You’re yelling at me, destroying my concentration, as if I need another distraction to pull me away from my writing. Your undulating howls tear the air angrily, impatiently, mercilessly stealing everyone’s attention without regards to what it is they have abandoned for you. I wait for the whining to pass, listening to your wails, waiting for the tantrum to end so my brain can resume its function and concentrate, once again, on the page in front of me.
Tag: Fiction (Page 1 of 2)
Robert Langstrum was unpleasantly bored. He woke up to the most beautiful sunny day, with white puffy clouds peppering the bright blue sky. The trees shifted pleasantly from side to side, dancing to the soft breeze. The grass was the very definition of green, gracefully crunching under bare feet with small drops of morning dew. Birds chirped merrily, but not too loudly as to be offensive to the ears; just pleasantly enough to add to the harmony of untouched nature.
The deadman steps down from the scaffold. He holds his bloody head under his arm and pauses thoughtfully, staring at the big piece of metal that just fell off the roof. So stupid, so quick, so final. All he did was look down, at a beautiful blonde whose breasts strolled on the sidewalk, just in his line of sight.
When she formed, in a vast interstellar womb, twirling and twisting around herself in a graceful dance of rebirth, they all formed around her. Like spectators, they assembled to watch her come to life, growing and shining, giving them warmth, pulling them together around her. And she adopted them as her own.
Mr Heart’s death was no surprise. His neighbors, his friends, his coworkers, they all knew this day would come: either he’d end up dead, or she would. The fact the temporary win was hers would prove to be more than mildly ironic. She, without him, could not function. She would crumble, decay and eventually vanish without a trace.
Such a waste.