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...
It was a pleasure to burn, in the end. Sarah had known it was coming without being told. Knowing things without being told was all part of being a witch, she supposed.
She hadn't ever chosen, as such - but rather she preferred to let the currents and grooves of the world guide her path through it. And the world had chosen for her to be a witch.
To anybody else, this might have seemed like a state of affairs that could be analysed and considered - weighing up the pros (foresight; cackling) and the cons (burning) - but for...
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...
2070, by 2070 i want all the bad things to be gone. i want there to be a cure to all the bad things that affect our world. cancer, gone. war, gone. i think that by 2070 the world should just have figured all of its issues out and be a eutopia. by 2070 i want peace on earth, no more starving children, no more impoverished nations. but it starts with now, this generation. i feel like before now everyone has put issues off to the next generation. But it cant keep happening. by 2070 i want the children of...
Deep into the meadows of the South
I see a bus pulled up in front of the common store.
Above my head are alluring clouds
I have never seen before.
Things like this are rare.
No one visits my small Southern town.
Where things are bound to happen.
Spellbound.
Do you think that bus is skeptical?
I do.
There are no visitors in this town.
Whoever comes in
Never gets out.
I learned the hard way.
Vanquished.
Seriously, that's how it felt as I walked down the hall back to homeroom. My hands were in the front pockets of my jeans, my head was down. I felt as if all the wind had been taken from my sails. A strong breeze could have knocked me over and I would have just curled up in a fetal ball in front of the beige steel lockers. When the bell rang, people would just step around me as I tried to become more and more invisible.
Mr. Garsh said he was sympathetic. I think they tell him to say...
The attic was stuffy, of course it should be. It is May, and they are preparing to move into a new house.
She is hunched over a box sifting through the items time seems to have forgotten.
She sees kids medals, awards and photos from the ceremonies. She finds trinkets and grade school crafts. Making sure they are in tact, and making sure she wishes to keep the memories, she places the items into the box with care.
The boys have been out of the house for years now. These items are all that pretty stays here. They have their...
It is muddy. I went for a walk and there was mud everywhere. Even in the woods, which are supposed to be haunted, But I dont care. I am suicidal so if I get killed by a ghost or a goblin, it's no skin off my back.
I entered the forest and I got mud all over my slippers. Up ahead there was an animated scarecrow holding a scythe. "Hello," I said. The scarecrow cut off both my legs. Blood flew everywhere. But then my stumps started to itch and throb and vibrate. From them grew pogo sticks. My legs...
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...
Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty. Standing in front of the mirror in her brand new $800 gown, she surveyed the woman staring back at her. Straight black hair brushed her jaw, defining vivid blue eyes. Long limbs made for a pleasing figure and as she ran her hands over the smooth fabric of the dress, she thought she just might impress him tonight. Or at least, she would be rid of her problem.
She pushed open the door and entered the elegant white room where the party was being held. He didn't pass up the opportunity...