Becky hoped Tom saw what she had written before her teacher did.
Mr. Smith was notoriously tidy about the things in his classroom. Desks were wiped down once a day, not by the school janitorial staff but by him personally. In other classes she knew friends who would write on the desks, leaving messages for the students who sat there after them - a sort of school texting service between students without cell phones, but Tom took only this one class after her. Would he see her message? She could pass it off as a doodle and if he said...
We all have a demon, a monster, something of a dark creature around us.
There are many types of these creatures. They tend to look the same though, darker than the pits of the deepest holes and overwhelmingly dripping of toxicity. Once they have hold of you it is very hard to to get rid of it. There are many different types of these creatures however.
Some make you feel like you’ll never feel happiness.
Some stop you from eating.
Some will pretend to let you feel happy until they let you crash and crack.
Some will make you harm...
Dear one,
Well, I finally made it, I'm in Spain staring out over Santiago de compostella, i always ment to do this with you. I know you know that and as you can see its beautiful here. I wish the accident had never happened i could feel you holding my hand the whole way i swear it. i could hear you whisper at night and damn it if i thought this would help me i longed for you every night i slept in your bag i could smell you. hear your voice in my ear. Damn it! Why did you...
It had been a long day the escape from the crowd into the woods had worn Jessica out completely she was tired. leaving him behind at the alter was the hardest thing she had ever done abut looking at the hand held in hers and his long gait as he traversed the trail easily she knew this was right. The man before her she had always loved she couldn't believe that he had come back for her though he said he would. Years before he had went away to travel the world but the moment he walked into the room...
Before the crone could lift the latch, the outsider entered unbidden; not something wisely done at a witch's door. The boy seemed to need folding to miss the oak lintel. Felt cap respectfully in hand, he spilled over the urgent threshold.
"Some rich master has stolen my Bess away from me!" he blurted out.
The old woman assessed him bending his way through the old wooden doorway. Green doublet. Old but smart. Yellow hose. Bachelor. Sixteen Summers. Mayhap a little more, but large - she smiled - in every respect.
He hadn't noticed the maid, half shoved behind the door,...
This fallen world or the next on. It is hard to be entirely sure of anything; gravity, what to have for breakfast, whom one should marry - fuck
kill
We stick our heads out too far and we expose ourselves in ways we could not have guessed at the beginning when we were warm floating. We forget how to float when we learn how to swim and sometime soon we will learn how to drown - or let go.
This fallen world or the next one. The choice is just as banal as it sounds. But some nights it is...
He’d always thought of Malory as a cat person. She referred to cats in conversation energetically and often, so when he visited her apartment he expected to meet a few. Malory set him straight. She was two when her parents gave Bo and Greco away. Mama and Dad, three children under four, an ailing dog and two cats were too much. They could not all be borne. Rip was on meds for anxiety, his pee pooling in the old floorboards. The cats threw his kibble at him and shed disdainful tufts. When Rip and the baby both stopped sleeping through...
I am not the hero of this story
I have abdicated my own starring role
I will live with that
or otherwise
I have chosen a poor teacher
or I have not made a choice
and that is the worst kind of choosing
She is not the villain of the story
I release her
bye
bye
become what you must, teacher, villain, muse
This is not a test
but I will take it
and pass it
with abandon and lust and glee
But it will not make me a hero
It will make me me
I couldn't sleep with her next to me. And the funniest thing is, I'd been waiting for this moment for three years. Margaret, me, alone in Randy's apartment all night. Was she even asleep? Was she playing possum? I held my breath to see if I could hear her sleeping. But Randy's air conditioner was too loud, and Randy was clearly snoring in the loft bed. I shifted on the couch. My skin had stuck to it; it felt and sounded like I'd ripped a bandaid off.
Margaret didn't move. She had to have heard it. I determined she must...
You can count me out. Everybody knows he's not my favorite person. I'm not debating that.
Take the way he eats: He makes these noises. He SINGS the chewing. It sounds sort of charming right at this moment, but in point of fact it's gross. Nobody wants to hear a turkey dinner set to Ave Maria. Two weeks planning a meal, you want a moment of silence. Some good old-fashioned reverence. What's happened to that -- what is it -- an emotion? These days, it's gone.
As I said, I don't like the man. But I also don't like crows...