"Tis a penny," said he, and bent to retrieve the copper coin from the sidewalk. Holding it between gloved finger and thumb, he inspected the date with a squinting eye and dropped it into his vest pocket.
"Aye, twy twirrly twee, a penny's enough fer you an' me," he sang and performed a pirouette for the passerby.
A woman, richly attired and ambling along with an aristocratic gate, stopped to consider the man as he continued to spin in circles. A member of the upper crust, she lacked that innate mechanism, honed by the lower classes, which steered one away...
It was like one of those stop-motion films. Or maybe it was more like that handful of pictures his mom brought out when she was drinking. Dealing out snapshots of her life as if she had a chance at a full-house when the rest of them had just folded and walked away. The one dimensional images coming faster and faster.
He remembered the phone call, running out of the apartment without a jacket, the feeling of panic. Had he even closed the door? The car, his wife waving at him from across the busy street. No, that was wrong. That...
"This dream - it was better than waking."
"That's incredibly flawed. Inherantly flawed. You can't control the dream - for all you know, in the next few moments, you could've... You could've turned up to someone's wedding. Someone you hated. Or worse, someone you loved."
"If that's the kind of dreams you have, I'm not surprised you can't understand how a dream could be better than waking." I made a face. "That's really the best you can come up with? Oooh, a dream wedding." My nose wrinkled. "Is that a pun?"
"A very strained one." She replied, going to make...
And then there is the approach of Autumn and September impatiently tapping at the window, intimidating August, chasing it away. I reach out my hands in an attempt to catch hold of it, but it is already overshadowed by distance, one step removed. Only yesterday it was April and there was the whole of Summer; it was a time of promise and hope. I naively believed that I deserved it, that I would be delivered unblemished months. It was such a bad winter, so very long and cold.
But here I am on the edge of the season, dragging so...
Blank is the landscape to a story that has not been writin yet.but with each passing charater the page fills up with a colorful tale of adventure, strife, mystery, loss of love, or even a beautiful poem about the way thing are. now as time goes on the page is now a range of tall moutians of climax and intrigue. Dotted with twisting roads and low planes of sorrow and strife. the page a beigins to take shape a buitiful landscape that many readers will hopefully enjoy to look at and be in. The landscape of the story can be...
This was the month she was going to do it. Yes, really. This time.
Sitting down at the keyboard she faced the blank screen. First things first, time for coffee.
Now she could start. Come on, come on, come on. Where is my muse?
She strokes the keboard, searching internally for inspiration.
PUFFFF!
At first she thinks the computer screen is broken. Or maybe a virus has hijacked her software. She peers in astonishment.
A green face is forming in front of her eyes. At first the details are vague and hazy. Then it grows clearer. Yes, definitely a face....
"I think there's a problem with the design!" Clair blurted. The table of nerdy glasses and hazy schematics looked up one by one.
Burt suddenly took her by the arm, turning her slightly but firmly. "We're hours away from the prototype run and you think there's something we haven't considered?"
"It's the idea in general. If the particle resonance is what we think it is then why are we trying to counter the harmonics? I mean--what could that do to the very fabric--"
Burt collapses to a singularity point, everything in the room suddenly expanding at the edges and warping...
It was the fall that surprised me most. I watched as the sofa slid down the stairs of the women's dorm, I rushed down when it stopped at the landing, i lift the couch up and could see Amber, her neck was in the shape of an 'L.' She didn't move, she wasn't breathing, i looked up and could see her ghost standing over me, looking down at her body.
"Wha... what happened?" she asked.
"You fell, you...you're dead." i said, she started to panic, i tried to calm her.
"So, if i'm dead, how are you talking to me?"...
She sat staring at the skin of her hands. Her eyes traced the many lines, imagining the skin to be the brown, scorched earth of deserts, thirsty for life.
The wrinkled skin gathered above her enlarged knuckles, reminding her of dried fruit.
She continued examining her hands, wondering how the finiteness of life had come to suddenly feel so tangible.
Her veins somehow looked foreign. Her age had caused her veins to become like strange, throbbing, river-like threads of yarn, sewn to her flesh, invading her hands.
She rubbed the underside of her index finger against the rough surface of...
The room was dimly lit with the candles he had scattered before she had arrived. The meal would be served in just a few minutes, a creation to do any chef proud. He had left the wine to breathe the required amount of time. The stage was set. He set the plate before her and frowned when she showed no sign of appreciation for his efforts. He poured her a glass of wine, an excellent vintage. Still, she showed no joy or surprise.
He batted the wineglass away and it shattered on the far wall. With a swipe of his...