The gate closed behind them. It was a screen door, really. The three stairs led up to the kitchen; they stood and talked for a few minutes. His hand brushed her neck, in his ever-so-charming way. She wanted to believe him this time, that this time he wasn't the boy who held scissors to her neck, or threatened her so many times before. She wanted to be friendly, and not kick him out that night in February. He was charming, and deadly. Forceful, and mean. With her ponytail in his hand, he covered her mouth, her parents just upstairs. His...
Twist and he was dead. Broken neck. Watching the agony in the contorted face I could only stand in my own space of terror. Knowing that no-one would ever believe what happened. Instinct told me to run home, pack a bag, passport, money and take a plane to the other side of the world. I could not move.
Simon's hand touched mine and for the first time since kindergarten, I held hands with another boy. What seemed like hours later we moved and looked at each other, mirrors of incredulity and shock.
John had told us years ago the bizarre...
The day went well. Lots of talk about what we could've done and could've been. Smiles and twinkles led to hugs then kisses.
Memories were relived and sighs..."You know, you had me at Ox Bow Lake. I knew it had to be you. A little maturity in your face, the hair's a little shorter. But the lake's name made me really hear your voice, and that hadn't changed in 40 years."
I always wanted more than we had had...
blahblah fuck
The audience stared open mouthed at me. A skinny young woman with short spiked white hair, low cut black top and jeans sat on the red sofa in place of the stuffed panda.
All I'd asked them to do was to shut their eyes for a second. I didn't cover, block or darken any part of the stage. The girl literally appeared from nowhere. Time lapsed before they broke out in wild applause, whistles, foot stamping. I imagined the tweets, Facebook comments, illegal videos uploaded onto the internet, journalists wanting to make their mark with this extraordinary story. Not that...
Enigami rehtona dlrow erehw a tcefrep rorrim em si gnipyt na lacitnedi yrots. Rehtien ylurt erawa fo eht rehto, tub gnitcepsus taht srehwemoe a degnagleppor
pesuas wehn he deos. Lokos oevr his shoulder, smiles, and returns to type. Imagine the two in perfect unknowing symmetry, reaching a finger to press a key to flash the last word on the
SCREEN | NEERCS
Malcolm's coo became a cry.
The child peeked into the cardboard box, vexation clearly etched etched upon his face. "What's the matter, little bird?" he asked, reaching down to stroke the wounded pigeon. His mother had warned him to stay away, that sometimes birds would bite and a wild bird like Malcolm could carry diseases. He didn't care. He wanted to stroke his back feathers, far enough back that the bird's beak couldn't reach his pudgey fingers... just in case.
"David! Stay away from that bird!" his mother called.
The boy yanked his finger back just as the pigeon lunged...
Dancing on the beach in bare feet. What a careless thing to do. You could get glass in your feet, or step on a sharp rock. And what on earth are you wearing? It's too cold out; you'll get sick. Get back in the house this minute, girls. It'll be dark, soon, anyway, and you shouldn't be out after dark. That's when the bad men come out.
Sometimes, I wish I could be like you. Innocent, with the world ahead of me. Able to do silly things like dance on the beach at sunset without worrying about the consequences. But...
A tall man stands in a park. His eye and cheek are crimson, blackening. A policeman stands next to him, getting out his notepad.
Policeman: Sir, is this your goat?
Tall man: No.
Policeman: Right. Can you tell me exactly what happened?
Tall man: Well, I was in my office and I saw a man underneath the tree. The goat was up there.
The tall man points to a branch of the tree. The policeman raises one eyebrow.
Tall Man: I thought the man was unconscious. I dialed emergency services, but they didn't believe me.
Policeman: No...
Tall Man: Anyway,...
his father painted the top of the lighthouse himself. with the last concise stroke of the red paintbrush, his father had a concise stroke of his own, and slid off the roof to his death, colliding headlong into the rocky ground, and tumbling into the choppy water. his body was never found, though toby often imagine a blue man, with nibbles taken out from fish schools, and skin as loose as kelp on his bones. with equal sincerity, toby imagined that his father had not died at all, and was merely hiding in the system of caves eroding into the...