The lone zombie shambled toward the clubhouse, where we watched, armed with nine irons and pitching wedges. I turned to Adam and said, "Par three, buddy."
"You're on, Sev," Adam replied, and grabbed a bucket of balls, ran out to the porch, and teed up.
His swing was a bit off, and he hooked it, but the ball stayed on the fairway. Not bad, considering the threat of gruesome zombie death that potentially loomed.
"Okay, this time I got him!" Adam shouted, and teed up another ball.
This time, his shot was picture-perfect, and the ball whizzed through the air,...
Bocci. Bocci ball. Bowling on a lawn. That's what I was doing in that old photo. But strange. Usually you bowl with other people. Usually there's markings on the ground, a target ball to shoot from. In the photo, I'm just standing there in the middle of the lawn, facing the house. My house? God, I don't know whose house that is. It could be a field house, or a club house, and I'm playing bocci, a game I don't know how to play, have never, as far as I'm aware, ever played before in my life, and I'm hunched...
f18000. that was what he was being paid for murder. She'd seen to much. She was the key to blowing the case wide open. He scanned the crowded mall, looking for the face in the photo. He spotted it, and reeled back in surprise. She was just a teenager, barely old enough to drive. He pulled himself together, then put the newly loaded gun back in his waistband. He tracked the victim out of the mall and into the parking lot. She was completely oblivious, laughing and talking with her friends. She said good bye and made her way across...
The pistol was cocked, ready to go. The grip felt odd in my hand, and the barrel kept dipping down towards the ground. What would happen if I actually fired the damn thing? I was afraid it would fly back and smash my teeth out.
Nevertheless, I wrapped both hands around the grip as I had seen countless times on television and tried to steady the deadly steel. It wavered like my resolve at the sight of my nemesis, sprawled and harmless looking on the couch. But the second he awoke, he would look less like a sleeping kitten and...
£18000. The figure flashed through his mind as he drove to work. Quite a sum but not above what many were willing to pay. He wondered if he should up his price, expand the business. He smirked as he parked and pulled on his gloves, He checked his watch and took his time getting his tools from the back of the car. Calm, assured, he had every detail planned so on the job he didn't have to think. He wondered who it was today. He checked his notes; female. He briefly considered what she'd done to piss her husband off...
One hundred and eighty thousand pounds. Sterling. Sitting on her dresser, in tight little wads of cash. One hundred and eighty thousand pounds is a lot of money. Hell, before today, one thousand was the absolute maximum I had seen in any one place at one time, and that was in the hands of Stu, the dealer, and he was just flashing it around to show off. One hundred eighty thousand? It damn near crowded everything else off the dresser. And she was just, what, going to leave it there?
"Where's this from?" I asked.
"You know where it's from."...
100 feet away. She had only been 100 feet away.
I could have caught up with her, stopped her maybe, but my feet were rooted to the one spot, and hers were just about to float out over the edge.
She turned and smiled and waved just a little, her hand moving from side to side, like we saw the Queen do once on television.
Then she jumped.
Then my feet decided they were free to move as I wanted them to and I ran to the edge. I looked out and saw her head break the surface of the...
100 feet away, and we still couldn't talk. She sat there behind bars on a rotting metal cot while I was wearing designer jeans with a designer purse, just to visit her in jail.
I stared at her through the glass, and she hung her head until the guard whispered to her that someone was there to see her. Slowly raising her head, she looked toward the plexi-glass visitors room; the room where we could watch the prisoners like they were in a zoo or something.
She looked up at me and gave a the smile you give that still...
100 feet away. That's where I was when the car crashed through our fence. I was watering the yard, and I thought I was watching the kids, but I had my back to them. We live on the highway. Four acres stretch out behind us. Plenty of space, I figured. But the last owner built right up against the road, the better to show off the building. I wasn't looking. I wasn't thinking. There was Bill, eight years old, all skin and bone and muscle, and he's teaching six year-old Jenny how to toss a football, only she can't quite...
"I has a bus! I iz in it!"--written in black sharpie on the pink paper. The torn end of it soft and frayed, the grocery list on the back now outraged with the bleedthrough of the ink.
"Wait, shouldn't it be like, E-E-N E-E-T?" Linda said, her glasses dangling just off her bottom lip.
"Wait, what?" Sarah replied, she stared hard at the pink paper, not wanting to look at Linda or her stupid retro horn rim super thick shiny blue metallic glasses hanging from her lips. She knew Linda thought that looked cute but it just looked gross and...