silly girls get hurt.
she carved it in her leg, the prettiest of reds, just so she wouldn’t forget.
Big Stories in Two Little Sentences
Competition
silly girls get hurt.
she carved it in her leg, the prettiest of reds, just so she wouldn’t forget.
Ferocious bears, giant bugs, frog princes, and beautiful flowers that smell like pumpkins live in this land. They occupy the little cottage in the wood, the one where I live too.
I gave a 1-peso coin to a child, who knocked on my car’s windshield when I stopped on a red light. I did not notice that the coin escaped from his tiny hands and he crawled under my car just when the light turned green.
He paced all morning, never far from the window – stopping every three or four times around to peer out, stretching his eyes for a glimpse of her, but she was never there. When he tried to write to her even that didn’t work; what he settled on at last was writing simply “Your Valentine loves you” before he folded the scrap of paper and pushed it through the bars, to drift like a butterfly to the ground outside far below.
If I were a cartoon character I would like to be someone from Pokemon.
Because they always look so cool and they seem to have perfect hair, and also because then I’d own my very own Pikachu and get it to zap people I didn’t like!
Sweat glistened on bodies joined in carnal dance, trickled over softly rounded landscapes, dipped into secret valleys, while the frenzy increased. After echoes of the last soaring crescendo diminished, the slickened bodies separated, heartbeats slowed, and passion cooled the weeping love had ignited.
The sterile white hat with its lipstick-red cherries that Margie had intended to wear at her daughter’s wedding before she’d eloped with the plumber, had been exiled in her wardrobe.
But after the good news from her daughter Margie decided that the hat would do for the christening instead.
For twelve long agonizing months he had battled the rapacious disease and kept it at bay. Tonight though, bronze token in hand, he planned to drink his way back into the familiar comfort of oblivion.
I met a beautiful woman today, twice: the first time she kissed me and warned of impending doom; the second she had no idea who I was.
I have to figure this out, before it kills me.
Heart heavy, shoulders slumped, he opened the front door. After crossing the threshold, with the mistake he made tormenting his soul, he shut the door on his past and his future.
It was hard for her when, in all their fashionably bohemian passions, they spoke of love, for she, too, had much to say on the matter. But how could she have told them that she was in love with words?
He was my best friend and roommate for 10 years until he disappeared 5 years ago because of a murder he was accused of committing. Now I see him coming, handcuffed, and oblivious of our reunion as he entered my jail cell.
You’re an open book.
And I’m an illiterate.
The bride was beautiful; the wedding every bit as solemn and religious as she had planned and the long reception line as dignified as an audience with the queen.
Nobody had noticed the little ring bearer slip away until he poked his head out from underneath the bride’s billowing gown to a chorus of gasps and guffaws.
I only use the word hate when absolutely necessary. Don’t you just really hate the word?
“The world is about to end, my friend,” said the bald guy in the robe, much to my amusement.
I stopped laughing when the sun winked out.
Sasha. His name was just a whisper, but his words could blow open shutters and leave them hanging like children clinging to their mother’s skirt.
I met my husband at the circus and he was not a silly clown or an arrogant lion tamer or even an overly muscled trapeze man.
He owned the arena and I fell for him immediately.
Can you believe it? A meat pie for $6.20?
I saw the girl stare at me outside. It was the middle of the night.