There was nothing like getting the supplies in every month with the boys to lift everyone's spirits. Goodies, magazines, and letters abounded and everyone was excited waiting anxiously for their packages.
Sergeant Thomas was sorting through the packages and arranging them into groups to deliver when we came across a package for Lt. Roger. The Lietentant was a quiet sort that never received any sort of mail and never wrote any letters. But here before them was a nice package addressed to him that smelled of perfume and tobacco.
Thomas, thought it would be good to give the package to...
The disco ball was turning. Just in case there were any senses left unassailed, it was supported by several lasers and flashing coloured lights. The year 1-5 annual childrens Halloween Party was, to a Pagan, rather like finding yourself in a hall full of Jesus and Mohammeds running around with joke crosses and inflatable flashing Qurans celebrating how fun crucifixion is. Most of the parents, whom if they were seasoned veterans had preemptively dosed themselves with migraine pills already, had no real concern over whether the witches, ghosts, mummies and (for god sake!) Spidermen and other assorted superheroes had ANYTHING...
She didn't look at him. She didn't want to. The idea that he was pleading for her forgiveness didn't soften her heart. Rather, it was hardened by the fact that she had given everything to him and had given up everything for him only for him to betray her.
"Please look at me," He pleaded, "Look at me and know that I'm sorry."
"Looks can be decieving," She said harshly, "YOU taught me that!"
He fell at her feet and grabbed her hand, which she shook away violently. Only then did she look at him and he almost wished he...
Lost, without a hand to hold. Lizzie slowly sidled her fingers into the palm of Elder Barnes. He placed both hands on her soul bumps, feeling the hairy base of each above the fine stitch work, and the subtle movement below the skin. This act of passive acceptance of his touch was a necessary part of being his student.
"Tell me again of the Biclops." she asked. His fingers moved away from her head, more quickly than customary, forgetting to reciprocate. She understood the snub. He was not letting her feel his own soul flaps. He was angry.
"The Biclops...
The general stood in the grand ballroom, waiting for everyone to clear out. Yes, the guests had a great time at the victory party; the rebels had been routed, and victory for his king had been ensured. But no one knew the price better than him. As the upper class cheered him, shook his hand, and touted him as the grandest of the grand, he mourned for those on the side of so-called evil. He knew many of them, if not personally, then through family. He hadn't grown up in this environment, but in that of the rebellion. Sure, his...
Thank God the image was blurred thought Johnston looking over his daughter's shoulder. She had accidentally found his photo folder, the one he thought had been deleted.
'Daddy, who's that lady?'
'No one sweetie.'
He clicked away and back onto the screen with the cartoons ignoring Joanna's 'but Daddy..........' and turning up the sound. Soon everything was forgotten and she was begging her dad to be allowed to see 'just one more' before bedtime, even though he'd already agreed it was way past her bedtime ten minutes ago.
After she was finally tucked up in bed and gently snoring (sinus...
The bird took off. The mail was delivered. A red car drove past. An old man with a cane walked past on the sidewalk.
Every day, these things happened in exactly the same way, at exactly the same times.
Other things were the same, too: the news, the conversations she had, the expressions on the faces of the people she met. The bus to work was always four minutes late, like clockwork.
But there were differences, too.
After about ten days, she started to notice things disappearing. First it was her keys, then her couch. Then the maple tree in...
Margaret talked trivia all day to me. Tv shows, online forum friends, recipes, to do lists, celebrity downfalls. Why would an ex-intelligence agent be like this? It was a mystery I wanted to solve.
Whenever I came over for a chat, we sat drinking coffee in a living room bursting with ornaments and pictures on the walls. I don't think there was an inch of space anywhere. Dreamcatchers, statues of the Virgin Mary, shelves of porcelain dolls, angels. I've never seen so many different types of angels in my life! Paintings of them, statues, crystal, hundreds of crochet angel pins...
"Knives."
"Yeah. And?"
"Pepper. Salt. Ducks. Ivory, but don't tell anybody."
"Seriously? Knives?"
He handed me the duffle bag. "Knives. And everything you need to know is in there, too."
"Everything?"
"Everything. The molecular structure of Ferrous Oxide. The length of a stick. The speed of light under water."
"What about the temperature of Jupiters core? The average age of a bitch collie in its first heat? Foreign exchange rates for all currencies against Bhutan?"
"All of that. Plus the phone numbers of every Mossad agent, and their email address and blog addresses. Oh, and the starting lineup of the...
My mother toils under the assumption that she is beautifully imperfect but the world should be perfect. She reacts to news like a small child. Living in the moment with the belief that what is going on now will be what goes on forever. I am her child and I am the same.
We slump together from depression to remission, my mother and I. We stay on the couch for days at a time drinking wine, eating Oreos, and watching reality television. Then Mom gets an alimony check or I finally land a job interview and the fever breaks. We...