She had read somewhere that there were lands beneath the seas, that it was where wishes hid themselves ("Fishes, you mean fishes."), that is was where dreams lived, that it was where pearls of happiness lived.
Pearls were the perfect metaphor; beauty and perfection, born of irritation. Born of an age of suffering.
They had stopped believing in mythical lands that lived beneath the waves, and so she stopped talking about them - there was a look in their eyes that she remembered, the same look her mother had been given.
Mother had tried to take her to the land...
They gathered in the woods at three o'clock sharp on that sunny summer day. The children, there were seven in all, were meeting to discuss a problem. A very serious problem. One boy, about ten years old with sharp features, tanned skin and dark hair, stood up.
"Now listen up. We gotta find a way to fix this. She just can't stay here and boss us around like that!"
"We'll rebel against the forces of evil," said another boy in the small crowd. They were, suprisingly enough, referring to Angie, the newest babysitter in town. All of the children thought...
The wall is the place most people choose on their own. You come for a day or a week and it's never to see the sights. The sights are immaterial, and not unexpected. Temples, tea houses with dripping peremera trees hanging soot and sleek flowers over damp pollenated tables. Once thriving book shops and market warrens closed down by the proper authorities. Cab drivers who direct you round about ways and never give useful directions. None of these things are unusual, or particularly memorable. It is instead, the wall itself, that calls to you. The wall is the reason you...
It landed in 1966. The voyages of the Starship Enterprise would enthrall fans of Star Trek for three years before finally being cancelled. Years later, a movie franchise would be born, as well as subsequent televisions hows. There were comics, novels, and Star Trek fan conventions. The words "Trekkie" and "Trekker" entered the lexicon.
It landed in 1966. He landed in 1966. The Great Bird of the Galaxy, Gene Roddenberry, landed his series on our television screens for the first time and the world would never be the same again.
The Potentate surveyed his creamsicle tower smoothly. "Good good," he said in his nasally voice. Rubbing his hands together with childish glee, the balding old man dove face first into the treat and began to lap it up as his guards looked on with a mixture of amusement and derision.
The pistol was cocked, ready to go. I was going to show him. I was angry, no, furious. He cut me off! In this city, that's somehting you just don't do. In my neck of the woods, driving like that could mean you migght be at the end of the line. I thought anout it, I mean really thought about it. Did I want to do this? My life would change forever, and so would other people impacted from the results of my actions. I decided to uncock my pistol, put it back in the glove box, and keep driving....
She could tell I was faking it. The smile across my face only a slight glimmer of what it once was. Telling my wife I loved her used to be so easy; kissing her face, brushing my fingers in her hair. They were all lies now.
I had only just found out a bit ago about her affair. Long done and over with, it had been with a colleague of mine back in 2002. It only lasted a few months and all the while, I had no idea.
It has been eight years since that time, but only now am...
I wish I knew how to live, live a life that were free of rules.
But to enter the world and be certified is that of a thousand fools.
Fools that came before you, fools that will come after you,
throwing their ideals on the world, categorising lives, categorising deaths.
Simply to feel the wind in my face brings me back to reality.
The cool, uncontrollable breeze flowing like a river freely through the air.
No one to tell it where to go, no one to tell it what to do.
That is pure living. That is freedom.
He was a walking arsenal with knives strapped to his armor at forearms, biceps, chest and back. Two smaller throwing knives protruded from his boots. Across his back, a large Claymore peeked over his head.
He was a walking arsenal. Deadly. Powerful. Angry at the world. His deep black eyes burned with flame. His lantern jaw was clenched with determination. He eld himself erect, his arms resting easily at his sides. Suddenly, the call came and he swept into the undead hordes ahead of him, knives leading the way. His word came out at the last instant, slashing through the...
The children were not at school. They had better, bolder, brighter things to be doing. The teachers didn't notice. They never did.
They ran out while at break, amidst the confusion of supposed bruises and teases and stolen lunches. The gates were easy enough to get past. Each girl's hair was neatly done up with a hairpin, after all.
The sky was bluer once they got out, it seemed. So they ran, ran hard, ran free, ran wild. They quickly enough leaped through the confines of urbanity and into spaces never explored before, wild forests filled with strange creatures. Each...