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...
I was down. The car hit me straight on. I thought I was on vacation for the week but obviously the ambulance driver thought other wise.
The driver said that I was unconscious. obviously I wasn't with my eyes blinking, my chest slowly moving up and down, i was fully awake. I was out on the stretcher and into the red ambulance I went. The driver slammed my into the truck and drove me somewhere. I was hoping I could hitch a ride to the lab this way so I could tell boss. The driver went to the front of...
Now, supposedly, if I start out a hundred meters ahead of Achilles, and Achilles is travelling five times faster than me, when he has covered that hundred meters, I will nevertheless have travelled twenty. And when he travels twenty, I will have travelled four. And when he travels that four, I will have traveled .8 meters, and so on and so forth, such that Achilles will never reach me. I win.
But Zeno, the cur, says that, eventually, Achilles overlaps me. "We know it from experience," he tells us. God damn experience! I know that if Achilles is continually arriving...
Elle courait dans le couloir comme le matin les joggers courent le long de la piste cyclable. C'était son entrainement quotidien. A défaut de joli chemin en plein air, le corridor était son stade. Et elle était rémunérée pour courir. Non pas pour faire la gloire de la Chine aux JO, non, mais pour faire circuler l'air dans cet immeuble-ville. Les mouvement d'air provoqué par ses déplacements assuraient en partie la ventilation de l'habitation. Elle fait partie cette génération remise au goût moderne des enfants des mines.
Une fois son jogging d'une heure effectué, elle pouvait vaquer à ses occupations...
It was the fall that surprised me the most. Three steps backward, and then that horrible feeling of stomach-in-throat, where time passes normally but feels like an eternity; seconds equaled hours as I prepared myself for the eventual landing; just as I thought I was ready, more time would pass.
All told, I was probably lacking contact with the ground for no longer than a fraction of a second, but just like in the movies, the fall felt like a slow-motion ordeal--it was as if the air were made of liquid and I was lighter than normal, but still heavy...
What was that? I swear to god, something just went under the boat. I don't know what it was, but it was shiny, and it was fast.
Is it lunch time yet? I like lunch time. Everyone gathers near the front of the boat, eating their sandwiches and chips. Most usually share, at least a little bit. It's not like everyone can eat all of that. Most usually share, but you gotta watch closely. Gotta be vigilant. And be careful of the gulls. They'll sneak up on you in an instant. They scare easy, but man, are they sneaky.
I've...
the man in the purple tuxedo had just bought a nice pair of boots. Walking home from the boot store he got attacked by an army of boot hungry hobos who wanted to eat their boots. The hobos were dressed in togas and had beards like frozen waterfalls down to their feet. The hobos combined their great beards to form a giant lasso and lassoed the pair of fancy boots away from the man in the purple tuxedo. The hobos ran away with the boots planning to dine on them later that evening. The man in the purple tuxedo...
It was an odd feeling. Looking at a family. He'd been away from his own family for so long that he felt like he'd never had one. Now look at him, alone, dirty, addicted, wandering the streets without a cent to his name. How could he even try? It was so close. He looked at his wallet. No money. No credit cards. No business cards. Just photo, wrinkly and turned over, of the family, the life he once had. As he looked at the family in central park, it almost made his heart yearn. He wanted to turn over the...
She has to save them. That's her job. That's all her job's ever been. She has to sit on top of them, explode into feathers and squawks when needed, brood for days when they're stolen, make countless vows that she'll do better next time.
She likes her jokes, Mother Hen does.
Easter Bunny can steal them every time. He pleads, too, every time, of the scarcity of eggs on the planet, of how hard it is for an honest bunny to make a living nowadays, of the lack of belief in himself, the fake plastic hunts for things that were...