This was the painting that sold for millions. I watched as the porters wrapped it up and carried it from the gallery to the awaiting truck.
The new owner transferred cash from his account, smiling, probably thanking God for his luck. I watched him shaking hands with everyone, swigging the curtesty glass of expensive champagne, posing for photos.
John Masters, the gallery owner, smug and insincere triumphant for once in his sorry life.
Not for long.
He paid me peanuts as a commission for this painting, unknown I had used special paint which would melt in due course and reveal...
The large shape of the medical building loomed on the horizon. Vic and I were survivors of a plague tring to get a vaccine. We had been traveling for so long and this was our last chance of hope.
" do you see it?!?" He yelled joyfully.
I smiled. We were so far off and he was so sick I didn't know if he would make it
"Well, Vic how about you take a rest" I said while sitting down on a broken city curb. He walked over from the ruins of the Rise Records building-which used to be one...
that's my sister
o, she was a riot, she was
Always with the arms
HAhAhaha
it was natural, ya know
used them to talk-
but you gave her a sip of alcohol-
o girl
Wam Wam-
even my brothers would avoid standing too close
i've had many bruises over the years due to a night on the town with that girl
.. now, not that she'd fight-
just scream and laugh and ..Punch your shoulder instead of slapping it
"she's singing in this photo though, correct mrs. Neel"
o, well, yes of course she's singing, boy.
she had a beautiful...
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Harry had taught her well. Any failings during the performance would be entirely her fault, but she wasn't worried.
Harry had taught her well.
She felt her hair drift about her head like a mermaids veil, her garments float on the current like a breeze, and the gaze of her lover as she fished for the key.
Harry had taught her well.
She'd concealed the key just as she'd concealed her knowledge of his affair. Not to be outdone, the student became the master of deception in...
I did not like the look of it. It had what other people might call poor aesthetic value. This thought was somewhat pointless though considering the mastery within the thing. It was about the size and shape of a lighter but had the colour and rough, jagged, texture of sea washed rocks.
Jenny had always said to be careful in what I was doing. Everyone else either seemed to think I was a bit eccentric or maybe more commonly just a nut case. I think Jenny only worried because she had sympathy for me though. I resented that. In reality...
- Ok, I'm going. Don't be late again!
Her voice pierced the steamy hot bathroom as I lay, half submerged, pondering the taps.
I don't reply.
Every morning it's the same. I sit here, enveloped in warm water and steam, my mind completely blank. But always, she invades my mind.
I wouldn't do it if it wasn't for her. I would lay here, topping up the bath with hot water as it grows tepid. Just blank.
Occassionally I think back to my childhood. As the hot water swirls in through the warm I am reminded of something my Mother always...
Det kom en dag i hodet på meg. Og jeg så det aldri før enn da. Det var noe som hadde hengt over meg i lengre tid. Jeg visste det var på tide å snu. Jeg visste at jeg en dag ville jeg angre og en dag ville det hele virke meningsløst. Jeg så aldri tilbake. Men nå skulle jeg endelig snu. Det skulle bli min tur å være den gode, jeg er lei av å være den som alltid må gi - jeg trenger å få noe jeg også. Jeg trenger nærhet. Jeg trenger varme. Jeg trenger en som...
It was becoming night. Quickly, stealthly, Navy SEALS approached a haunting compound. Sand-surrounded, barbed-wire covered; its contents unkown, its inhabitants, suspected. This was do-or-die time. The code "Geronimo" was on everyone's minds. This desert, this foreign country, was their home for the past year. Now they had Presidential orders, "capture or kill," "wanted, dead or alive." It wasn't just read off of an old saloon poster. This was it. With intelligence officials watching, and waiting, the world went about its business, until five hours later, when everyone got word of the actions that occurred inside that haunted-looking building. A terror-leader...
We stood on the sidewalk, our sodas sweating onto our hands. My fingers were so slick I thought any second now the plastic cup would slip through them and smash into the floor. I adjusted my grip, and you smiled slyly.
"Do you want to come in?" You asked, gesturing at your house, behind us. One lone light lit the front yard. I looked at it for a second, judging whether it would be a stupid idea. Results: Extremely stupid.
"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Everyone knows the best adventure stories begin with "Why not?" and the worst romances start with...
"I'm having no part in this. I'm having nothing to do with any of it. Because it's wrong. You're wrong. This entire thing is...it's wrong. It's just...wrong."
"Have you always been good with words?" He sauntered closer, pale fingers tracing my cheek, my neck. "You're relying quite heavily on that word. Wrong. Have you thought about what it really means? How damning it truly is? I don't think you have."
I hated the feel of his fingers across my skin, hated the jolt that had run straight through me, hated the tingling, hated the - I hated it.
He was...