Knock, knock

When I was a kid, there was SOMETHING invisible in my room that would lift the handle on my dresser and let it drop, “clink!”, if I stayed up too late. I had forgotten all about it until the knocker on my front door started knocking itself on clear, windless nights.

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Trapped

Marjorie loves the broad evening sky: a huge, hundred mile canvas of ambrosia, piled massively like a heavenly feast but delicately shaded in purple, grey and blue. She would see more from the balcony, her concrete diving board – but the ground leaps at her like a tiger, murderous and terrifying, whirling and falling and leaping again.

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Relativity

“I’m one lucky bastard”, he thought as he looked at the diamond ring he bought, and smiled once again. She looked into the distance as the plane left the runway, and whispered a final farewell to the city and the seven years of misery.

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The New Year

“We must learn to move on,” she said. For the last time, we saw the fireworks reflect in our eyes as the memories clung desperately to the edges of the old year, only to be washed away— to be drowned in the new— far, far away.

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The importance of being unimportant

Dear diary,

I was thinking about sticking my pencil into the little button-hole eyes of my boss who thinks he’s a big shot, treating me like some insignificant clerk that files meaningless papers over 9 hours a day, 365 days a year for more than 20 years, while I am actually the secret daughter of the President of the United States! But then again, he’s just a poor guy who doesn’t know the truth so I’ll continue to work through the night as I don’t want anyone to discover my hidden identity.

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