I don't even notice as he walks up behind me and presses something into my hand. "See you later," and he's gone. I open my palm and see the huge plastic easter egg that he gave me. It's a light purple and blank, no clues. Carefully, hopefully, I open it up. "Please, please let there be a note inside. Please." I pop it open and look inside. Nothing. But it's not empty. It's full of disappointment. Disappointment and a single tear.
but then, he said those words. the words that would stay with her forever. he looked at her with his brown eyes and smiled. she looked at him, wondering if this was true. "beautiful" was the word he used to describe me. i was shocked when the word came out of his mouth. i stared at him for a minute or two. not knowing what to say, i smiled and said "thank you". so easily i gave myself to him, trusting him and hoping that he wouldnt hurt me. no guy had ever told me i was beautiful and if...
I was not at ease without the lights. I definitely felt an insect of some sort, crawling along my chest... Perhaps it was a spider? Wait, is a spider an insect? Well, it can't be a mammal, that's for sure.
The lights. I felt along the side of the wall, hoping to catch the lamp unplugged; but no, it was plugged in and my heart sank a bit. I didn't want to change the bulb. But what if it wasn't the bulb? What if it was an electrical outage?
What if this was the return of the dark ages, where...
It was a pleasure to burn.
Holding the papers over the flame and watching as the flames spread over each one. Swallowing the words and memories as it went. The demons danced in the flames until there was nothing more for them to devour. Until the fire had taken every last word. Every last sentence and turned them into nothing more than a pile of ash on the ground.
Each piece of paper a different memory. A different time, another thing that needed to be burnt away. Each strike of the match burst into a flash of bright light. Each...
Days like this embolden me
To comment on the quality
Of 6ms's frustrating UI.
The problems with the pagination
Require no imagination
To fix, and also I must wonder why
Some days I cannot find a prompt
(Or anything that rhymes with prompt)
And my reliance on the site is waning.
Don't get me wrong, I'm here to stay
Or else I'd surely go away
But sometimes it can be quite aggravating.
She opened the cupboard on the landing and sighed.
What hat should she wear ? There was a choice of four: a bowler hat, a large straw summer hat, a rather fetching Philip Tracy ensemble or a velvet scrunch hat.
Neither were really suitable for her proposed unicycle antics, but "needs must where the devil drives" she muttered under her breath, and grabbed the velvet scrunch hat in her favourite colour, green. Cramming it on her head, she raced down the six flights of stairs to her front door, grabbed the unicycle from its cupboard and marched out defiantly, daring...
The sun set. My boat had stopped drifting. The Delaware River between New Jersey and Pennsylvania was calm. The rain stopped, the crickets chirped, happy with the still summer air. My bathingsuit was finally dry. The only problem with that river is not having shelter on either side from a rainstorm. I watched the residents of the river banks put umbrellas over their heads while grilling. Some took their dogs and children inside. The teenagers laughed, and had mud fights. The rain stopped, the grillers closed their umbrellas, the dogs came out to play, and the teenagers stuck their feet...
It was my day.
Walking down that aisle, feeling the silence of everyone around me - surprised, shocked, the girl scrubs up well. She's beautiful, and we barely realised. We barely noticed.
Well, he did. And that is what matters.
The whispers began when I got to the front, taking up my rightful place, smiling out at everyone from beneath the veil. I wasn't wearing white - well, it wasn't white anymore - but does that really matter these days? Who marries innocent? Who's really pure these days? Impossible.
Of course she was there. Her. That one.
She was wearing...
when you click here the prompt will appear and the timer will start
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 shall wait.
I shall wait for the timer to go through it's course.
Wait for the little seconds to pass me by.
Produce nothing of content.
Produce nothing of consequence.
Just words strung together in a jumbled sort of way.
Words become random assortments of letters.
Meaning is lost in the rush to get them out.
It's killing me.
Realizing that six minutes is such a vast distance of time.
And yet my brain cannot seem to function adequately.
I like to sip my stories like brandy.
I like to savor my poems, swish their contents around my mouth...