Again, stepping on his rake. Not in the groin I thougt in an that terrible instant; too late. From behind the hydrangia bush he appeared like a plaid and argyle ninja. "Where ya headed Murphy?" "You know goddamned well were I'm headed you old sot!" I waved the pictures at him, in front of heavy ugly fat face. "I'm sending a copy of this to everyone you know."
Highrises.
This was the life. High up in the skies, towering above the poor commuters who have to walk the streets. I stood on the balcony, the speeders whizzing past. The sun was rising, spraying its rays over the metal surface of the building.
I showered. The sonic waves power washed all the dirt off of my skin. Five minutes later, I was fully dressed and ready for work. I headed back to the balcony, and stepped off onto my speeder.
It only took a minute to get to work. I waved at the scanner at the front door. It...
He had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Making a strategic withdrawal into a tunnel, luring in the rest of the elite squadron that pursued him to pick them off two or three at a time now that they were forced into tighter quarters. He had not heard the sound of the train from far off, and figured he had the time to keep running, slash a few soldiers, put some distance between them, and repeat.
The tunnel was deceptively longer than he presumed.
He ducked beneath the spray of incoming bullets before making a horizontal slash, Rihatsu cleaving through...
"Mallard duck," she said, just before she placed the binoculars back down on the car hood. "No doubt about it."
This was the third time she had drug my out to this place to observe ducks. Or, in her words, to "administer some duck justice."
"Do we really need to be here this early in the morning," I asked. "I didn't sleep very well."
"This is when they're most active," she told me. "This is when they feed most, and that's when they pick on him."
"Him" was a duck with, so she said, a clipped wing of some sort....
He set the plate before her. It was barely covered, a thin, fatty slice of what looked like baloney slapped alongside hard, molding bread. It had been arranged carelessly, lazily, and the boy snarled at her before he left, sliding the table back with his exit as he walked away, back into the kitchen. Sighing, Alina pulled the plate towards her chest, her elbows banging against the table as she slid the meat off the plate and diligently placed it on the bread, bracing herself for the stale taste as she chewed purposefully. The apartment was empty, the walls barren...
He promised me it would work. He'd be able to get me out of the tank before I ran out of breath.
Each move, each second, carefully planned for months in advance. I'd practice both still and swimming like mad, holding my breath for longer and longer periods of time. I was up to three lengths of the pool.
All the while the wife watched from a shrinking distance, suspicion crowding out any remnant of sanity in her eyes. How was she to know I was more attracted to her sister than to the husband.
I'd warned him to not...
It was cold, so cold. I had been held captive in this house for a little over 6 months now, and i was starting to go cabin crazy. The tiny oven was the only source of heat until my captor got home. I recalled the day i was kidnapped. I had been walking with friends in Central Park. Suddenly, a man grabbed me from behind and chloroformed my friends. I had been tied up, and had been laying in the back of a truck for a few hours before i saw where i was. It was al little house, in...
I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead. My story has no happy ending, no prince, no knight in shining armour, none of those fairy tale fables. I lie there motionless, on the cold, dew covered ground. I look truly awful; the complete stillness of my chest makes me cringe. This is what I wanted, was it not? No. Not this way.
I leave my limp body there and find my way back to town. I need my mom, I need my dad, so I...
The sweetest honey was the one they daubed on his lips.
This wasn't really torture; not in the traditional sense. Instead of pain, he was given touches of pleasure.
Simple pleasures - gentle whispers, the smell of bread, the touch of soft wool against his cheek.
After a few days, he wondered if they really wanted him to talk, or if they wanted him to stay. If they wanted him to remain there, relying on them, content to be with them until the end of his days.
To call him a pet would be too extreme, but the principle was...
If we never speak again, there will be so many things I've never said. There will be no record of the thoughts that have been chasing each other around in my head. There will be no reason to remember me. You will never know the truth about what could have been - what I wanted us to be. I will never get to make you understand. If we never speak again...
"Wait!"