The gray sky hung heavy with the threat of rain. There would be no rain, but the threat, of course, would remain. He continued to the crossroads, taking a left, not a right, and rolled instead into something unexpected -- Sunday morning.
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The gray sky hung heavy with the threat of rain. There would be no rain, but the threat, of course, would remain. He continued to the crossroads, taking a left, not a right, and rolled instead into something unexpected -- Sunday morning.
In Paris you smoked cigarrettes with the artists. They wore berets; you didn't. You danced with the locals. Swing. You prayed with the sinners, and you bathed with the gods.
But you ate alone.
Georgina kissed her fathers cheek as she let go of his old hand and laid her head on his chest as he hugged her. The slow drumming of his heart brought comfort to her as she had almost lost him once due to that same heart.
It was December and the snow was covered with blood. It was all I could do to keep any resemblance of balance. What world had I entered; the world of the sick and diseased? What was happening to me. This I will never know, for the best kept secrets are those kept from oneself.
I broke the routine and came in late one night, and I saw that she had been drinking. It was an accident. She wailed at me with desperation in her voice that only a drunk can so well achieve.
You presume I'll always be here waiting.
I've brought you dinner.
The fireflies lit up the night. She sat there on the wet grass, smiling to herself. A passerby would have thought that she was dead and would have called the authorities. She wasn’t dead. She was lost inside herself looking for an answer that wouldn’t come because it was in the past and she was here- looking for it.
That wasn't over 50... was it?
I met him online. How pathetic does that sound? But this was different. We met and I loved every thing about him. The way his mouth moved, the way he stroked the top of my ear, the way he kissed me. I love him.
The cat stepped into the street, thinking. Things had changed so much since the last time she was here 5000 years ago. He still remembered the last time when Boy took him to the Nile River. While coming home, he was drowned in the deep river, never to be seen again. Now, he was back, and ready for revenge.
Amjad was a wood cutter. He was a honest man. One day he accidently dropped his hammer into the sea. An angel came and went into the sea to find Amjad's hammer. Atlast he found it and another hammer of gold too. He gave both of the hammers to Amjad because he was honest. After that Amjad lived happily with his hammers...
All of you have done a good job. Yours is very good samecury.
Rachy's story is very funny...lol.
Softly does the wind blow through the skelton of this old house. The trees lean away as if to put the slightest space between them would make a differance.
At night you hear them wondering, crying-souls those lost and those wishing that they were.
"A mouse, my kingdom for a mouse"- Those were the first words that the Cat heard as he stepped outside the alley. Things really had changed if a cat would go so low just to get food. Yes things had changed. Despite being scared out of his mind at the thought of being eaten by the maniac, Cat had to ask:" Who the hay are you"
Two young lovers carved their intials on a tree. Year on year it grew; high and straight. Storms beat it, snow bowed it, rain lashed it but Sun, the warming Sun smiled brightly upon it till it became the tallest, strongest tree. The initials grew old high in the boughs.
Hehe. How comes you think that?Quote:
Originally Posted by Pensive
No story here only accolades! From page 1 to 7 these little drabbles are so very good. Many are quite brilliant and quite a lot gave me unexpected laughs. You're all very talented!
"Who am I?" asked the gray cat "You mean, you haven't heard of the story of the last surviving cat on the planet??? I am absolutely astounded. Oh well what would you except from youngsters- no respect at all" Cat stood there, jaw hanging, thinking that this cat needed to go to a vet. Deciding to advise him as to where to get his head fixed, Cat said: "Pardon me sir, but again I would like to ask for your name"
"I loved him dearly. The way he talked, the way he acted, the way he moved... in all his splendor and glory. Suddenly, he was gone. The sky was weeping, the wind wailing. Never has there been so much sorrow."
"Pick a card any card! and I'll guess it correctly" said the funny-looking man in the cape. "Mom, what are we doing here?" she asked because this was the first time they had gone somewhere by themselves. "Don't worry dear, we're running away from the police." "why mom?" "Because I killed your father" she replied, then laughted.
"Welcome to the Enchanted Forest tutorial everyone!!!! Here, we'll teach you everything you need to know to come out of an enchanted forest alive. The first and most important rule is: DON"T EAT ANYTHING especially if it looks delicious- remember Hansel and Gretel?- if you eat something, you won't know what might happen"
Everytime I looked at him I got butterflies in my stomach. Everything about him amazed me! Even when he wasn't there I couldn't help but smile. My friends didn't know what was going on, but I couldn't help it, he had made me so happy!
He fell for her instantly. She was driving through. They only shared a look. It changed his life. He wanted to go after her but what if he missed her at the junction? He considered his options; decided she’d return as most did. Forty years later he was still waiting.
They say that if you sat long enough on this particular corner you would see everyone you had ever known and everyone you would everwish to. what he saw as the truck hurdled towards him we will never know.
There once was a boy with a really long signature. One day his friends asked if he would shorten it. The boy felt hurt. This made his friends sad. Finally the boy decided to shorten his signature, and they all live happily ever after. Tah Dah!
She sat doodling during the staff meeting, voices a dull background noise as she wondered what to do over the weekend. Shortly people rose forming two lines. Confused, she joined the shortest line, received a hand shake and best wishes in her new job search. Plans for tomorrow – job search.
She wanted to wash her hair but he wouldn't let her.
"Baby, you're fine just like you are," he said, reaching for her shiny tresses. When he connected, he reconsidered. "Go a head," he said. "Wash away."
She got into the shower. He watched Dirty Harry.
I weaved the fork in and out of my fingers as I looked at my food. I had lost my appetite over the last few days and I didn't know why. As the door opened I looked up, it was her!
Quote:
Originally Posted by Nightshade
This is **FAB** Hehe. I love it!
Hot breath upon my cheek, a gentle touch upon my brow. A dream? I sleep but feel so alive as someone, something hovers above me wanting, needing me – so much that I too need, need beyond expression. I sigh as his teeth sink into my throat and then I scream.
'The people are disappointing', she said, clinking her drink, sitting down in the semi darkness. Her English still wasn't that good. 'Do you mean disappointing or disappointed?' I said. She looked at me wanly, then turned so her face was in shadow. ‘It’s no matter', she said.
" We'll make you powerful. You will rule the world at our side and everyone will obey your wishes." That's what the little green man said. It sounded tempting...until I asked for the price that is. "Oh nothing" he answered "Just give us your life and soul. Oh and if you turn super evil, don’t blame us"
Impossible but true. A woman whose words were like lyrics, her heart was so full of love. No anger, no hate in her. She suffered, she struggled but always love prevailed. Giving love in a world without love. She believed in God. I hope I see her in the End.
'I shore am gonna miss you', said Huck, 'You set on goin'?' 'I gots me another job', Jim replied, 'Fella named Kurtz. It's river work, same as dis. I don't speck it to be much different from what I know.'
He said that I was nothing but a trollop who was full of cheap theatrics. He said that I was a drama queen extraordinaire. I walked out the door, leaving this mad dog to froth in the corner, all by himself, that mad dog that he is. And, give him a bottle of Tullamore Dew to find peace with, but not me.
It grows like a storm. THe bubbling boiling anger. One minute its fine and the next BANG Youve lost it. This is the only explanation I have for waking up covered in blood.
this one's dead on fifty:
I remembered her troubled look, how sexy it seemed. Since then I’ve come to agree with sex, I mean (silly billy) Freud: everything is about sex; ergo troubled means trouble. ‘Call me’, she said as I left and I lied that I would. That troubled look again. Not so sexy.
The first thing her parents saw when they forced open Sara's room was a misshapen, bloody coathanger. Staining the carpet and the rug from holiday. She was in the corner, curled up in a ball with tearstains on her now frozen face. How could they bear the shame?
I arrived twenty minutes late for our rendezvous at a seaside park near the old hotel. Allison forgave me sweetly with a kiss. I fell into a trance gazing at the image of the sunset reflected in her hazel eyes as she spoke. I felt exquisitely lost in her words.
They get off the plane stunned and dazed, slot machines gleaming, following the crowd through the doors and out into the brisk or heated air. Rows and rows of people and like lemmings they join the multitude waiting for me, taxi driver and gate keeper to hell or rather Vegas.
Ambrose Bierce is echoing a theme of "Fahrenheit 451." Society had become obsessed with sound for the mere sake of sound. Television and "seashell radios" had taken over the brains of society, and few could remember when people read books. Making music rather then listening to it means that one's mind is in control. Society used its own carefully selected music to control the minds of the people. The only purpose of firemen in Fahrenheit 451 was to set fires (fireproofing had long ago rendered firemen obsolete for their original purpose), not extinguish them--fires that burned homes and their occupants who illegally possessed books--outlawed half a century earlier by a despotic society that saw them as a threat to law and order.
In today's society we have a similar situation; however, we do not suffer from a lack of books, but a surfeit of them--books published mostly by the big corporate publishers who can make any one of them a "best seller" simply by declaring it to be such and then investing the money to market it and make the "best seller" label self-fulfilling. Books by the major corporations are mostly politically correct, and do not broach such subjects as illegal immigration (except from a politically correct, i.e., advocating an open borders viewpoint), in contrast with my The Naked Twilight. I am referring, of course, to literary works of fiction that make social statements, not nonfiction, such as Michelle Malkin's --a book based solely on research (with no empirical knowledge of her subject), Invasion. Writers, going all the way back to Chaucer, followed by Cervantes, Shakespeare and in more recent years, Hesse, Camus and Sartre have proved that philosophical questions can best be imparted by "showing" in a good fictional story, rather than by being "told" in a nonfiction book that is often simply based on copied and pasted URLs in these days and times.
In Bradbury's novel, Fahrenheit 451, note:
"...Now let's take up the minorities in our civilization, shall we? Bigger the population, the more minorities. Don't step on the toes of the dog lovers, the cat lovers, doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs, Mormons, Baptists, Unitarians, second-generation Chinese, Swedes, Italians, Germans, Texans, Brooklynites, Irishmen, people from Oregon or Mexico...Authors full of evil thoughts, lock up your typewriters...the public knowing what it wanted, spinning happily, let the comic books survive...you are allowed to read the comics, the good old confessions, or trade journals..."
(Page 57-58 of the 50th Anniversary Edition paperback.)
On October 20, a week ago, the Associated Press published an article titled Authors, now publishers, sue Google over scanning plans. The Writer's Guild (about 8,000 writers) joined the major publishers in suing Google for its plans to scan and index books for the Internet. They are very worried about authors (like myself) who make their works available for a very low price and would allow Google to publish excerpts along with the indexes. It's all about monopoly and control--yes, even mind control by the globalists, like Rupert Murdoch, and others who own the major publishing companies. His "Da Vinci Code" is the most daring work to come out of Harper-Collins in a long time, but it does not really explore any new perspectives on Christianity that hasn't already been explored eons ago.
I became jaded as a writer about thirty years ago and only recently became rejuvenated by "print-on-demand" publishing. Digitalized manuscripts and laser printed books are every bit as good in quality as the conventional-published ones. They are indeed a threat to the establishment's control of the written word. It is just another kind of censorship, if they manage to suppress Google and their fairness to writers like me who dare deviate from the status quo.
Whatever the rights or wrongs of your opinion, RusSpencer, you're in the wrong thread. This one's for short stories of fifty words or less. You might want to start a thread of your own.