Public Service Announcement (this has no relation to the prompt): When Hemingway (I think, but it doesn't really matter) said, "Write what you know," it was a critique of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who had said, "Write what you don't know." In other words, it would be like me saying, "You are therefore you think." It may or may not be true, but it was a critique of an idea that had been set in stone and codified. Codifying that idea, in turn, defeats the purpose.
To be more succinct, When I hear, "Write what you know," I reach for my...
The old man walked through a park. His suit was great, with a white shirt underneath and a grey tie. Meandering, he strolled along the walk way, no intention to end up anywhere.
He appeared to be in his 70s, although, the hazards of age seemed unnoticeable in his demeanor. He didn't shuffle, he wasn't hunched over and his head did not hang.
He glanced at his watch.
"Dear me, I am going to be late."
His meandering stopped and his direction became purposeful. His gait was long and graceful. Men his age should not cover this much distance.
Rounding...
Gradually. That's what the doctor tells me. Gradually I will get worse. My liver will gradually fail; my arthritis will gradually turn my hands crooked.
So gradually, you mean, I'm dying? Isn't that bullshit? Could there be something worse for me to hear? So gradually since the age of 13, I've been killing myself. That first drink, to the last, I "gradually" ruined my insides? All because my parents failed to tell me what drinking really does to you? So it's my fault that during summers, parties, college, and beyond, that I "enjoyed" my life while ruining it at the...
I was all wrong. This wasn't the spot I thought we buried her. Jason was in front of me pointing left, and the sky was darkening. My mind was all over the fucking place. He's pointing left, when I swear we buried her right by this patch of weird leaves that looked like lettuce. Still, Jason swore that we needed to head left more. Really, when you commit such a crime, and forget where you buried the body, needing to go back to get it because you "accidentally" left the weapon right by the body, possibly with your prints... going...
Some rotten git had destroyed the nest. Only one chick survived. I cradled him all the way home. Mum made up a 'nest' in a shoebox and I went out digging for worms.
'He don't want worms just yet' my mum said and she brought a bowl of bread soaked in warm milk.
That's how Sammy the Song Trush came to stay.
As he grew older he began to hop around the house. My brother would lay on the floor with a Pot Noodle and Sammy would perch on the rim and pick out the noodles. We all found this...
Gigantic. Positively so. It towered over the shelves, reaching to the ceiling. The blue paint shone brightly. I reached up to the chest.
It was a masterpiece, if I say so myself. This creation of mine is a marvel of modern technology. I turned the switch, and the servos inside whirred to life.
The automaton lurched a step towards me, electricity sparking from the antennae on its head. I had programmed it with a sense of right and wrong. I had orchestrated a scenario to test its power. I looked out the window, and saw the fire spreading across the...
The fabric of the space-time continuum collapsed, and Oda Komawichi Sabicho Ichikagu was transported from his home in feudal Japan onto a train going from Pittsburgh to Newark.
Needless to say, Oda was quite confused, as were the 11 passengers of the train. One moment, this group of noble commuters, business men, and nephews visiting their aunts were minding their own business, the next a 13th century samurai warrior was in their presence. This a tricky thing.
Oda's first instinct was to, naturally, slice each of the strange looking white passengers. He clutched his katana in anticipation, waiting for the...
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...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. The rain was falling around her and she looked out into the street, wondering when she should make her break for it. Sensing that the rain wouldn't let up for quiet some time, she dashed onto the streets holding her package close to her chest. Her eyes flitted from side to side as she transversed the narrow streets and alleys.
She saw the blue door ahead of her and pumped her legs harder, eager to reach her destination. She threw herself against the door with a...
The birds had not come in last night and now they would be lost.
Common birds! She spat twirling a small gold spoon in her coffee clattering nervously on the edge of the doll like cup.
So long years of sorrow, so long back breaking toil. The training, the binding of tiny claws the midnight dropper feedings. All of it for nothing. Now they would peck at trash and pretend to get excited when they heard the fog horns of a garbage trawl.
Why do I bother? She picked a tiny scar at the corner of her mouth and drank...