Stinkbombs ruined my perfect wedding night. The odious smell wouldn't leave me, even after a few days. I knew it was a sign, one of many I had been getting ever since I announced my engagement. Today was our fourth day in the paradise resort high in the mountains and John hadn't returned from hiking with the local guide we'd hired.
Of course there was a reasonable explanation. Lost track of time, minor accident, losing something, getting engrossed in a special flower or bird. He was into nature my John. Tall, very slim with blond wavy hair, striking blue eyes...
Whap! It him like a .... what? Whap! It did it again... that thing inside his head. He'd forgotten to take his meds... oh, many days gone by. The doctors had warned him when left the ward... Whap! It felt like... God, he couldn't have described it if he'd wanted to. He'd loved his mother.. when she was alive. Being dead didn't help his issues... his mother, not him, that is. The ward had been locked, the drugs forced on him.
Whap!
He'd promised the doctors he'd take them when he got out.
What!
He'd instead torn them up and...
Whenever she had balked at doing her homework in high school, her mother had always turned to her and asked, "Nadine, would you rather be a big fish in a little pond, or a big fish in a big pond?"
Nadine was pretty sure her mother was misquoting that aphorism.
Not entirely sure, of course. She hadn't been entirely sure of anything in years; she didn't feel entitled to feelings of certainty without a diploma or GED under her belt.
These days, Nadine was definitely just a small fish, little more than a fry. She was the fish that all...
There's no way that's possible!
But this horse-like creature, it clearly looks like what could be described as a unicorn. But how.
We decided to ask the Zoo keeper why this horse had a sort of horn at the top of it's head.
"Oh this one?" He inquired, "It's a rare bread of horse, no one really knows why it has a horn."
I know for fact that the "unicorn" did not have any magic inside of it like fairytales would like you to believe.
But if a creature like this exsists, there's no telling what else could be possible....
Wanted. Crib. Last one sold prematurely.
Trivia. They say Native Americans, and other native people of the World, believed photographs stole their soul, the marrow of their being. It comes up a lot in clever White people films and books, when they want to show Savages and Locals as ignorant and superstitious.
Actually, it is probably more true of the early photographers themselves, breathing Mercury fumes, day in day out, in producing their metal plate dageurotypes. The toxin building up, destroying the marrow in their bones, until they quickly faded as much in Life and Strength as their pictures eventually did. Easy pickings they were.
I...
Marvin's head jerked up from the desk when he heard that ring. It was an awful ring - one that he should have been used to, and probably would have been, under normal circumstances. But the reason why this ring was so horrendous and annoying was because Melinda accompanied it, with her terrible voice, saying "Marvin! Pick up the damn phone!"
Marvin wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew that he shouldn't have been sleeping in the first place. And that voice, "Marvin, Pick up the damn phone!"
The trouble, of course, was that the phone had been...
"I'll be 69 this year."
I lifted my eyes from my book, struggling with my irritation. Across from me sat a woman, her eyes clouded with reflection as she stared over my shoulder. "Forty years I could have spent with someone who adored me if I hadn't have been so blind."
I blinked. I couldn't quite tell if she was actually speaking to me. I folded my book around my thumb and waited. The ache in her voice spoke to the same in mine and I refused to look at my phone that had hummed more than once, someone far...
Margaret talked trivia all day to me. Tv shows, online forum friends, recipes, to do lists, celebrity downfalls. Why would an ex-intelligence agent be like this? It was a mystery I wanted to solve.
Whenever I came over for a chat, we sat drinking coffee in a living room bursting with ornaments and pictures on the walls. I don't think there was an inch of space anywhere. Dreamcatchers, statues of the Virgin Mary, shelves of porcelain dolls, angels. I've never seen so many different types of angels in my life! Paintings of them, statues, crystal, hundreds of crochet angel pins...
The audience stared open mouthed at me. "Let's just do a thought experiment," I breezed into the debate, "and imagine that super powered people, Supers, actually exist. Telepathy, Telekinesis. Even flight. All that stuff. Imagine it was not just the subject of your lexically challenged, so called literature…"
This last bit was 'performed' as my fingers nimbly retrieved the hidden comic from a front row student's folder. The kid smiled sheepishly and impersonated a beetroot.
A voice from somewhere at the back answered him. "Then we should look in the asylums, Prof X…"
Prof X? The Mutant? That was a...