Alice always wanted to be famous. This was a symptom of watching too much TV, and of having what Aaron said was "a body not meant to be dressed in cheap clothing." What Aaron really meant, of course, was that she had a body that was never meant to be dressed. Alice was beautiful - but Alice was lost.
"One day, Alice... you're going to fall," Aaron always said to her. "You're going to take a bite of the apple, and you're going to ruin it all for the rest of us."
Alice grabbed his face and pressed her forehead into his, looking into his eyes and forcing him to look into hers. "Nope - but you'll never fall. And that's got all of us damned."
`Your poetry is too obsessed. `
She said rising from the plush sofa, her eyes glittering as the sunlight struck them all at once and then moved on. `I like my madmen cold.` She stood staring out the east window, her form black against the oncoming glare of the setting sun.
`What the hell are you talking about?’ James spat angrily, and his voice echoed against the wooden walls, naked except for the clock that hung directly in front of him. It kept very efficient time. He had been watching it for the last six hours and thirty-three minutes.
The room was half-dark now and the small pools of shadow from the morning had widened until they covered most of it. If he twisted his head to the right, He could still see the small glint of silver where his handcuffs had been neatly welded to the wall. She had been keeping him thirsty; now and then bringing him sips of water from her cupped hands and so of course he had refused them. She had offered him only one other thing; a kiss and he had refused that as well.
hey i'm new. this is something i wrote years ago which i always wanted to develop and broaden.
I love the idea behind this com.
It's wearing new pants, and getting so dizzy that you fall down because you kept spinning around to get just one more look at yourself in the mirror. It's knowing that somehow, this time around will be different and you will look absolutely stunning in your new evening gown, and that you won't trip when going up the stairs. It's the way that the sweater you got for two dollars at the thrift store makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside when you slip it on over your old t-shirt that has more holes than your average piece of swiss cheese. It's seeing the way that the sunlight hits the trees just so at 6:30 a.m. sharp, and realizing that getting up so early just to go to a place you don't want to go to might actually be worth it. It's waiting for the elevator, and having a great new song blocking out the cheesy Muzak that tries to infiltrate your brain. It's hearing the snowplow at midnight, roaring as it goes by, that makes you smile because it means that you won't have school the next day. It's the way he smiles at you as he breezes on by, grinning as if there's a secret that only you two know. It's hearing the way that your window screeches in the dead of night as you try and sneak out to go meet your friends for a secret rendezvous in the park where the swings are rusty and broken. It's knowing that tomorrow won't be any more special than today, but hoping and dreaming that it will be anyway, just because you can.
In short, it's life, and it's just the way it goes.
I completely forgot to write it down, forgot to write anything down when he first told me, and I think today was the only time I’d brought my notebook with me.
I’d been coming in to Roger’s Deli just about every morning for the last 12 years to get my morning cup of coffee, ever since I got my fist job with the Times. I’d chat with Roger and watch the businessmen buy their morning papers – hoping to catch them reading one of my articles. It seems everyone came in to Roger’s, he had the best coffee and the best sandwiches, you had a better chance of running in to a senator here then in the state house.
But this local landmark was closing down next month, and then getting torn down a couple months after that; some big corporation was buying up all the buildings on this block to tear them down and make space for a new skyscaper. I’d come in today to do my first interview with Roger, I was writing a story about all the small time business owners that were getting bought out, about how downtown was losing its character so that some CEO could have a new corner office on the 50th floor.
I asked how he felt about losing his deli, and what he was going to do for money now, he didn’t want to leave he said, but it was probably time to retire, he’d been here for just over 30 years.
“Oh, I think I’ll do alright money-wise, I’ve been putting aside a little bit every month and back in 87’ I started investing for my retirement so I’d be able to move down south and get myself that new caddy I always wanted.”
I knew he’d been trying to save a $100 a month as long as I knew him, but I couldn’t imagine what he’d been investing in all these years.
“Oh, some bonds, a little oil, but mostly Microsoft, I think they've been doing allright..."
"Kate, without you I am nothing. I have searched high and low, drowned myself in work and never once have I felt as complete as I feel when I am with you. I want to tell you everyday how deep my love for you is, if your love were a pebble, mine would be the rock formations in the grand canyon. I love the way you say my name and the way you smile after you say it...as if I have a smile all my own. You have an infectious laugh and I drown in your happiness everytime it emerges from your throat. I now know what it is to love and you showed me how beautiful it can be. To try and compare you and our love to something would be a crime, for nothing could ever compare. The electricity I feel from our bodies melting together freeze time and it only goes back to normal when we seperate. You have that affect, and I only wish that I have that affect on you."
You always know what to say to take my breath away.
I’ve been lying here, as still as possible, because I’m balancing on seven thousand miles of rocks, magma and dead dinosaurs. I’m balancing above a tiny core of metal, as hot as the sun, and if it weren’t for the several billion tons of rock (and dino bones) directly underneath me I’d be a small pile of ashes.
Unfortunately, for me, most of that rock is empty space: all those atoms are just tiny pin-pricks of a nucleus surrounded by a vast amount of empty space and a few electrons.
I figure it’s just dumb luck I haven’t fallen through yet, that the few (relatively speaking) atoms that make me up haven’t just slipped through this enormous sieve of empty space and protons. Whatever universal force that’s kept me perched up here hasn’t given up on my yet; it hasn’t let me fall to me death, and I’m not pushing my luck; laying here seems to be working just fine, so that’s what I’m sticking with.
“What about the bed?”
“Well, I guess it’s holding me up too…”
“I can see that, but I think you’ve been laying around all morning because you’re too tired from last night to get out of bed, not because you’re trying to postpone your inevitable incineration.”
“And that’s another reason for caution, I would have to believe that this bed’s frame is in a state of serious duress after last night, and that any quick movement by it’s occupants could lead to structural failure.”
“How about this, if my robe doesn’t fall to the center of the earth - or cause the bed to collapse when I take it off, you take that as a good sign, and come join me in the shower.”
We do not discuss the what if's, might-have-beens, because then we acknowledge that there might have been a chance for something more. We just keep on walking, striding through our glittering world of chrome and asphalt, pretending like we can't think.
But sometimes, every so often, a little thought slips through, a minuscule fragment of the minds that might be. In that whisper of a dream, a hope is revealed, tentative and fragile, hoping to survive a cynical world.
Often, that sliver of purity is marred quite quickly by the world, cruel and cold as it is. There are times, though, that it might be preserved, just maybe.
It might remain untouched just long enough for it to thrive and to flourish, to grow with beautiful blooms of innovation, a splash of color in a monochromatic world.
But that is a might-have-been, and we can't think of that. We must realize that we live in a sculptured society, and conform to the shape given to us.
We realize this, and we do, as we stumble blindly through a multi-hued world.
She lined them up one by one on the edge of the tub wishing that each one would take her farther from this god-forsaken place. Everything about reality is so fucked up and she wanted to drift as far away from it as she possibly could. So she lay in the tub, swallowing one after another singing the little sing song that she just made up in her fucked up head, 'After the rain, I can't stop the pain, and it's too much to bear, and nobody cares...'
They'd later find her in the tub and assumed she was just some homeless woman. The bath water was rich with blood because her nose started to bleed from the pressure of the water from drowning and an autopsy was administered to make sure that this case wasn't homicide.
There were no unknown fibers or fingerprints, no signs of struggle and the vaginal walls were in tact. No signs of aphixiation. The cause of death was that the unidentified woman was squatting in a hotel room and fell asleep while taking a bath and then suffered from a heart attack and drowned.
The forensic technician failed to mention that he found phenobarbital in the woman's blood stream. She would wake up in 4 more hours, but he put her in the freezer anyways with a tag marked "Jane Doe" attached to the big toe on her left foot.
She was, after all, the one who cheated on him...and he was, after all, the one who gaves her those pills.
"I called 9-1-1, they're on their way, you've got to hold on." There's no way I could've gotten him out by myself, and even if I did, what could I do for him?
"My legs hurt a lot, I think they're broken, but that's probably a good thing, right? Not that they're broken, but, you know, that I can still feel them, probably means my back's not broken or anything... I hope."
I would've never known that he was driving a red Suv if I hadn't seen him spin off the road ahead of me, spin off and then flip end over end before slamming into a lone tree. If I hadn't seen it I would've never believed it, from the way it looked now he could've been driving 3 tons of empty Coke cans.
"My finance is going to be worried sick, you've got to call her, I was supposed to be home by now, she's going to be worried sick if I don't call."
"Yeah, ok, I left my phone in my car, are you going to be allright for a minute?"
I grabbed my phone and headed towards the wreck, it all looked so peacefull now; covered in a dusting of snow knocked from the boughs of the lone pine tree, that was all reaction that the pine had given. It must be at least a hundred years old, and it looked like it was going to make it through the night all right, I just hoped I could say the same for this guy.
There's a certain mysticism in traveling on the subway; especially those silent ones that bullet underground and reflect lights across the aisles.
I was sitting. I had my hand in my jacket pocket; it was soft and still wet from the rain, which had soaked through earlier and settled into the leather. There was a hard spot of cold where my knuckle pressed against a bolt used to fasten down the seats. Blue plastic.
It's hard to let go of things when you're still reeling from them: the trip from her apartment left me with a sharp sense of guilt; an irritating, gnawing sense that ate at the base of my ribs. I shifted. We rounded a corner in the tunnel and I heard the rolling of wheels as they turned under the weight; sound rippled back along the corridor and the lights shuddered overhead.
A woman sat down next to me with a newspaper and started a one-sided conversation about an article on politics or some other subject I knew nothing serious about and didn't care to know; but I smiled and listened conciliatorily, nodding all the while because I was tired and wanted to distract myself from the memory of 'The Dinner In The Living-Room'. And for some reason, when a passing advertisement jumped across the window and shed its light down onto her face and across the paper, which was open to page A4 (she was pointing sarcastically to the article and shaking her head back and forth), I got the sense that there would be many more dinners ahead of me, and that each one would end differently.