"Hestan... where am i?" said Vive as she came out of anesthesia. "You're in the hospital. You collapsed in the park three days ago. The doctors say that a clot developed in your aorta and you went into cardiac arrest." said Hestan, handing her a book. She smiled, then opened it and read for the next hour. A nurse came in and injected another anesthetic into her IV. two minutes later she dropped back into sleep. Then a doctor came in and said "Her heart is fine, but we still don't know what caused the clot. She was perfectly healthy,...
She leaned over, sideways from her stool, all tits and lips and curly hair falling in his direction.
"Got a light," she asked, sticking a cigarette in the corner of her painted mouth.
He set his beer down, just foam left and dug into his right pocket. Pulled out a lighter and slid it across the plywood painted like mahogany bar. She looked at the lighter, and moved her lips into a pout. Leaned in even closer and said "A gentleman would light it for me."
"You're in the wrong place if you're looking for gentlemen," he grunted, looking straight...
I had a dream the other night. Meazles, my cat from when I was a crabby twelve year old, was driving a city bus and trying to run me down. It was terrifying. I don't even know why I would have a dream like that. I mean, I loved that cat. He was my constant companion until I left for college. I always felt guilty that I couldn't take him with me. Even after I got my own apartment, they didn't allow pets, so I only saw Meazles once in awhile when I would visit my parents. I wonder if...
"You did not eat the cake?" Pog levelled her gaze on her husband. "But you proposed to me that very day."
"And you have thought all these years that I was only with you because of a silly spell?" Will laughed.
Meg cleared her throat. "Happen I am still here tha know. They are very good spells, but in truth they only really give you the love you deserve. Always a cost to these things… Beyond the silver, that is." The old woman eyed the young maid conspiratorially.
"A lesson that is not mine to teach, but one you should...
"You know why girls suddenly change their hairstyles don't you?" He leered over my sister with that gap-toothed smug-motherfucker grin. "Girls change their hair every time they make a major change in life. Like pigtails right before or right after a break-up. Females actually believe this changes them as a person."
My sister giggled, which is my favorite part, right before she undid the top two buttons on her blouse, which is my least favorite part. "You're so right," she said. She kissed him, hard, right before she saw me peeking under the door.
She scowled at me, but she...
Until now, she’d never thought of herself as pretty. Beautiful, yes. Stunning, definitely. An angel fallen to earth, she’d occasionally even heard that one. But ‘pretty’? Pretty was little girl sweet and candy floss innocence. It was not her because it was not enough. Pretty just didn’t cut it.
She stared at herself in the mirror. She’d been doing the same thing for an hour now, barely moving, hardly breathing, not wanting a hair to fall out of place. Pretty was an insult. She couldn’t bear to hear it again, so she was going to make sure she didn’t. That...
Mrs. Johnson put the Cheez Whiz in her shopping cart. There was nothing in the cart but her jar of Cheez Whiz. It sat on top of the hashmark design of the shopping cart, basking in its cheezy glory. The lid was securely fastened to the jar of Cheez Whiz but later, when someone removed it, it would pop and the jar would yield its treasure of orange cheesy paste.
Mrs. Johnson pushed her cart of Cheez Whiz through the store. People smiled at her because she was well known in her town. "I see you're buying some Cheez Whiz,"...
I've forgotten how to do this...how to just sit down, and type out my thoughts, or my feelings. I find that I'm constantly carrying my notebook around, with my favourite Pilot pens...and then I will sit, and I sit, and sit...and nothing happens anymore. In my room, in boxes and boxes, are books and books and books. Countless stacks of written word from a lifetime's worth of contemplation, emotion, trials and tribulations. But now....now I cannot seem to pick up the pen, or tap on my keyboard...it just doesn't happen. And what's most frustrating is how I am constantly thinking...
The old folks filed away from Gregoire slowly, creeping off to investigate a small marble statue of Psyche being ravished by Cupid. The chandelier hung precariously over them, and Gregoire wondered how many shots from his 19th-century pistol would send it crashing down on their aged heads.
But would Bonaparte commit such a gauche act? Gregoire thought not. Even in exile, surrounded by mad old women, he still had his dignity. He held his head high, hoping that the extra height of his admiral's hat would exceed that of the straw bonnets behind him. He would win this psychological battle....
Lost in an amusement park, it slowly dawned on Mack that he was the luckiest child in the world--complete and total freedom from parental tyranny. He already planned on eating cotton candy for every meal. He would live in the storybook house near the magic beanstalk. No more homework, room cleaning, vegetable eating; it was a dream come true.
Mack made a beeline to the first ride on his agenda: The Serpent. This sleek steel coaster boasted six inversions, and a stomach-flipping double-dip that made him actually squeal with glee. He stepped into the queue, and awaited his turn.
The...