I awoke to the sound of waves, big waves slamming against the walls of the... house? No, boat. It was definitely a boat. I struggled to get up, as if I had been sleeping for one thousand years, and when I did, I met my room mate. He didn't say much, just a slight nod in my direction, as he made his bed. When he turned around, I grimaced at the large hole in his back. Only then did I realize that I had a cut on my head. More like a gash really, I was so gruesome. That's when...
"Hey Macarena!"
Robert watched in complete disbelief as the group of Anonymous supporters-turned-flash mob began to dance in the middle of the campus. They raised their hands, moving with the music. Several onlookers giggled at the sight,, others rolled their eyes. One yelled out "What's the frequency Kenneth?!"
Robert just shook his head. Crazy kids, he thought.
Goodnight... I didn't think I would wake up. Well, maybe I did. Seventeen pills ought to have done it. It didn't. I guess I had known that. My sophomore-year project on suicide told me that. That seventeen wasn't enough. And I shouldn't have told anyone either. I got dragged to a counselor in front of my crying father (who never cries). I got dragged to a therapist, whom, thank God, realized the insanity of my life, and my mother (who refused to talk about her issues). Maybe I would have gone a different route, used talking, anything else, other than...
"Knives."
The scientist looked up. The musician was bright-eyed, excited, although there were bags under his eyes. She replaced her spectacles (why did she always take them off for the close-up work? It didn't make sense) and gave him her full attence. "Knives?"
"Knives." He sat down on the stool, gangly, limbs too long. He was not suited for the labratory - not a huge surprise, really. "Knives are the answer. We...we cut."
It was almost cute, watching him try to describe what he presumed the scientific method was. "Do you mean dissection?"
He nodded, enthusiastic, excited. "Yes! Yes, we...
The results were in. I was going to have to gouge my eyeballs out with a tablespoon and then feed them to Guido, the hungry rhinosaurous on granddad's farm. If I didn't do that, my eyeballs would slowly seep down my face over the next three years. This had to be done.
I stuck the spoon in my eye. It made a sound like GLICK. Blood shot everywhere. My peripheral vision diminished by about 45 per cent. Then I stuck the spoon in my other eye. [NOTE: THE REST OF THIS STORY IS BEING TRANSCRIBED BY MY WIFE, BRENDA, SINCE...
"The flight was agonizingly long, and that was the positive part of the experience.We had reserved a cab a week before, because we didn't want to drive out there and then try to find parking."
"I could have found a spot."
"Ignore him, he's convinced he a dowsing rod of available parking. Anyway, we had made a reservation for six a.m. At a quarter to seven a car screams to a stop in the driveway. You can still see the skidmarks. We were so angry."
"You were angry. I never even wanted to go."
"I told you to ignore him....
My own pink shoes were the last thing I saw. Then, darkness. I tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle in those final moments but nothing seemed to fit. I was supposed to go to work that morning.
Supposed to. That would haunt me. I was supposed to do a lot of things. I was supposed to pay my rent on time, I was supposed to pick my daughter up from school, I was supposed to meet my husband for dinner that night. It seemed none of that would be happening now.
That morning, after taking the dog...
The train accident was something I'd never seen before. People scattered amiss the wreckage, with nothing to do but survey the damage they'd just been witness too.
I saw the train crew carry away a few body, the names of which I only know of Carol and Robert. I did not know them, but I imagine they were married. A young couple going West to celebrate their new uniformed love. Carol could have been pregnant, ready to start a family. And it all ended for them in just a few second.
The word going around is that this was caused...
The mannequin looked so real, but was not. Apparently. At least that's what Mr Saunders always said, and he had to be right. He was a teacher, wasn't he? He was my teacher and, at nine years old, I believed every word he said.
And yet, every morning as I passed it on my walk to school, the mannequin - whom I had named Joyce - in the window of J. T. Kingsley's department store seemed to watch me as I went. Seemed to call to me, to invite me in. That was, after all, her job. But she did...
It was the fall that surprised me most. I was jerked strongly by the safety cord. I looked below my feet and all I saw was emptiness. I couldn't control myself I started screaming at the top of my lungs for help. But I already knew I was in way over my head. Above me somewhere were my pickaxes and my backpack and my expedition crew. I tried desperately to get a grip on the slick walls. It was no use. I was stuck in this abyss of ice and emptiness. I rubbed the tears out of my eyes and...