Peasants. That's what I thought when I looked out the window. Nothing but peasants on the street below. Uneducated people. I watched as one of them gave birth. Immediately, she put her baby in a tree. There was a bees' nest there and the bees stung the baby. Even from up here I could hear the baby scream. The baby fell out of the tree. I think it broke a leg because it didn't move after that. The baby just cried and screamed and ate fig newtons. It bled too. A lot.
Slowly, I ate my Almond Joy bar.
Gweedo,...
I don't like hotel rooms. I don't like the idea that anyone might have stayed in here before, slept in that bed, used that bathroom, that toilet. I prefer my own place, but that's impossible due to the fact that my boss has seen fit to send me on a course to 'improve my communication skills'. That's a joke. My communication skills are fine, thank you very much. I just don't like talking to him because it sends my blood pressure sky high. But that's beside the point, I'm here, and I'm staying.
I'm staying because I can't leave the...
The spotlight travelled the circumference of the room in search of a victim, looking to curb its own discomfort by persuading the unwanted attention on to another. Beneath its bright glare the chosen individual trebled and froze, as if caught in headlights. Then, becoming aware of the line of eyes, the press of bodies – waiting, watching, for her to spring into action, to move, to come alive – she lifted her arms, stretching them out, inhaling deeply.
Her performance opened with a slow dance, the words of a song low and soft on her breath, barely above a whisper....
"Wait, so he hit you?" the young adventurer asked, sliding another drink across the worn tabletop, hoping to lubricate my throat, if not my imagination.
"That's right. A real, genuine Djinn…"
He interrupted me "…that's a genie, right?"
"Yes, a… er… genie. You know, from an old oil lamp, yes. Very good young man."
I took a sip from the proffered whiskey
"So, what did you say to him? Why was he so angry?"
"Well, he told me 'Before you start, you can't wish for more wishes.' and I said 'I wish you could.' That's when he hit me!"
Augustine - certainly not a saint at this point in time - sat in the garden reading. According to the custom of the time, he read aloud. He read his new passion, the letters of St Paul and the Holy Gospels. Today he was reading in Galatians. Freedom was God's gift to the Christian. Augustine searched his heart and his body. He was not free. He was attached: attached to his mistress and his son, named ironically Deodatus (God's gift); he was attached to the enjoyment of sexuality; he was attached to his comfortable lifestyle. He was imprisoned by his...
It rose. She held his hand and it felt like grass. It was grass between her fingers; but for all she cared at that moment, it was his brown hair.
She had always promised to watch it with him. To let the gold clothe their bodies slowly as they sat together, her tousling his hair. She leaned her back against the cold, flat stone behind her back and stretched her legs.
She smiled. She was happy for the first time in her life. She had fulfilled her duty to him, her last promise. Her head told her she should feel...
Nostalgia. Oh, how I love the feeling.
Staring across the dim room at my parent's house is where it began. Noticing the wooden draws that I painted a warm orange in primary school strengthened it. Opening the bottom-left draw, revealing my well-loved Nintendo, Nokia, and iPod is where it ended.
Nostalgia. Oh, how I miss the feeling.
I ran my rough fingers across the chipped edges of my iPod, drumming my fingers across it's back as I remembered the Beyonce songs that would blast through my little ears every night, while singing, or rather, screaming, the lyrics to 'Halo'.
Nostalgia....
I remember the smell of wet snow on a blinding morning. Squinting through glare and steam. Battleship twigs wobble in a frozen puddle. The neighbor's bell-bottoms dark blue to the knees. She sank in a soft mountain of snow, but extracted herself with the confident strength of the Bionic Woman.
The crows were flying silhouettes, Japanese ink on a rice paper landscape. The country was preparing for our spectacle. There would be battleships in the harbor, fireworks from the torch, old songs that would not die.
But on this day, in the insulation of a winter morning, we weren't thinking...
"Wait, so he hit you?"
I nodded furiously, still trying to chew what was left in my mouth before retelling the all-to-famous story of how "Yes, he hit me." No one every seemed to believe me.
But it happened. No kidding. It really happened. He hit me.
Not that I would tell anyone. Ya know, other than my best friends.
Okay, so a lot of people.
It's not a big deal. I swear.
So this is how it goes. Or at least, how I remember it. . .
I was in the backyard, wading my feet in the pool...
After a quick twist, the silver top was back on the salt shaker, diamonds hidden underneath the large white crystals and put back into the kitchen cupboard.
Simone Chandler didn't even break into a sweat. She turned around just as her husband strode into the room and shouted down the phone receiver. 'You better find those goddamn stones or else!'
'Still no sign Rory?' she asked, busying herself, pouring a strong cup of coffee and putting it onto the black marble worktop.
He didn't answer but gulped the scalding liquid, not seeming to notice the heat.
'I'll kill Johnson'.
Simone...