Two Sentence Stories

She made her away towards the stage, her heart beating like crazy, her legs felt like jelly and her hands just wouldn’t stop shaking. She stood there and stared at all the people staring back at her, then she opened her mouth and sang her song, and everyone was entranced by her voice and the lyrics that she had written.

I imagine the waves crashing rhythmically against the shore, magnificent and powerful, crashing and waning, crashing and waning, but now the rhythm takes on a melancholy feeling and the desperation creeps back and the crashing waves become a drum beat and the drum beat becomes a heartbeat and I feel panicked and lonely. Damn it!

The assignment for their science project was to demonstrate the law of gravity and document the effects. One boy filmed the other dropping bricks off the expressway overpass.

Her gaze rested on me for a moment, then went back to the kids, and on to her own reflection in the mirror.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” she said finally, “but they don’t even look like ours, you know.”

She was desperate to figure out the answer to his question without giving herself away.
Out of everything they covered, “What’s your sign?” had not been included.

Thirty-seven years of research, twenty billion dollars, six thousand hours of debate, seven tons of metal, one-half ton of silicon, one hundred miles of wire, and three-hundred-fifty million moving parts. What a strange price we pay for Armageddon.

I spent two years of my childhood pretending I was a squirrel and collecting acorns. I still stop to pick them up sometimes.

I chortled a little when she spoke into my ear, so stunningly-soft and desperately silent, as she collapsed into sobs. The warm breeze tickled little, but I wish that I’d hugged her when she told me her mother had cancer.