She was supposed to be running. Fifteen more miles to go. But the butterflies caught her attention and she couldn't drag herself away.
"Go! Go! Go!" she heard the spectators shout. Or was that her subconscious?
She had to keep running she told herself. She needed the prize money for her next search. Money that would buy her time and equipment she would need. A top of the line GPS system, tape recorder, memory sticks. Anything that would help her track down her sister.
A year ago, her sister left a note and disappeared without a trace. And Amelia had...
She always felt a little self-conscious about wearing headphones in public. She didn't want to seem anti-social, or too cool, or appear totally oblivious to the bike rider frantically ringing his bell as he approached from behind.
That's why she visited the gardens so much. Not so much for the flowers but butterflies had secrets of their own. They listened to their own songs and drifted through a world of their own. They wouldn't judge her musical tastes and she would be silly to judge theirs. After all, who are the deaf to judge those who can hear in color?
The girl adjusted the ancient headset irritably. Stupid thing was a poor substitute for her surround sound wireless earbuds, and frankly time was crucial in her quest--she had five minutes to get to the bottom of the mountain or the Ravaging Horde would catch up t0 her and her guild would never forgive her.
They'd given her the manuscript to protect, after all! And it was supposed to be because she'd been an all-star runner in middle school, as if that had anything to do with anything. But her headphones not working was totally an exo.
She tapped the ridiculous...
David woke up, showered, and dressed. He went outside and carefully watered his garden, plucking any weeds he saw as he went. He wistfully gazed out at the white clouds and the pink butterflies that fluttered about the tall trees. It was a day like any other.
Cynthia, his wife, was sitting on the bench in the yard, listening to something on her headphones. He moved closer to see that her eyes were closed and she was smiling. He stepped forward, about to interrupt her so they could share the moment together, when suddenly a gigantic grizzly bear erupted from...
When the butterflies are high in the afternoon sky is the best time to sit by the lake. I am lucky to have the view I do, not many people can just waltz out their back door and be in the wonderland that is nature. I can.
I take my walkman (don't judge me) with me whenever I go down to the lake. I like to think about the day and all the wonders tomorrow will bring. It's not so lonely just being me and my walkman because a few butterflies always join me. Their gilded wings brush the water's...
Marvin hates it when things don't go according to plan. It's quite simple really: when a person calls you, you answer the phone.
But, this just isn't going to happen, now is it? In fact, it's never gonna happen.
Not as long as he can't get away from Melinda.
"...so, my dad was all angry, you know? He told me that I had to help him with the yard work, and I didn't want to-"
"That's great, but-"
"-I'm not even good at yard work! Allergies and all of that? Yeah, allergies can really get a person down. The worst...
Sal couldn't breathe. And he couldn't stand running through a huge group of people. They didn't have much to hurry for. Some of them were walking calmly to trains, while others were meeting thier loved ones after riding in on one.
He was the only idiot in the place litteraly pushing through people. He would have to apologize to the old lady with the walker he knocked flat on her butt later. Right now, Karen was his main focus.
Karen. She left Salvadore a message on his answering machine. Something about leaving him, because she couldn't keep playing house anymore....
"I feel boxed in," she said.
"I'm sorry?" he replied, not quite understanding.
"Well, the basic thing is this: the image is quite boring, and the color scheme is obnoxious, a weird, misguided attempt at the painterly surrealism that Richard Linklater's Waking Life first presented in film. Add to that two gigantic butterflies, and the whole thing just falls apart. But despite the silliness of the painting, however, there's really no room for absurdity. Characters can't wave pistols around or smoke cigars or get hit in the forehead with boards. I'm boxed in. I have nowhere to go. It's too...
Morlane hung his head. At times like these, his emotions were torments of conflict. He was grateful, yes; but he was ashamed. He was melancholy, true; but he was jubilant. Every month for the last 4 years he had made the trek; every month he had experienced these emotions again. He couldn't talk to anyone about these feelings. His father, raised on a quiet farm, couldn't know about such things. His fiancee, sophisticated city girl that she was, couldn't be expected to understand. Only his regiment could understand. And he was the only one left. Except for --
"GOD BLESS...
While Bach and Bethoven echoed in my ears, I slowly, stared at the monarch butterflies soaring in the fresh, thin air that surrounded me. I bit my lip, and then grabbed at them, but an unsuccessful attempt. I laughed and laughed. I doubled over, when I saw a man in a kyak capsize, and fall deep into the depths of the water. It felt calm and natural, sitting here, looking at the trees, the water and the sunset. A white butterfly, out lined with black-blue colors, flew in, beautifully flapping it's wings, and landed on my shoulder. I glanced at...