A life of dots was all she'd known. At first it was the small dots that appeared in the corners of her vision on sunny days. Then those dots went away as the days grew dimmer.
The next dots were the tablets the doctors gave her to "slow the loss of function."
And ever since then, dots touching fingertips, bringing meaning, sometimes memory.
He remembered back to a time long ago, when the sun was shining and the birds were singing and the grass was green and life was a magical thing.
It was pleasent here, in his memories...but they never lasted long...
Reality would burst into his dreams like the screams of a tortured man. The prisoner was being questioned again...captured alone and with no possetions, there was nothing to tie him to the situation...but our officers were convinced otherwise.
We all knew something for sure, you can take a man's freedom but you can never take his education...and this man was...
Poorly written!
So many misspellings!
Dis-jointed and non-sensical!
Your story did not make me cry or remember the way my mother's wrist smelled when she buttoned the top button of my new short sleeve plaid shirt from JC Penney's one spring day in 1978 when 5th grade was beginning to feel long in the tooth .
Also, run on sentences! More of them, please.
Immoveable objects.
She'd presumed that they were just an illustrive device - the nemesis of the unstoppable force. It hadn't occurred to her that, actually, they did exist.
Why they existed in a forest was another matter entirely. It wasn't exactly clear (well, the object was, that was why she couldn't see it) why an immoveable object should want to be in a forest. Was there something about forests that made it such a rich environment, suited to objects that resisted force?
Walking around it didn't seem to be an option - immoveable and apparently large. Impossibly large. It was...
Jane lay on the couch coughing. She hated being sick.
"Someday," she thought to herself, "I will be immortal, and I will never be sick again." But that day would not arrive for a very, very long time. Not with Safura around.
Safura. Jane's blood boiled in anger at the thought of her nemesis. Her anger made her cough again.
It was Safura who had taken Jane's medicine, Safura who had plunged Jane into this twilight of never-ending sickness. Jane had been so close - SO CLOSE! - to gaining immortality in the weeks before her diagnosis.
She took a...
Water. It's what keeps the world alive. There is more water than land on the Earth. So what would happen if all the water in the world suddenly disappeared? Simple. We'd all die. And that's exactly what happened.
The day all the water disappeared, I was making coffee in my kitchen. I poured some creamer in and stirred. It was raining. But suddenly it stopped. I was a little curious. I walked outside. No puddles, no water in the gutter. Nothing. I went back inside and turned on the faucet. Nothing. I decided to call up my mother and ask...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. That was really the least of his problems. It meant the electricity had finally been turned off. So had the water, the cable, and the gas. At least they had waited until the spring. It was warm enough to not risk freezing that night.
Jacob wondered through his house, filled with useless possessions. He touched the television and the fridge as he walked by them, exiting the house and into the beautiful April morning.
The birds were chirping and a steady drone of cars racing down the highway filled his ears. He took a deep...
Fate always gets the last laugh.
You expect one thing, another happens. You predict a storm, there's not a cloud in the sky. You bet on red, the ball lands on black.
Or worse, double-zero. Salt in the wound.
I hated it. Predictions, prognostications, fortunes even, for those inclined to call it that... they're supposed to be real. I always believed in that little bit of the supernatural, some little psionic impulse, letting you see fate, visualize fate, and perhaps even manipulate fate.
Only I could never get it right. Nothing ever rang true, even when I deliberately predicted the...
The darn woodchuck was bothering me. He was a smart woodchuck. He had a bucket of red paint, which he was using to paint the golf course. "Ha ha ha," laughed the woodchuck. "I am painting this blade of grass right now. Watch as my paintbrush, which is laden in red paint, strokes the blade. See? It is red now. Ahahahaha!!!!!"
I was having none of it. I do not like the golf courses to be red, especially the green, which is called a green for a reason. You don't call them red or blues or yellows, do you? No....
Holy crap, this guy is annoying me again. I mean Jesus Christ, what does he want now?
He always bugs me, hits my head and walks right behind me. It seems no matter where I go, he is there waiting.
Then, when I need him, he can't be found. He disappears for what appears to be hours on end, only to take his pants off and then call for me.
What am I? A servant? I don't fetch things like beer. I don't fold clothes.
Fuck man, I'm cat.
I keep the creases in the clothes nice by laying on...