I looked at my fellows roommates and had to suppress a giggle. I know costumes are supposed to be in jest, but we had really gone over the top. Plumage of chicken wire and silly string. Stilts and dinosaur arms.
Yes, it was that time of year again: Beer Mile.
We collected on the campus quad, shivering in the snow, awaiting the stroke of midnight. Ding Ding Ding...The drunken co-eds began their semi-annual drunken naked/costumed romp in celebration of the end of homework.
What else could be the source of such merriment?
As I rounded the corner of the field,...
I felt blood running down my body, i had stab marks in my stomach, two of them, i was alone, on the dirt, with nobody around to help me. I looked up to see a bull standing over me, grunting, breathing heavily, i got up and walked away slowly. when i got up the bull saw the blood and ran away, i tighten my shirt around my stomach, run to the lake across from the sandy field and washed off the blood. My mum saw me from the balcony a few blocks down from the sandy field and she came...
"Constellation of freckles."
I made a face. "Oh, that's going on the list."
She nodded with a degree of authority - she hadn't needed me to tell her it belonged on our list of paticularly purple prose, our list of phrases that were to be avoided at all costs.
"Can you even get a constellation of freckles?"
"Well, of course you can, it's an arrangement - it's the implication I resent. That freckles are like stars - who'd have starry freckles? You can't wish on a freckle."
"You could. I think that could be quite a romantic scene."
"Depends on...
Whap! That's what the thunderbolt felt like. Never felt one before that fateful day. Not sure I can stand another.
I remember the first day I saw her, the woman of my dreams. I didn’t know she was the woman of my dreams at first, that came the moment I saw her smile.
A colleague and I were talking one day and her name came up. He said if you ever see her smile, you’ll never forget it. He was right. One day, not long after, I happened to make her smile and that was it. That was the day the...
what to do in the gutter
with your mind all aflutter
one could tie their shoe
or sniff glue
you could clip your nails
or make trails
i could learn to flip it
or just do a whippit
he could switch his socks
or sleep with a fox
she could play with pip
or learn to nip
they could read a book
or just get hooked
whatever it is they you or i decide to do
be quick
there are only so many minutes
to
If I had a box full of pounds from every time someone said if I had a pound for every time
It would probably have like £50 in it
Because although that's a common phrase
It doesn't come up THAT often
Think about it
How many times have you actually heard someone use that phrase
Probably like fifty
Yeah?
I thought so
So next time
Put a pound somewhere you can forget it
And then when you find it
You'll remember this story
And that way
As long as you are alive
So am I
And if you told it...
The singer still held onto his microphone as he slumped to the stage. He felt as through a very large hand was pulling him very quickly through an ocean of green water. The crowd retreated, their faces elongating. Their cheers elongated, too, as though one corner of the cheer had been nailed to a doorway and then stretched around the world.
The world is elastic, he thought, and couldn't imagine why he hadn't noticed this before. Everything has a soft suppleness to it if you look hard enough, or perhaps if you learn not to look so closely.
Even the...
I'm with stupid. It's Jerry's favorite T-shirt. He wears it all the time. It doesn't matter where we're going, he'll wear the shirt. Church, court, the museum-- he just shrugs his shoulders and gives me that grin when I ask him not to wear it. The more inappropriate the occasion, the more it seems to spur him to wear it.
Jerry's never really cared about impressions, that I get. But he also doesn't seem to get that I do. Sometimes, I think he gets some sick pleasure out of watching me squirm while he's talking to a prospective client at...
Away.
He'd escaped.
And not in the usual way.
Home from school at 7:30pm, another long day of detention for crimes uncommitted (who ever did anything really deserving detention – and when has detention been worse than the alternative. Questions he wrestled with with his head on his desk) – home long after sunset, he pressed his head against his pillow and cried.
The tears awoke the empathy of the waters in the room. His fishbowl grew stormy. A glass of water shuddered with tsunami. The poster of the ship on the wall erupted in gale and he could feel the lash...
The maple leaves will change and fall with a certain grace - November will begin.
Carla read that sentence in her Literature textbook over and over, and the thought that kept running through her mind was, 'Who edited this book?'
That wasn't entirely true, but her internal monogue ran along these lines. Was she the only tenth grader who knew that semicolons connected independant phrases? Older people complained about how texting was ruining the language, but what difference did that make when a text book author, in what she assumed was an edited textbook ILLUSTRATING the language, couldn't even catch...