"Yes, I know that she murdered someone. A terrible accident, if I do recall."
"An accident? She killed her husband when she was 25 because he was fucking his secretary. Remember."
"I do remember, but she repented and now is attempting to live a peaceful life. Can't she have that?"
"Why do you love them so much? They are disgusting, and I hate being here. The only we reason we had to leave was because you loved them more."
The earth shook for an instant, as the old man moved his king.
"Lucifer, I will not have you speak about...
"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,
In hindsight, the solution was obvious. Of course it was. It always is. But at the time it seemed like an impossible thing, a thing that would never be solved. A thing that would haunt her and taunt her forever and ever amen.
The crossword in Mrs Grey’s daily paper may not, to others,especially perhaps her husband, have seemed like much of an importance, but to her it was everything. It was the thing that, for just an hour or so each day, made her feel clever. It made her feel like a proper human being instead of the tired...
Just the facts, man.
That's how it works right? But sometimes facts aren't enough. I need more. I need more.
The pen quivers beneath my grasp, the words necessary to breathe life to this blank canvas escape me, forcing me to dig down into the unfrequented corners of my mind for wisdom, nuggets of truth, or inane ramblings...or all three.
Shoot. This bio is due in seven hours and here I am huddled in a cold basement awaiting inspiration, mind whirring at the speed of light with nothing in the way of progress visible on the horizon.
I begin to...
It was the leaded glass crystal, fluted sides, a stem as delicate as a lily. She filled it halfway, she didn't want to be greedy.
"Is that all you're having?" Her mother had just poured her glass up to the rim and was now walking awkwardly across the room, trying not to spill it.
"I like the way it looks in the glass."
Her mother sat down on the couch and slurped. "That's why I like these glasses. They look good no matter what you put in them."
She paused behind the couch, behind her mother, and took a sip....
While walking in the city, the 2 friends asked each other where they should go for dinner. They decide to go to a fancy restaurant and order some steaks. They ordered it with gravy and some mashed potato. The boys mind was running wild. He was thinking of how his friend looked very pretty and how good they would look together, as a couple. The girls mind was also running wild vise versa. As soon as they finished their dinner, they decided to go to the lake. While walking to the lake, they didn't talk whatsoever. They were silent, thinking...
Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty. Even this morning, she hadn't really thought of it. A white dress, sure. A veil, sure. Kitten heels, yes. She had told Marjorie that she didn't want her make-up done.
"I've been doing all right for forty years," she said. Marjorie just looked at her and then looked away without saying anything.
Marjorie was pretty. Everyone thought so. It wasn't so much a matter of thinking, even. Empirically, she was attractive. But she wore a lot of make-up.
This morning Marjorie wasn't there. Wasn't there to watch her pull on stockings...
My friends are so annoying they threw fake snow all over me as my perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe came out of the oven. I hate it when my friends team up against me like I really don't like it because they treat me like nothing, like I mean nothing to them, I know that sometimes people get annoyed and sometimes even a bit moody. But still, I want to know that I belong, that they care about me and that they need me, but really it's annoying. it is now going to take ages to get this fake snow...
She began a cigarette.
She thought about the beginning, when both of them wrestled with being simultaneously addicted to and afraid of each other. The fear was its own pleasure: they both noticed that the adrenaline of their hours apart was worth infinite foreplay.
She watched the first part of the logo turn orange and then grey. The image lasted in the ash for a second before mixing in with the image of the paper.
Later, she began to notice a strange emotional trajectory in their evenings together: the impulse, the sex, and then sadness, or disappointment. The sweat turned...