He broke up with her the day before finals. She scored 100 on every exam.
Eight-year-old Amanda isn’t writing a letter to Santa Claus this year — she already has what she wants. She smears a message on the wall of her room, with unsteady hands covered in blood and mutters, “Daddy won’t ever touch me again.”
He made a lot of promises when drunk. What may have been even more stupid is that he felt compelled to honor them when sober.
The old woman had a very well-educated granddaughter whom she seldom wrote. It wasn’t for lack of love, but rather because she felt her own, uneducated writing would seem laughable.
When her doctor informed her she must stop eating sugar, she followed his advice immediately. For months afterward, she would dream of an imaginary grocery store aisle with nothing but refrigerated cakes as far as they eye could see.
Lifting up, up, up off of the crinkly papered bed, she floated aboard the majestic, wooden air ship, where she slow-danced with Prince Charming’s handsome son, wearing a flowing ball gown that sparkled like diamonds in the melting lip-gloss gold sunset that the circus animal crew – elephants and zebras wearing colorful hats and silly shirts – was working to sail into, paddling their oars rhythmically against tufts of cumulonimbus clouds as if silently marking the beat of her dance. This was her favorite place to go whenever Mommy and the doctor started talking about her cancer.
You still think I am coming to satisfy a hunger, but you are wrong: if I come into someone’s house and compliment their selection of art, it doesn’t mean I’ll stuff a statue under my overcoat on the way out. I am well-acquainted with your best possessions and I am uninterested in the inventory or in how you protect them.
He lied, she lied, he cried, she died. Years later, in a dusty attic box, he found, a post it note she had written; he cried again.
Sometimes, she wished her girlfriends were men. She thought she could be happy dating them, but she had zero lesbian impulse.
He really did love her. It did not stop him from shooting up.
A Focus on the Family official recently warned parents not to let children dress as pirates, as the legendary figures conjure up nothing but “images of sweaty, half-naked men sleeping two sometimes three to a cot.” Then the official, Hugh Troy, closed his eyes and thought of the rigging, the peg legs, the drinking of grog, the “ol’ heigh-ho,” and soon he was hoisting his own main sail and drifting in his own Tropic of Capricorn where the decks always need swabbing and the booty is endless.
While they were on tour, the band mates had an unusual on-going competition to see who could go the longest without showering. Stage lights make people sweat a lot.
Of the three friends, he was the most deeply disturbed and misogynistic. He was also the first to get married.
I would be whatever and whoever you wanted me to be – anybody, anything.
And that’s why I can’t let myself love you.
If her parents really didn’t want her to be promiscuous, then why did they name her Lolita? You might as well name your kid Walter and expect him not to be an accountant.
No, no; don’t worry – this wasn’t going against that thing her parents had taught her when she was a little girl. Admiring from afar; sending the buttons flying as she used her eyes to rip the shirt off his chest; and imagining in graphic detail the sweat trapped between their bodies during a steamy encounter in the nearest motel: even though she had never met the guy, she was sure none of these things qualified as “talking to strangers.”
She plays a hooker in her next film. She got 30M and didn’t have time to play Lady Macbeth and Hedda Gabler on Broadway.
I crush the plush raspberry to the roof of my mouth with my tongue. The sensuality of this most shameless of fruits makes me swoon.
The boy’s mother was insane, and everyone wondered what would become of him as a result. He could have followed in her footsteps, but instead he pushed himself harder than anyone else and became more successful than his classmates and friends with a happier provenance.
The cool wind stirring through his hair and filling his nostrils, he opened his mouth to take in a deep breath of this sweet, new life, for he had finally made it to the top of the top; the summit of the mountain we call success. It felt good, really good there at the top, except for an acute, tugging pain in his abdomen that seemed to be nagging sadistically, cackling at him like an old witch, “There’s only one direction you can go now, buddy – hee-hee hee!”