I saw the sniper’s muzzle flash a kilometer off, but the bullet moved faster than me. I only had time enough to think, “I shouldn’t have come to Afghanistan.”
It isn’t so much that I always wake up with a hangover and blacked out from a hard night of drinks and drugs that bothers me.
It’s that I always wake up.
“Good luck on your first day of school honey!” my mom yelled from the kitchen. Today would have been five years since cancer took her away from me.
Drunk, the boys took out a revolver— imitating the infamous Russian Roulette scene from “The Deer Hunter”. It ended sooner than they thought.
He watched in terror as the Nembutal was pushed into his veins.
A moment later his fear disintegrated into oblivion.
For her final act, Maria pulls a rabbit out of her hat. The rabbit explodes—killing everyone in the venue.
She stroked her fingers though his hair and stared lovingly into his eyes before letting out a short, light sigh and falling asleep. He pulled the knife out, wiped it, and left.
I walked past gibbering madness, blank stares, hollow shells of men, and found the girl huddled in the corner. My diplomatic offer of flowers was met with a scream, a recoil, and a whisper: “They’re still alive, and I can hear their dying screams…”
I gripped at my heart, where the bullet had passed through, as if I could undo the action and survive once more.
But I couldn’t, so I thought of Her as I died alone.
The stars are killers. Whenever they fade out and die, their light dies too and we are left in darkness, only to be consumed by nothingness.
Luke Skywalker heard Emperor Palpatine promise to murder his friends and felt the dark side boiling inside of him. Giving in to the darkness he activated his lightsaber, chopped the Emperor’ s and Darth Vader’s heads off and hit the Death Star’ self destruct button; sending them all to hell.
No seriously, this isn’t a story. Your not living through the night.
The girl wearing scandalous exercise clothes gave me no choice, really: I had tapped her shoulder as a friendly reminder that the Starbucks barista was ready to take her order. Exercise Freak bristled, turned toward me, called me all manner of socially unacceptable nicknames, and soon found herself on the floor, having her pretty little face melted off by scalding coffee — Pike’s Peak, to be exact.
The cave beast slithered out of his lair for a quick drink at Starbucks with the unsuspecting girl. “I should have stayed home and gotten drunk by myself watching Lifetime movies,” she thought as he deftly drained the life out of her with his overdeveloped sense of joylessness, honed over a score of years in his mother’s basement.
A disfigured fiend, a horrid malformed monster creeping across the Internet seeking only to inflict misery, happened upon Twosentenceland, and, enjoying it, stayed put. There, the unhappy, nightmarishly bored monster scratched and clawed at the ratings of Twosentencelanders who only looked for enteraintment and fun and creativity, and wanted desperately for the troll to have its fucking head run over by an eighteen wheeler.
Leaving the house without applying lotion was, in the end, a terrible oversight. Because when she got to work, her face had peeled off from chin to forehead, just as she always said it would if she forgot to use her Mary Kay.
The coroner felt suddenly uneasy as she opened the door to leave the room full of freshly dead corpses awaiting autopsy. Turning around slowly, her heart stood still at the sight of all ten cadavers sitting upright on their tables, black body bags still zipped over their mangled, reanimated remains.
Eight of them perched like grotesque leaves on the gnarled tree by the side of the road, and as Amy approached she began to regret the curiosity that had drawn her into the woods. Cradled in the skeletal roots of the tree lay the thing responsible for the congregation of flesh-eating birds: a bloated and rotting human corpse that was missing its face.
The overweight, generously paid, and undertrained TSA Agent pulled the trigger on his brand new Glock 27 at the fleeing terrorist, hearing a deafening click. The terrorist, dressed in all black pseudo military garb, cooly turned and fired four rounds into Agent Paulson’s chest.
It was that time of year again, spring, and this year Pat was determined to cut down the apple tree that seemed to attract bees every year that gave him bad dreams. A few minutes with a reciprocating saw, a loud crack and a quick rustle as the branches fell to the ground was followed by the sound from Pats nightmares: thousands of bees bursting from their now grounded nest, attacking Pat in their rage and killing him within minutes.