest thing about losing me, is that nothing ever feels 'right' anymore. You know what I mean! That gut feeling you get when you make decisions or when you...
Justin was just a regular guy before I discovered him. Sure, he'd played Chronoball before. I'd even seen him do quite well for an amateur, when I checked my notes later. But that fight in the bar was what got him noticed. He's on more Creds than several small planets' GDPs now; I get 20% of course.
When Jack, who'd always had it in for him since High School, threw the first punch in the Snug, Justin hadn't flinched. He'd thrown the Chronoball, which had been resting on the bartop, over Jack's head. Contact with the far wall activated the...
I hated the fairy picture. Instead of feeling at peace, secure, happy I always had sleepless nights. Mom sleeping on the floor near my bed, comforting me when I cried out. No matter where she put the picture, in another room, even in the trash, it somehow once again appeared somewhere in my bedroom. Once it was inside my Nancy Drew book, another time under the mattress. The worst time was when it floated from the ceiling right onto my face! I screamed the house down even though I didn't at first know what it was.
The parish priest blessed...
"Mary?" a middle aged, crows footed woman queried as she stepped over the threshold.
"Mistress…" the young maid gestured her in, both blushing. Somewhat flustered the farmer's wife surveyed the room.
"Tom!" she blushed on blushes. Something the old woman had not thought possible. Interest upon Interest. Clearly no Pythagorean shape would ever do this web justice.
"I haven't said naught, Po… I mean, Mistress." the plough boy blurted. He was good at blurting, the witch noticed. It was good he had found what he was good at, at such a young age.
"Meg, I need your help again…" the...
Imagine you're sitting at a table and the drunk version of you sits before you.
What would you say to one another?
Would the drunk you tell you the truth, admit to all the honesty you bury deep within or would the sober you manage to quell all of the clarity with your denial and issues?
And which one is the real one at this point? You spend more time with alcohol than you do with the voices in your head these days. So if your friends were to join you at the table, which of the two of you...
I come from the green.
You run to the red.
I'm walking, you're runing.
Until the blue point, we met.
We walk together under the blue sky into the twilight.
On our way, I feel like to follow the white cloud. But you said the dark one is more tempting.
I don't like rain, though you come from the rain.
Still we walk. I stopped when it comes rain but you just stand there, under the rain.
The rain is getting bigger. Then we stop from walk for longer time. Until the rain stop.
We walk again, together. Now you're...
So, at some point she had apparently managed to get married.
She stared at the occasional table and thought about that. She'd found a wonderful man, she'd collaborated with him, she'd fucked him, she'd had a wonderful time, they'd made a wonderful home together, and a wonderful baby together, and, really, what did it matter that she'd never finished her degree? She had a husband she loved and a son she loved and a life she always envied, until she shook herself a bit and remembered that it was hers.
There were thousands of other ways to do important work...
She should have been writing. Instead, she watched the time slide away from her.
5'44". 5'32". 5'11".
What was this? she asked—not herself, but God, the heavens, the hall monitor, anybody but herself. Was this paralysis?
No. This was a choice. And even though she closed her eyes, she still couldn't get away from that.
4'09". 3'58".
Why not write? There was the prompt on the page. She could do this. She was good at this. She always had been, always, always. Write on command. Paper comes back; mark at the top.
She didn't work hard for years and take...
The fetid winds drifted heavily across the abandoned battlefield. Stench and Decay and the futility of it all. To our protagonists it was a bounty of untold riches. Coin and Cloth and untold amounts of scrap metal to be melted down. To the pickers and eaters of the dead this waste of life and treasure might feed thier kith and kin for many days. Wherever the Gods of War traveled, they were circling with unnatural patience.