The young, attractive palm reader took Barton’s hand in her own, sensually licked the length of his life line, and told him he would live a long, fulfilling life. That night, lying next to his wife in bed, he felt guilty for wondering what the crystal ball reader might have done to him.
The wicked, wart-ful Witch of Winkleton cast a spell on the very vain, very self-conscious Vivian, so that every time young Vivian looked in the mirror she saw the face of a ferocious, fly-infested fox. She’d ask her friends again and again, “Does my face look like a fox?” and they always said no, so that eventually she didn’t ask and she didn’t bother looking in the mirror and so that eventually, she didn’t even worry about what she looked like anymore.
Living and loving differ just by a vowel… and only by that…
The day before he had planned to kill himself, Ben completed the ten thousand piece puzzle he had been working on for quite some time, only to find that one tiny, seemingly insignificant piece was missing.
Still, it didn’t look right.
I shrugged off the message I found in my fortune cookie after finishing a “pint” of sweet and sour chicken that told me I had only one week left to live. A week and a day later, as I lay sprawled across the couch with remote steadily aimed at TV, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, I should have taken the fortune seriously.
I went to the drugstore last night to get some Vitamin C for my throat, you know, the delicious powdery citrus kind that fizzes up in your glass before you drink it.
When I got back from the store I had the Vitamin C for my throat , some antibacterial bandages for all of the cuts I got when this huge glass shelf thing fell on me, a pair of running shoes for when the vamps in the store chased me (I wore a pair of flips to the store silly silly me), a crossbow I took from this old dude waiting in the pharmacy who was mad packing with guns and lasers and whatnot, a gas mask from when the feds rolled out the garlic gas bombs…and I got the email addy of that cute blonde pharmacist guy who let us all ride out the attack in the back of the pill room…so yeah I had a great night but I’m starting to think that this whole human vampire co-existing this is not working out but maybe I’m wrong.
He had struggled for months, offloading every aspect of his life into the many-tentacled monster, making sure that he had unburdened himself of every last vestige of his individuality.
At last, he had learned to love Facebook.
I was standing next to a frothing crowd with my WWII medals on my chest,looking at an angry guy in a tricorn hat and wondering when patriotism became about demanding a tax cut. It’s about sacrifice, dumbass, I thought to myself, not the other way around.
Claire sobbed hysterically while she watched Tom’s gruesome demise.
The chainsaw ceased its whirl, Tom became still, and shortly thereafter the police arrived.
Tom’s body went limp and he collapsed onto the floor on top of his spinning chainsaw.
A torrent of blood gushed from his form while he was painfully cut in half by the movement of his own weapon.
Tom blinked rapidly with a cough as blood dripped from his face before he raised the chainsaw in his hand and ran across the room in Claire’s direction with a loud roar.
Claire sidestepped Tom’s clumsy advance and she fell to the floor behind him before she raised her blade and rammed the edge of the weapon deep into the center of his spine.
I have a good feeling about this;my belly is a butterfly cage.
I’d call my circumstances a fair trade:one with lips of cigarette smoke for one whose skin tastes of happiness.
Claire dropped her bag and held up her weapon for both Tom and Jill to see. She rushed to Jill and hacked away at the screaming young woman with the razor sharp edge of her shiny brand new machete.
When Claire walked into her apartment she saw Kelly, her best friend and roommate, chopped up on the floor with her crazy ex-boyfriend and escaped mental patient Tom standing over her bloody body holding a spinning chainsaw.
Claire turned to run and she bumped into Jill, Tom’s new girlfriend and fellow institutional escapee, who was holding a shiny silver axe.
Ever thought about how prisons resemble small cities? I’m going to make it a goal to vacation at one of these private locations.
I don’t usually smoke.
In this moment, however, the only thing more appropriate than a cigarette would be for it to be my funeral instead.
I’d shake it all out – watch it fall out like runny, shiny, smooth, glassy beads. The sand in my shoes warm from the sun that played all afternoon on the golden beaches –
I would run my fingers through my hair wet at the nape of my neck.
She is trapped in a gilded cage. Trapped shut in a cage of her own making – one that she refuses to own.
I used to be one of them – a show off, fast, showing off my moves, floating belly side up like a poached egg but now my new body is soft with body fat, it is still a comfort fit although it feels so different when I see myself in passing mirrors.
It feels as if I am staring at my face in water; in a million different pieces that somehow does not quite have the right fit.
My mother has stretched out her legs and put them
on my fathers lap -‘He is mine. Stay away or go away this is our private time.’
So I disappear to my room – she doesn’t have to say much to make me the Outsider.