The wires passed from hand to hand in the complex trading ritual. THe boy watched raptly, taking his training with the serious concentration of surgeons and chess-masters.
"You wrapped the wrong red and pulled the wrong green," he noted to his papa in mixed Spanish. The wires were then braided into his hair, the auburn hues mixing with the artificial Christmas tones.
"The day your hair grows out of these strands, you will have all there is to desire in this world. On that day, you may cut these colors and move on to the next."
The tea kettle screamed...
The thing about gold is: it lies inert. I mean, it shines, but...
Dubloons, you've heard the pirates speak of them. 490 years lie, ocean floor notwithstanding, and not a bit of tarnish, no rust.
Just try that with your silver, your iron, brass, your copper plate!
Gold. It runs, blurs, but -cool- it does not interact.
For this reason we think of it as pure, as spiritual:
Gold knows only its own soul.
Like a frigid bride it bides its time, growing not older, but alone
"Wait, so he hit you?"
"Well, yeah, but--"
"Why are you still with him? What is wrong with you?"
"I'm not still with him, per se. I'm on a break with him."
"That break should be permanent."
"You don't understand!"
"The moment a guy hits you, you should be out the door, no questions asked. You never know if he's going to do it again."
"It's not his fault!"
"No, right. His hand detached from his body and smacked you right across the cheek. Look at that! That bruise looks horrible. And you're defending him?"
***
"Wait, so she hit...
One scoop of chocolate, one scoop of strawberry. He would always order that. Strawberry would go on top. I have not been in Maddy's six years, and I still remember the order. I wonder where he is now. Did he go to California? Did he take the blond with him? There was always a blond. Does he still have the golden retreiver? I was going to get a sundae, but I think I will order two scoops--one strawberry, one chocolate.
OF SEXY. HE HAS THE PERFECT MUSCLE. WHEN HE HOLDS ME I MELT. HE IS CHARMING AND GIVING. HE MAKES ME FEEL SO PERFECT. I LOVE IT WHEN I CATCH HIM STARING. THE SMILE HE GIVES ME EVERY TIME HE SEE'S ME. HIS LAUGH IS LOUD. HE IS MY FAIRYTALE ENDING. HE IS MY PRINCE CHARMING. HERE TO TAKE ME AWAY THE PERFECT LIFE. LIVING IN HAPPINESS AND WORRY FREE. LIVING IN THE LAND OF LOVE.
"I hate everyone today," he said.
"Everyone?" she asked.
"Everyone."
"Even me?"
"Well, except you."
"Glad to hear it."
"I hate everyone else, though. And everything else."
"Do you hate black people?"
"Well, no - I mean, yes, but no more or less than anyone else."
"How about Indians? Or Lithuanians?"
"I hate everybody equally. I'm not a bigot or anything."
"I see."
"But I still hate them. I hate all of them."
"That's nice, do you hate animals, too?"
"Yes. I hate animals, too."
"Even kittens?"
"Um ... I guess. I hate them all."
"Well, that includes kittens. How...
Shape is a thing that comes to you, after you have grown.
Breasts.
Waist.
Arms.
Butt.
It's a struggle between feeling fit and feeling smart, isn't it? This is the struggle. The struggle to take shape.
Job.
House.
Money.
Love (but not in a way that denotes overindulgence).
These are the sacrifices we make between sheer bliss and sweet control. You don't blame me?
You shouldn't.
It was an early morning. Anna was going for a morning run around her block. She was always found doing something worth while. She had always enjoyed looking at books about other countries. She had an infatuation with countries that had different letters to English ones. She came across a book on the ground, with funny, squiggly letters that Anna recognised to be Chinese writing. She flicked through the pages and found something that really interested her. It had birds, letters, photos of females and males and clothes that looked ancient.
She tried to decipher what the writing said over...
He knocked the three knocks. The two rap-raps. He whistled like a wren. Then he knocked twice again. The flight attendant replied, "Captain. Pick up the phone. I'm not playing your games."
"Oh come on. Just reply with the secret knock. It's easy."
"What is it you want?"
"To go to the restroom."
"Ok. Punch in your code and I'll punch in mine, and we'll get you to the lavatory and back."
She punches her code, her hand on the handle. She waits. "Captain?" She hears three knocks. Two rap-raps. A whistle like a wren.
"Captain. I'm a grown woman....
We have been in the bunker for weeks now sharing a room with me and my five brothers. Its hard to imagine our life before the war, in a nice large house with lots of nice food. Its my birthday tomorrow im the youngest , im turning 5. I learnt to read and write when i was 2, i was an advanced child , my parents used to believe i was a prodigy, they tried to make me learn thing like piano and violin, things that take lots of concentration. I failed at violin but i went well with piano...