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!
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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.