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.
You can pretty much divide life into two parts.
Pre-getting fucked and post.
He came from the land down under, to an unfamiliar life in the countryside of a new land full of love and understanding which turned to apprehension. Looking in the mirror one day, he said this is not for me so he left that life and just down the road, he met the love of his life and found his salvation in an American woman.
You’ll never see your wife and children
again. So tell us what it was going through your head when you looked into their eyes
and said “no thanks I’ll take the hooker instead.”
I spent my entire life wishing for things to be better, begging and pleading to feel normal, to smile and to feel loved.
The air gently graced my skin as I peered out of the window and saw bustling metropolis far below. It was only when my stomach re-adjusted to the inertia that I made my final wish: “I wish I hadn’t jumped”
“What do you think will happen if we all lived forever??” “The same thing that has been happening since we came into existence; killing each other and ruining the environment out of greed”
Me and my brother, we were always together, where he would go i would follow, he did the same for me ofcourse, we shared everything, people looked at us strangely and wouldn’t really understand but we didn’t care for all the fun we had. We had the time of our lives until the doctors decided to seperate our conjoined bodies.
He says, “you breathe 25,000 times a day and expect to only love once in your life.”
But he does not know that I am ghost.
The last human on earth sat in his kitchen, contemplating life. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, there was a knock at the door…
I saw the lights in the night sky suddenly started dancing and the winds were stirring. I tried to walk but only one foot moved, to reach but only one hand moved, and then they caught me as I fall.
Drunk, the boys took out a revolver— imitating the infamous Russian Roulette scene from “The Deer Hunter”. It ended sooner than they thought.
He fell to his knees and they cracked under his weight.
Above him the sky burned on.
My story, as I know it, might end today; my thoughts are always lost, always dirty, always mean. My life was never good enough, I was never good enough.
The world is beautiful with tears in my eyes. What could it be without?