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...
A heart is a beating machine. It's an organ, it's a force beyond all reckoning.
The doctor will now see you," said the nurse in all white.
I glared, knocked over my coffee and walked behind her, moving towards my fate. I would hear that my beating heart skipped beats-a heart murmur. Murmur echoing in my head. Mumu-a dress I wore in Hawaii as a young girl. My mother was in Pearl Harbor when the Japanese attacked.
The doctor was in the room before I was. Is this a good sign. He's anxious to tell me my heart will explode....
I held it at arm's length, thinking that it could never get to me that way.
But as I sit here alone in this room night after rain soaked day. I have come to realize,with the full clarity of a reformed sinner; it was not that I was protecting me from it. It was that I was protecting it from me.
And it never wanted protection in the first place.
I clutched onto the flowers. Today was the day. I am only 19 but I am getting married right now. My father was a rich businessman and my mother died when I was very young. My father than re-married and she married a beautiful Parisian woman. You may think she is a beauty but she is a pain in the arse. She treats me like rubbish. "Go fetch me my earrings," she would call out. But one year later after marrying my father she died suddenly.
My father couldn't bear this again, so he sent me to an orphanage. I...
We made our getaway through the window, I begged you to stay here, to feel the warmth of the house, to watch movies in the dimlit room, but you insisted that I had to "live a little". The clock struck midnight, I heard the chimes & felt the goosebumps as I climbed onto the roof. "This is absurd.. maybe we should go back.. it's freezing out!" But your smile told me differently. You spread a blanket out for us to share, and we looked up at the moon, glowing and providing light for us, along with the streetlamps. I was...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. Like it had been ever since the Chinese industrial 'revolution', it was smoggy and grey. She stared off into the limited distance, trying to peer beyond all the smog.
"Where's mother?" A voice came from behind her.
"Oh, you know the answer to that, Chang'e," she replied. "Go ask dad. I'm sure that he'll say what he's always said."
"What's that?" she asked.
"You're so forgetful..." the girl mumbled.
"But you are too!" said Chang'e. "I bet you don't even remember what father said to you...
We were out of gin. The night was off to a great start. How was I suppose to get blackout drunk within an hour. I had a case of beer but none were cold. I left the apartment and walked over to the liquor store. I'd eventually get there and then I'd return and get drunk.
Why the hell was it all the way down the block. Not to complain, but that was actually great. It kind of was a problem when week after week the same routine went down.
"If you just waited, we could've went to a bar"...
Spinning.
The tiny clockwork bird danced (for want of a better term) in a circle, twirling, singing out its jaunty song.
She sat, watching it sing out its tune, listening to the unique tinny sound of the music box - there was something about that music, that paticular brand, which brought her back to childhood. As a child she had watched the bird, watched it in her mother's palm.
Her mother had, briefly, convinced her that this was a real bird, that this was what happened to them when they were caught, tamed. That you could teach them these songs,...
"I hate these."
He had remarked snidely to his friend.
"What? These paintings?"
"Yeah, who wants to get themselves painted anyhow?"
With a clear hint of jealousy, the boy bellowed about his contempt for the rich, slamming them at every chance he could, criticizing their ways of life, their philosophies and outright opposing any sort of politic that would allow for such a social class to exist.
"Well, I like them. They remind me of, you know, like the Victorian Era or something. It's not cause of their wealth that they had these made, it's a family thing, you know?...
"Wait, so he hit you? Why?" Great question. I have no freaking idea. I was just walked to my truck, minding mine, and then...whap! Now, it's a good thing my upper body is made of pure steel, or else it would have hurt. As it were, the punch just bounced off of me. Actauklkly, the man whp pnche dme broke his hand. I heard the snap of the bones and then the screams of pain. At thuis point, let me back up a bit. You see, it was the first day that McDonald's had stopped using its pink slime in...