In the 'old days' I would close my eyes and see colors and a land scape so serene that I dare not open my eyes. These vision were so vivid that they would take me and I could be in this peaceful and tranquil, but now I close my eyes all I see a world set in a haze void of color a bleak land warped by corruption.
What happen? where did my peacefulness go?
I open my eyes to a cold small room, water dripping from the eves, and wind that caries a foul smell. I step outside into...
When I took Peter his final cup of coffee of the day knowing that tomorrow he'll be somewhere special instead of his smelly flat, I had a strong conviction that I had made the right decision, even though it was unlikely anyone else would understand. That's because they didn't have the knowledge I did. Secret. Life changing. Extraordinary.
In the morning we walked downstairs to the waiting car, Peter was chatting merrily unware his life was going to change forever.
Meanwhile I was perplexed why I couldn't open the door to my padded cell. Peter would be scared in the...
I used to follow my grandfather up the field, gathering potatoes. He would pull them up and leave them like gold nuggets, glowing on the topsoil. I came behind with a trug that was big enough for my baby brother to sleep in. I struggled when the trug was nearly full, and I'd have to set it down every few yards and watch my grandfather as he worked mechanically ahead of me.
I daydreamed that, one day, there would be a real gold nugget lying on the row. I would take iot to the bank and a big man with...
Lost but he couldn't stop hearing those footsteps, in his mind. They kept going on and on. Jack could hear his footsteps echoing.
Jack sat there engulfed in smoke – hoping the ash-filled clouds would somehow shield him from the pain.
Her body flew through the air, so unnaturally, like a bird caught in a tornado. The blood cascading down her forehead like a waterfall of emotion.
Her delicate face was transformed into a mask – a crimson mask of blood and agony. The smell of burnt rubber and panic in the air. It was electric. Why did she have...
Cameras lie. Greasy gray hair shining with oil tied back with a cheap rubber band. XXL sized elastic joggers pulled over a stained white t-shirt, the underarms looking greeny yellow. Round face, tiny eyes. Arms folded trying to hide the belly.
Security rushing onto the stage, standing between Sonia and her tormentors, skinny family members disgusted with her appearance and laziness.
Sonia reliving her bravery, assertiveness finally expressing deep held thoughts and emotions. Given the space and security to speak.
Now watching the tape she could not recognise the overweight woman. She was thin wasn't she? She did not even...
I held it at arm's length. The talking cat. No, I'm not insane. It's voice was higher and softer than human of course, but it talked just like the rest of us in English. I did ask if any other languages were known to it, but I was told it had been brought up by a family originally from Wales that had not been allowed to speak their mother tongue in their small village in Somerset.
Bob was it's name. Jet black. Educated, knew far more than me about current affairs, history, geography and was a whizz with the internet,...
The Potentate surveyed his creamsicle tower cooly.
"Were my instructions not clear," he asked in the calm manner so many of his associates found so frightening. "Was the language I was speaking truly so difficult to decipher?"
Nobody spoke up at first, though everyone knew two things: the longer he went without an answer, the angrily the Potentate would get. The second fact, whoever spoke first stood a good chance of receiving the brunt of his displeasure. As was often the case, everyone opted for an intense anger spread over the whole group, then face being a direct target of...
Death. As kids, we are terrified of this, but always reassure ourselves it won’t happen for a while. But for the past year and a half, reassuring myself has done nothing- I’ve already known the truth.
“She has one month.” My doctor whispers, leaning against the navy blue doorframe I know all too well.
“What do you mean, one month?” my mother questions him, matching his volume.
My father strokes her arm gently. “To live.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been crying. And he has. He looks into the door and I immediately sit back in my chair....
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She shielded her eyes from the flashes of light that arced across the blackened sky, her face soaked with tears, her heart pounding in her chest as the cacophony of noise rattled her skull.
In London, a family huddled together in a corner of their living room, across from the window that had blown itself out from the force of the first impact. They held between them the grandmothers crucifix, praying to their God as if he could save them.
A man stood atop the Eifel...
Marchiel stared into Francis's twisted visage. The black rose stood just behind the broken man and Marchiel wanted her. Francis put a hand on Marchiel's chest as the younger man started forward.
"No, brother. You will not have her. She has chosen me. ME!" Francis crowed in triumph. It was true. The Black Rose had chosen his twisted, fire-marked brother over Marchiel. Marchiel's heart ached at the rejection.
"You have placed a spell on her, Francis. I will break it with true love's kiss." Marchiel brushed his brother aside and continued up the steps towards his love. "Chereal," he whispered...