The clocks and the teddy bears I could understand, but the fruit really threw me for a loop. If you'll pardon the... well, actually, don't worry about the pardon. The time for pardons has passed. Yes?
I would have thought there'd been more books, but I guess I should be thankful there was one at all. One book, two shoes. That's a bit mortifying, really, but it's only fair. One couldn't get very far with just one shoe. I mean, I couldn't. Then again, I never got very far with just one book.
And seeing Her again after all this...
She hoped she was dreaming, but it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt unnervingly real as she and her belongings fell, the ground coming closer and closer, faster and faster. She remembered going to bed, and she HAD been asleep, but now…
It had to be a dream. Had to be. Where had she fallen from, if not? And where had all these… these… things come from? Three alarm clocks? A pineapple? She briefly wondered whether there were any Freudian links here, decided there probably were, considering the banana and teddy bears. Perfect essay fodder for her psychology degree....
Day 1750: It feels eerily similar to Day 1. I wake up with the sun beating down on my face, no longer held in check by the facade I'm sleeping against. The heat is starting to sting, which I contemplate for a few moments. I'm so glad to be feeling something upon my skin which isn't gravel or my own beard, curling back up to itch me in the very same spots where I'm sore. It's as if even my own face wants nothing more than to detach and fly away.
"Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. I think there's something underneath the bed."
Jacob sighed, rolling over and twisting the blankets in an infuriating fashion. "Anna, you're twenty-five years old. Don't you think you're a little old for this?" Of course, he would say that.
Anna twisted the blankets right back. Blankets were protection. Blankets were life. If she were covered with the blankets and Jacob were not, the rules dictated that Jacob would be eaten and Anna would be spared. Everyone knew that. But Jacob wouldn't let this go without a quarrel.
"Jesus, Anna! I'm cold! It's...
Sarah felt a little guilty. This wasn't her bed after all. But to each his own. This isn't some pink kiddie playgroundworld where cotton candy feeds you until your next meal, and mommy and daddy are there to catch you when you scrape your knee. In this world, houses are foreclosed, children are taken away by Children's Services, and husbands beat you after a late night out with beer. If you're lucky, he passes out before you have to fight him and shout NO. In this world, anything is possible, things you couldn't fathom happening to you as a 7-year-old...
This was only temporary.
She told herself this every morning when she woke up, and every night when she laid down. She had been telling herself this for 6 months now and she didn't really believe it anymore but she still said it. This is only temporary. Who was she kidding. It wasn't getting any better. She was surviving but only just. She had used up all her time at the shelters and really families with kids should get priority. She was surviving. She used to have a plan. Things she was going to do to get her out of...
The pidgeon man rolled off the sky-scraper. Thousands of birds flew with the updraft, gaining momentum as they hurled their bodies into his back. The crawling taxis below wailed insistently. Pedestrians opened their umbrellas, one by one. Sunset embalmed the towers in reflective flame.
The pidgeon man did not see what was beneath him. He only and always looked up.
His shadow grew on the pavement. He was seconds away from landing, yet the birds continued their sacrifice.
I don't like this piece at all. It is a depressing photo. :(
Read something else.
"Bad way to go," said Detective Renfield. He was standing over the body (or what was left of it) with his arms akimbo.
I sighed, adjusting my hat to better shade me from the hot sun. "Fourth case this month," I reminded him. "Maybe city hall will finally get serious about the pigeons after this."
"Nah, I wouldn't count on it," my partner said cynically. "A few bums get eaten by pigeons, what do folk like them care?"
"According the statistics, the pigeon population's tripled in just a few months," I remarked, thinking back to my interview with Professor Gendry....
They were listening.
Whispering things. What he should do.
Of course he'd scream that he shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't, wouldn't, wouldn't, and could they just PLEASEJUSTOUTOFHISHEADANDLEAVEHIMALONEALONEALONE
....
....
....
He couldn't suppress a smirk as another blanched and walked away from him as fast as they could. Ah well, they'd just assume it's another 'facet' of him appearing. It'd be lost in the mountain of expressions he showed or said. One good thing about this was he could do whatever he wanted w/o question.
Who knew acting crazy could leave him to be so free?
It sucked not to be able to find another vent in the city.
Vents.
Those things were the single most useful thing in the city to people like him. And didn't they know it. Which is why any available one was claimed before anyone else had a chance to glance at it.
Hot warm air constantly blew out of it, becoming a source of warmth to huddle towards.
Sure they were right in the middle of the streets, and occupying one drew weird stares from others, but after a while, it wasn't so bad. One learned to ignore their stares,...