There is a place, near where I used to live, that looked like this - you see it, right there? It's a bowling green. Not the bowling you and I would do, the bowling that belongs to another age. Mostly the elderly.
There were, in fact, two near me - high amusement, I can tell you, since we came to the conclusion that one had decided it was a rival for the other. And that said other had no idea that it existed. That this perceived rivalry would fuel them entirely, even though the other lived in blissful ignorance of...
Time was running short, and John still had no idea where Adam had stashed it. I mean, thought John, how many places are there to hide a pelican in a Des Moines nightclub? There was no use trying to listen for it, with the mind-numbing beat of some kind of Euro-techno-disco-30's remix whatever the hell it was kicking the living shit out of his eardrums. All he knew was that if he didn't get to that pelican soon, eighteen future suicide bombers would have easy access to any entry point in the Pentagon, and it would all be his damn...
He was absent. Again. The kid would only show up on test days - on which he performed well enough. But that wasn't the point. All the other students showed up every day, and worked earnestly. And taught each other. And applied the concepts. He would pass the exams but forget all the material down the road. It would be like most of the bright students - playing with ideas. Treating it all as a show - as a game. Show up to perform. Wasting their talent. Lacking direction. Lacking any real purpose. Where was the kid going to get...
What did it matter what he thought of her? She knew he couldn't ever really see into her.
"You want the veal," he said.
And he was right; as much as she didn't like it, he was right.
"You're wrong," she told him. She looked at the waiter. "I'll have the mixed greens with the balsamic on the side."
It was a kind of a sneer, a way to get back at him.
Simon carved out a bite-sized piece of meat and held it on his fork, reaching across the white linen tablecloth.
She opened her mouth, mesmerized by him,...
Wine, you are wonderful. I won't shout it, I won't be heard about above the din. Nightlife never appealed to me beyond the very notion of it. I appreciate gatherings, but rarely the gathered. And so, wonderful thou art, wine.
I got tanked on pinot gris and focused on her adoringly. She had better legs than this too expensive wine I ordered with careless enthusiasm. Yeah, she was a showgirl. It's as obvious as the hangover I'd nurse in the morning.
So, I left. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had had enough. Absolutely enough. There were no more chances for me. I knew that if I stayed, it would be the end of me. The end of the me I was trying to become. I wanted it, so depsertaly, I wanted it. If I could just make it to the finish line. But first, I had to break away from this pack of slower runners. I feared that if I used my energy now, too much iof it, I wouldn't have enough for the end. The end of the race...
Water. It was flooding into the windows and through the doorway. It continued to rise and I continued to panic.I couldn't die. I couldn't die. I HAD to make it out of there. No - I gave up. Just after letting myself slip beneath he water I felt two stong arms wrap around me and pull me out of the water that was killing me. When I was above the water, Ilocked eyes with him. He came back for me! I was shocked - especially after what I'd said to him earlier that day. "Why are you here," I managed...
"Son" I said squinting, I think we are here. "it's Colorado, wake up." I dug out the petrified french fry for Charlie, who was ripping up the upholstery in my v.w.
"Mom, why did we drop Frances on the highway, again?" Eric asked sleepily. He was plump and pink from sleep. I felt for him. There were many books under his rump, but looking in the rear view mirror, he seemed cozy with the dog. The sky was a deep navy, the long prairie grass synchronized so beautifully with the wind. And the black cows lying, trusting all this open...
It was weird, the way the rest of the world could see something that you yourself couldn't.
Like, I look in the mirror and there's - yeah, there's a girl there. And...yes, those eyes are dark, and that hair is...kinda curly, if it's behaving, and that skin is pale, freckled -
And I'm seeing the things I need to do to get to beautiful. Pluck that, moisturise that, define that, conceal that (some mornings, conceal all of it, please)
The amount of times I look at myself and I think that I need to be fixed. That I need to...
I don't know what to put here. I was told that this was fun, but I am not sure yet. My friend has written many of these 6 minute stories, some of them are fairly weird. I have not written any stories in quite some time, and really I don't know if you count the sailor moon fanfiction as "stories" and not "strange kid slightly obsessed with cartoon show that DIC wouldn't finish translationg because other kids might find out what gay people are." Where was I? Oh yes. The weird 6 minute story thing. I don't know... maybe I...