He was only four feet shy of the air conditioner when he fell to the floor suffering from a heat stroke. It was that exact second in time that he realized he had wasted too many precious moments in his short thirty years of life.
Life is an adventure so dangerous it will cost you your life.
Otherwise, what the fuck are you here for?
At night, everything comes to life.
Watch out for the toaster!
Seeing her husband exit the mens room while she still waited online, Madeline turned to the woman behind her and commented, “I know why women live 7 years longer than men.
“It’s comp time for ladies room lines.”
After the gingerbread man came to life do you think the baker made another?
Did he make himself a wife?
I was only sixteen when they made me remember my childhood; the sterile, white walled interview room haunted me ever after. I lived a long life, but I died too soon to ever forget it.
Here is a clue to the meaning of life.
Think penguins in big hats and you’re halfway there.
He woke up underneath his desk, still clutching an empty bottle of whiskey. He dumped it, smoothed down his hair and shirt and sighed before opening the classroom door to let his students in.
If the various viruses, germs and parasites that depend solely on humans for life had any sense they’d do something about this whole nuclear war, climate change, overpopulation, fat people, thin people, teenagers etc problem.
Wake up cold virus and realise that without us, you’re fucked mate.
“You’re dead,” he breathes.
“I am,” I respond.
She was barely seventeen and had seen more pain than most. But when he looked into her eyes, all he saw there was gratitude.
I ran carelessly through the green fields, wind playing hide and seek in my hair, and rain hop scotching down my nose and on to my awaiting tongue.
For I am a child again.
She turned toward me and said aloud, “Pass the parmesan cheese please.”
Her eyes however, said, “I hate you, you selfish bastard, for ruining my life.”
Brian Whebe, 1904 – 1972. It’s the “-” that represents his life.
They say life’s not a race. I’m still winning.
A small smile played on his lips as he thought back to the moment he had taken her life and how it filled him with utter satisfaction to press his thumbs deep into her throat as she tried to cry out and how with each breath wasted on cries for help he would press his fingers tighter in a cold calculating squeeze until finally her body went lifeless filling him with the power of her death. His smile faded as he snapped out of his memories upon hearing the metal bars of his cage slide shut confining him for the rest of his natural life or until they decided if he was worthy of the needle.
All Naku writes are lamentations because she can’t cry, so she lets her characters do it for her.
She wishes her characters could tell her it’s all right.
Melissa is posting crappy stories. Stop.
To have the untamable curiosity of a cat would offer a life so compelling. All of the humdrum, commonplace things turn entrancing and the daily grind is now intriguing.
After seventeen long days of a trial that had been postponed for two long and brutal years, she finally had her chance to ask the defendant one question that has been burned in her brain since the day she found his body.
“Who the hell gave you the right to play God with my father’s life?” she screamed, crying, as she swatted the taste clean out of the murderer’s mouth.