1079 9 8
|
It's as if the house knew I was relinquishing my hold on it.
|
107996
|
...when suddenly I was pushed from behind, smack into the deep end.
|
107976
|
Steven was a hollow tree of a man — outwardly normal for a tired fortysomething, but empty inside. He lived alone in an old farmhouse that reeked of decomposition and Lysol, the previous tenant having left a dozen skinned raccoon carcasses in the attic.
|
107933
|
|
107994
|
The blood from my palm runs across the rocky surface of the shell. I push the knife into the crease again, searching for a weakness, the one space where the two sides will gasp and then separate. You tell me it doesn’t matter.
|
107965
|
Shhh. I am here. Otillie Augustine, from Trieste, an Italian city to you, but when I lived it was part of Austria. Such things as who flies their flags over a city? Not so important after all, after all the losses and the victory speeches. These were not…
|
1079106
|
Here comes my speed dealer
he's riding shotgun in the open
|
107843
|
Her son was doubtless the biggest wanksta that ever went to Andrew Jackson in the whole crumby history of the school.
|
1078148
|
an undercurrent of fear is running through my community
|
10781411
|
Tender bodies sizzle on the grill.
|
107866
|
It’s Independence Day. But I’m not feeling independent.
|
107873
|
life is a lucky thing, bountiful among the
drugs and flowers
|
107855
|
Style Shifts “Oh, yes, my cousin. We were rude boys until the armed gangs started to gather. Used to be we could pass a night driving, playing our songs, acting tough. Yeah. We'd mouth off, flash some teeth, spark some anger when we felt like it. We…
|
107800
|
1. HeWomen's heads turned when Remy stopped in the doorway — as they always did. He noticed — as he always did — but paid no attention as he scanned the room. Too nervy to care. No sign of Fiona. Good. It paid to be the one doing the…
|
107800
|
oh, sure i’m still running around like a heads-up/off/prophet/profit/fit trying to cut off my very own de/(con)instruction and all other sordid a•void•able & available/a-Babel towers of post &toastmodern doom/daze
|
107856
|
her hands twined up, as carved from stone, each to fit the other.
|
107886
|
There are stranded people just like us, that's Not necessarily what I'm looking for. Negativity won't pull us through the Barbed-wire halls of hate. And even if I Was the only one, I wouldn't want you To look any different in the mirror. I'm older …
|
107833
|
Now I hear a woman's voice. It sounds familiar, like I know her, but in my daze it is slightly distorted, like I am underwater and she is calling to me beneath the waves. She tells me not to be afraid. Her words are calming; they soothe away the panic and confusion. I…
|
1078146
|
The white space beckons-/
a blank wall in a decrepit neighborhood-/
wishing to be decorated or defiled
|
107800
|
Sora and Ciel stood before Dean Morden inside his office. It felt weird to the girls looking at him sitting behind Madam Mayweather’s desk
|
107853
|
"and I turned to you, at some joke we shared,
and saw winter ease its hand,"
|
107831
|
I suppose I'd rather Tomorrow be heroic.
It would make the passing of time less villainous.
|
1078127
|
Essences of bull and bison,//
stag and horse, illuminate/
the stony underground.
|
107833
|
Hollow as spit over rock
Was the mood in the library...
|
107821
|
Lucy shrugs into the corner of the train's seat. She envelopes her IPod in both hands as if she's praying or holding a conch shell: safe, secure like when she visited a Morcombe beach in the school holidays. The only giveaway's the white headphone cord.
|
107864
|
"Psst! You can't hide behind a broken dream.The gardenia's hint that fills your air with her perfumed scent will remain like a residue on your mind. I wish there were an antidote I could share with you, but alas, my apothecary drawer is empty. Many times it's been my…
|
107823
|
As I was reading “Not Your Mother's Book on Home Improvement,” a new collection of light-hearted essays by (primarily) middle-aged female do-it-yourselfers, it became abundantly clear to me that, unlike the women who tell their stories here, I am not a…
|
1078102
|
|
107821
|
His touch, even now, seemed to set off tremors inside her.
|
107842
|
He brought me flowers once, three wilted carnations I put in water, though the sight of them made me uneasy. He brought me pictures once, too, of three sisters—ten, twelve, fourteen—straddling dirt bikes. He touched my shoulder once, as I edited pictures …
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