I have come to the conclusion that Jack suffers from a degenerative brain disorder. This may sound horrible coming from his own mother, but it's all I can think about these days. First off, he takes our only cow to the market and comes back with seeds when I specifically said we needed food. Sure, you can use the old fisherman analogy, but NOT when it involves an immediate need to fill our incredibly bare cupboards. I would have even accepted him butchering her for food. I really would have. But no, my son is a retard.
Magic beans? Really?...
Cold feet. She wore pink shoes under her white gown to match the theme. Pink. Well, Blush and Bashful just like Steel Magnolias - if you asked her, she wouldn't say Pink.
Cold feet. A pink winter wedding was all she wanted; Blush and Bashful were the colors; THE colors she had to have. Muffs on the bridesmaids' hands, all in the light-colored dresses. And roses. Lots and lots and tons and tons of roses. All in pink and white.
Cold feet. She spent the last 7 years with Austin, and this winter wedding was all she ever wanted. But...
The dream was better than waking. I floated, all the past troubles seeming to dissipate before my very eyes. Luke was nowhere to be seen, which was a relief, because in days past he had haunted my dreams mercilessly. I noticed that there was no one else in my dream, just a thick, white mist. Like a feather bed, i laid in the unusally substantial mist, in a mystical dreamlike state. I saw a shape, a dark figure coming through the fog. It was Nyxie, my facility director. Her red hair floated like me, but she kept to the ground....
Tom watched the sun set slowly over the skeletal remains of Brighton Pier. He had spent the day wandering through the narrow lanes of the town, stopping in the curio shops, selecting strange items from dusty shelves. A pocket watch, its mechanism rusted by age and inattention, was warm in his hand. Its smooth surface, touched by a hundred hands, was plain and unadorned. He wondered who had bought it, seen it in the window of a watchmakers, taken it home. Who had carried it in their pocket. Had they perhaps stood at this very spot, looking out to sea,...
The shapes were obstructing my view. I couldn't even look out the front window of the car for the shapes. i was taught what a circle, square and rectangle were when I was a small child, but now I've forgotten. I've forgotten it all. Nothing remains from preschool, not even the color blurred crayon drawings from Mrs. Couch's class. The only sign I know is peace. If only peace could get me from point a to point b. If only I could find my way through the traffic that way. Little speck of dust look circular, but they aren't they...
I jumped on the bandwagon. Everyone else was going down, and I mean, I thought I knew the basis of the movement, so of course that's what matters, right? So I went downtown. There were all these people there. All this passion. But I slowly realized that I was just there because it was fun. There were a bunch of other kids, my age, maybe older, sort of just there to have a good time, to try and get a rise out of some people. Like people without clothes on, or like doing drugs in the street, really weird stuff...
Sideways glances and meanderings
Staring down some dark alley street
Cobbled and
oh
so
crooked.
This sway of me breezes free
seeking peace
not seeking.
Blood rushes through these veins
but ethereal do I sometimes feel
when falling.
Sweet surrender to do we offer ourselves to each other
and truly believe this is it.
Who are we kidding?
Death has no mercy and sometimes won't even let us die
but instead waste away inside of
bars
flesh
dreams.
So it be
so it be
but not definitely..
The pistol was cocked... Ready to go. I didn't know what to do...
Should I shoot? Should I run? It was a question which required some thought. But I had no time to think.
I needed to think back to my college philosophy classes. Fight or flight. Talk or smoke.
So... I reached into my pocket slowly, all the while showing my pistol...
"Just let me show you my credentials"
hen I dropped my pistol. Then I ran.
Prison is for mossy bricks, reinforced iron bars, decrepid toilets and savage guards beating on the door every morning. How can it be anything else?
And yet, within the confines of this framework, there is a nook as tangible as any cell; the walls are closing in on me, invisible monsters lurking in the dark, only — these are worse than any monster imaginable, for they do not breathe, do not reason. You can't reason with walls.
The post seemed like a good idea at the time, for who doesn't dream of directing such a large, historic enterprise if given...
She'd have preferred the electric chair. She'd always been a fan of electricity. She recalled the first time her mother had given her a knife and set her down in front of the light socket. "Go on...Stick it in there good now honey" her mother had told her. And the jolt. Wow. Margaret knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life from that very first light socket. Electricity would be her calling. And boy did she answer that call.
As a young girl she would put on shows for the kids on the block by hopping in the...