He cantered lifelessly along under the silver bean’s moonbeams feeling beaten and broken. Once unique, he’s now a freak, and he’s only that horse with the sickhorn.
How quick the skycotton cloud goes through a relentless remould while retaining it’s totality. How honest the unendomed sky reflects our going of grey-and-gold and life’s futility.
Some girls I know were playing a game where they joked about what punctuation each of their friends most resembled, for example comma, period, semi-colon, etc. They told me I was the exclamation mark, and I smiled at them while thinking: that one’s the most phallic!
Conversations between “the past” and “the future” usually have a slightly uneasy quality about them. The past nervously babbles too much, while the future smiles enigmatically, betraying nothing…
“Daddy! A mime!” the little boy jumped up and down clapping with joy. “No, an idiot,” his dad said pushing him forward.
I looked at her angrily. While my memory, in seconds, took me back to things happened earlier, I instantly recovered my consciousness and saw a dead body before me.
She remained quiet and still as he held her tightly and cried.
“Know that I will always love you.” he said while breaking his embrace and letting her body fall gently back into the casket.
He looked worried, so she couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong?”
The seven year old boy answered, “If wishes came true, I’d hate to be the kid in the Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Commercial.”
Looking back, she realized that where she went wrong that evening wasn’t the alcohol, the sex, the drugs, or even the second round of all those things. It was when she yielded the right of way to that damned taxi on 34th.
“You see?” she shrieked, “You see what you’ve done?”
“No, but I wish I could.” he replied.
Nika looked up at Abner, lassoed her arms around him and squeezed. The snow-matted branch of a wind-mangled pine tree scratched against the window as another gust of wind stretched the linking wooden beams of the nearly buried cabin.
“Did you ever love me?”
He was as cold to me as always.
In the twenty years since my mother died, I had never known what to do with myself. Now, seeing my father marry his high school sweetheart, I realized what had to be done.
At 25, he had already spent a life-time of regrets and guilt.
And the thought that there was more to come weighed on his mind heavily.
The med student wanted to graft hands onto Sharia victims. The defenders of Sharia cut off *his* hands first.