Fault.
It wasn't mine. Maybe I lost the idea of whose fault it was when the map flew over the side of the ferry. Yes, it started to rain, and yes, it was I who had forgotten the umbrella at home, but it didn't matter, Damn it. We were going to have an excellent time, through no fault of my own.
The day went off as uneventful. We disembarked, walked along the road through town to a nice shanty-like restaurant on the water. We could look out over the marina and the moored vessels and smell the brine and brackish...
Taste is a matter of where and where you grew up. I am lucky enough to be born in a Country where taste can be seen and savored on a daily base and almost everywhere. Italy is made of taste; great taste, not only concerning the food, but it applies also to cars, shoes, clothing, manners and beautiful ladies. We all know what a man should do to make a lady feel great, isn't that considered taste? When we eat at home or at the fanciest restaurant on the coast do we know what wine is to be matched with...
The dapper man picked up a penny. He rolled it around in his fingers, enjoying the coolness of it. It was raining, and he had had only seen it because the bronze colour had shone up in the middle of a shallow puddle.
The dapper man remembered a rhyme he had heard when he was tiny. See a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck. He thought there might be more to it than that, but that was enough for now. He had a Very Important Meeting to go to that afternoon, and if a bit...
AwesomeAwesome. The goal is to write like the wind? I think not. Friday is a black day for productivity. This is illustrated in our hero, Freewrite. Optimism is a dying breed in Friday, where nothing gets done, and we must relax. we are constricted by it. Freewrite goes on a quest, to the edge of Friday, on a sacred quest to find Work Ethic, said to redeem the last Optimisms in the land. But the victory, my friends, is that Work Ethic is not found, but made. Hard work redeems Optimism, comrades. specially on a Friday, when I could eat...
I held it at arm's length, pressing the butt of the gun into my shoulder. It was heavy and my muscles screamed and burned with the weight. "Almost there," I thought to myself. A strand of my hair fell into my eyes but I ignored it and kept my focus on my target. Carefully balancing my weapon, I raised a hand to still my partner walking behind me. Three of my fingers held up for him to see.
Three.
Target in sight.
Two.
Ready.
One.
Run.
We ran across the bright grass, firing endlessly in the direction of our intended...
"Saranghae."
His words made my heart stop.
"What did you say?" I whispered, not daring to look back at him.
" I love you Hye Jin. I said I love you. So please..Come back. Be mine." Sae Joon reached for my hand, but I quickly slapped it away.
"No! I..I'm not good enough for you. I have to leave. I have to get out of here." I stepped towards the plane entrance and held back my tears.
"You can't please!" Sae Joon fell to his knees and hugged my leg.
"Joon..Please don't make this harder than it needs to be....
In 1921, he flew from the Great Rift Valley. That was the foundation of his reputation. Whispered, announced, stated, introduced, it always provided a collective puckering of lips, a breathing of "oohs" and then sips of champagne as fingers were taken into hand, and warm, hearty pats on the back offered. What a way to enter a party, what a ticket into every party!
He never tired of these parties, the compliments on his swarthy, sun embraced flesh, and the women who plucked at his sleeves and asked what it was like up there, racing against clouds. A man could...
The year was 1986, when Madonna was telling her father not to tell her what to do, and life changed beyond my own imagination. The holiday had been planned for ages, but I had no desire to spend two terminally tedious weeks camping with my younger sisters. I had Mark, with his dark hair and warm lips, and I couldn't bear to leave him for a fortnight. He might fall under a bus, or worse, fall for Jayne Marsden and he stilletto heels.
Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty. And it was very hard for her to. What, with her being overweight. To people of this society, fatties are not pretties.
At least, that's what her father has always told her.
But right now. Standing here right now. Before him. He, who can't seem to look away.
She feels like Halle Berry.
In a simple pair of blue jeans, and a T - Shirt, she walked outside to get the mail. She forgotten that her sister was going out with a bunch of her friends. Assuming she wasn't invited on...
“We were thrown overboard, casted onto the waters left to our demise! They captured us, tortured our very souls mercilessly with wicked demands! ”
“No, I saw you guys, you had parachutes, and falling in the water were totally your own fault.”
“But we were held hostage, left in a God-forsaken tower all tied up with (mostly) nothing to eat or drink! Only when rays of the forgotten sun poked through the crevices of the sturdy wooden door, were we forcefully fed with the remains of frogs and sour wine!”
“Oh, you mean the balcony? Isn’t access to the torch...