The sound reverberated through the streets. The sound of the mob on the move. Fear clouded her mind and she acted on pure instinct, she had nothing else to work with. She ran.
Had she been able to think clearly, she would have been surprised about her instinct to run, always considering herself much more of a fighter, but run she did.
Down alleys, through gaps in fences, turning often, doing everything in her power to escape them. Everything but use the gift, the curse for which they were hunting her.
She had been hiding her abilities for so long...
"I am getting so tired of this jerk being thought of as the best reporter in town" Dan muttered to himself, "but I'll show everyone that I believe in the news somehow". Dan looked across from the news room to see everyone praising bob, the jerk, then suddenly the ground started to shake and throw everyone to the ground. "An earthquake" bob thought, "this is finally my chance to unseat that snob". As dan grabs and runs outside,
I was dancing. The disco ball was turning. It was Monica's sweet 16 and I got invited. But unfortunately, I regretted it so much! She invited so many people and one of them was my crush. Boys and girls. There were so many people. Even though he was just my 'crush', things turned out bad. My friend, Laura had totally stripped down and it turned out to be an inappropriate party.
But I didn't care less. I didn't dare to go outside. I looked up to the disco ball. The lights shorn my face. Suddenly I felt two strong pairs...
The Rivermen had her boxed in. Two still waited for her at the bottom of the stairwell behind the knockoff Bayeux Tapestry--now ripped to shreds by blades. Two more on either side of this room, this tiny, gaudy bedroom that her mother had spent months decorating. And though she knew at least one of them would come bursting through, knife drawn, she couldn't stop staring.
Wine. The worst nights always began with wine. We never stopped to put two and two together. Mornings after, needing to shave our tongues and send our stomachs through the car wash.
No matter how clean the apartment had been the night before, once the cork was pulled, and the wine dribbled down our chins, the dishes would pile up on the counter. The hamper and washing machine would explode, spewing filthy clothes all over the floor. Ashtrays would overflow, sending half-smoked butts and burnt filters flowing away like lava from a volcano.
We'd hold our heads betwen both hands...
Marie Antoinette sat in the tub, eating chocolate truffles and drinking champagne. Her ruffled leggings lay in a heap on the floor. She thought as she looked out the window that she was ever the perfect Mademoiselle. She gazed out onto the misty countryside, daydreaming. Although, what could she dream about? She was living her dream. She took another bite of chocolate and smiled.
Just then, her little sister's pink range rover came trundling into the driveway, reminding her that it was 2015 and she was not in France. She would not marry her prince, because princes don't exist nowadays....
There once was a man they called Water
Who read far too much Harry Potter
But it wasn't the same
When after Harry he named
Both his sons and his trio of daughters
Dust obscured the dim lighting above. Clutching a paper bag, the girl lurched to the elevator. Old, worn doors opened, and she descended.
Outside the building her suitor waited wearing a tattered tweed jacket and chipped bifocals. In his hand, a pair of freshly cut daffodils.
"Ugh. I positively hate window shoppers," Eliza groaned while leaning over the counter top. "They never buy anything."
"Hence the name, window shoppers, dearest," Carla giggled softly at her friend who helped her run The Dress Emporium.
They had been working together for about five years now. The shop was doing great, although Eliza would say it could be better. She wishes we could get every person who walks by our store to purchase something.
"Oh, I can't bear to look at them anymore," Eliza folded her arms on the counter and rested her face on them. "Please, Carla. Make...
The footprints in the snow suddenly ended. Or rather, the snow ended, suddenly and strangely. The footsteps continued, singed into the dry winter grass. Black footsteps continued, an at an even pace, all the way to the dunes.
At first, I thought that they would disappear at the sand, but as I got closer, I saw that they had continued, but the sheer heat had melted the sand into glass. Glass footsteps, glittering and shining, clearly the shape of a human foot, worked their way over the dunes, without any seeming regard for the angle of the dune. I climbed...