"Two-thousand-seventy bottles of beer on the wall, two-thousand and seventy bottles of beeeeeer. Take one down, pass it around, two-thousand-and-sixty-nine bottles of beer on the waaaaaaaaaaaaaaall."
Johnny steps down from the stage to thunderous, silent applause. A few faces are comically stunned. Most are arranged in various expressions of disgust.
I'm sure the patrons of the Poet's Society were hoping for better lyrics from the Frontman of the Year. I walk hurriedly to the publicist to begin my explanation. Should I go for the cancer, the break-up, the drugs, or the booze option? I'm sure that's what everyone's thinking anyway....
Green. Indubitably so. A vast expanse if it, spreading out to the horizon. Different shades breaking it up into sections. Lush, vibrant, light squares surrounded by dark borders.
I started running. Tearing through the blissful countryside, wind passing through my hair. I was free at last. Free to do anything I wanted.
I vaulted over a hedge, the chains on my feet ploughing the top. Faint sounds of barking came from far behind me. They were coming for me. Gotta go faster.
I found a road, hopped a fence over onto it and headed down the side, keeping my head...
I was mesmerized by the number of mirrors it took to cover the surface area. I began calculating in my head, when suddenly my arm was yanked forward by a woman wearing enough hair spray to suffocate the entire discotheque. Her smile was wide and gregarious and I counted the teeth exposed by her ruby red lips. She shouted something at me, leaning her head in a coy yet inviting manner. We stepped on the color-changing tiles and I estimated the surface area by counting the squares on the perimeter. The beat increased and my heart pumped faster to match....
Running from the larva, Nick wondered if he could stop for a second, catch his breath. He carried on, the survival persona taking over, making him look ahead at the hovering helicopter, knowing his life depended on reaching it...........
This part of the dream would never go away, he'd been recording it for years, wondering what it meant. He'd never been anywhere with a volcano, or any life of death scenarios, or had any worrying health concerns that he could recall.
Every night at three am he would wake, drenched in sweat, shouting out 'wait for me' to the helicopter...
I never realized just how high the flats in this area stood. Concrete giants standing over this urban world which I am unfortunate enough to call my home. Just last week a local boy was beaten up because of drugs, or money, or girls or whatever is the driving force behind the yobs that unfortunately for me call this area their home too.
Berkley Estate. Full of Highrises but empty of hopes, that about sums up this place.
As I continue my daily journey from work to home through the grey streets filled with grey people I am unfortunate enough...
Th dapper man picked up a penny and turned it over in his fingers, scrutinising it.
"Yes, this is definitely his," he said, after some time.
"How do you know?" his companion prompted, with bemused admiration.
"We know our chap must have had a lucky penny. This one is worn, as if it has been rubbed many times - for luck, you see - but it is still dirty. Our chap is a dockhand; it is grime from his workplace that has become ingrained in the coin. He must have dropped it when he realised he was being pursued."
"How...
She had always been in love with him. He was so cool, so mysterious. She spent three years watching him. When he started watching her it was divine. Heaven come true.
When they got together she was so happy. For once, she'd gotten what she wanted. She was a prize winner, a champion, a woman. Bye bye Mum. Bye bye childhood bedroom and tears.
But then things got boring. From a distance he'd seemed exciting-but living with him everyday was a different story. All they did all day every day was stay in and watch television. it wasn't even so...
They were listening.
He knew, and he didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing would matter, after all, after this.
He kept moving forward. Sometimes it felt inevitable. Sometimes it felt like it wasn't his feet propelling him, but something else, a force of nature, a gravity holding his life in balance. He kept going. It didn't matter what kept him going, after all. Nothing would matter after this.
They were watching.
He could feel their eyes even as he moved, boring giant holes into his skin, mining his body for- for what, he didn't know. Their eyes had been a...
Our city used to have one psychic, an old blonde woman who read palms and tarot out of her ground floor apartment. Her name was Liza and she spoke with a rolling California speech, peppering every other sentence with "fer sures" and "gnarlies".
Since the housing crisis, the population of palmists has grown. There is a stretch of road on Congress Street where seven women ply their trade, each operating from their own storefront. They are the only profession that seems to be growing, buying up empty retail locations.
It's worth noting that the women are just mere footsteps from...
I jumped. She jumped. My heart jumped. My soul jumped. My shadow jumped. My vision jumped. My brain jumped. My arm jumped. All of me was jumped. My foot are the last to jumped. Jumped. Jumped. Jumped. There's nothing left. Nothing. Nothing.
But you!
I wait you to jump.