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.
Elisha, let me tell you, I love being out here. Hearing the ocean roar like it do, by golly, it's like the glorious music of the spheres.
Drowns out the screaming of our victims, too. Why they have to scream like that, Elisha? Don't they know we're just helping them reincarnate into the next evolution of the species? Damn ungrateful, ain't it.
Whats the matter, Elisha? You don't look so chipper all of a sudden. Are we out of fishing line? We need the lines to be thick and taut, so we can hang them upside down until the blood...
The results were in. Now all I had to do was decide whether to go and get them. They wouldn't tell me over the phone, despite my rather pathetic begging. It wasn't done, it wasn't their procedure. It had to be done face to face.
I doubted that good news would have to be done face to face. If it was good news surely they would have said, "It's good news, you don't have to worry any more, you don't have it."
Because that was easy. I would be delighted, of course, and the person on the other end of...
"Give me the pelican!" John said. His gun, a very large and impressive gun if you are familiar with the ins and outs of guns, was pointed at Adam's chest.
"Okay," Adam said. He lifted the bird, which squawked and flapped its wings rapidly and held it out to John. "Take it," he said. John continued pointing the gun at Adam's chest, staring at the middle of his forehead. What was the game here? John had been chasing Adam across continents and time zones, on airplanes and zeppelins and double-decker buses, all to obtain this pelican. And now, on the...
Well, when the baby pop his head out of his mother tummy, the baby already was in distress by this unknow new environment. What a shock to him. All he could said already was;
What do I am doing here!
"It feels so cold"
"Why do they take me out of my confortable warm place"
Yet, more and more the baby wanted to go back, the nurse only wash him and presented to the mother.
It felt suddenly very comfortable to be hold and the baby could feel the warmth again.
"What a joy again, he said to himself"
As...
Outnumbered three to one. And I think A fourth was creeping up behind me. They fanned out across the mouth of the alley and whispered to each other. They walked forward slowly, and together, I chuckled a bit when I imagined them to be a dancing troupe.
They saw me laugh and slowed their pace, not by much, but just enough to show me I had rattled them.
Cold, black steel appeared in their grimy fingers. One knife, one section of pipe, and the lead man pulled a snub-nosed pistol. A .22, a woman's gun. I wondered how close I...
The green clad man fought the rain off and finally got his tan. YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYy:)
Flying home on a plane always made the man feel the same way. Confronting the (insane, brilliant, necessary) idea of flying through the sky, unnatural (he was an animal after all), yet completely commonplace (everyone does it), consistently put the man in a nostalgic, wistful mood. He'd picture his wife sitting on the edge of the bed, the afternoon sun coming from the window, happy to see him. He'd think on his kids, the way they were; a mixture of exasperation and wonder. He'd think on work the next day.
Grateful. That's how it felt.
He'd cut planes in half....
Dishes. Toaster. Coffee. Napkins.
Her breakfast routine was always the same. She performs it today as she did on so many days before, and as she would on every day for the rest of her years.
She brushes the tablecloth clean, while she waits for the coffee. She quietly assembles everything: sugar, milk, scones, jam. She does not speak.
She painstakingly sets two places, attentive to every detail. Her cup of coffee would receive two spoonfuls of sugar. The far cup would receive three. Always three.
The toaster signals that breakfast is ready. She pours the coffee, lays out the...
Sheila tsk-tsked as she massaged the Ben-Gay into Devin's shoulder. "I told you to leave the shuttlecock practice alone for a few weeks," she scolded.
"I was bored," protested Devin. "I'm an athlete; I can't just sit around all day poking at my Facebook. It's bad for the soul."
"Well," Sheila said, kneading the muscles, "you'll be totally off this shoulder for a few days now. You're lucky you don't need a cast." She stood up from the massage table, walking over to the microwave. Inside she'd heated up a herbal tea, and she removed it now and brought it...