There was still a trace of pride in the girl’s eyes when she met his gaze. He smiled cruelly. There was fire in this little one, a chip on her scarred and scabby shoulders.
#45
my imagination reaches
stretches far beyond my limited grasp
out into the cosmos is soars
it's cloak of dreams racing to keep up
as it dances and twirls among the stars
stars like fireflies
#44
It was the missing pigs that finally did it. Not the increase in UFO sightings, not the abductions. No, it was not until the bacon ran out that people realized the world was ending.
#43
She clutched the bag tightly to her chest as she walked. Something inside the thick canvas begin to wriggle against her grip. She shuddered. “Just two more blocks,” she whispered, picking up her pace.
#42
Peter peered up at the black cliffs that towered over the small lagoon. A flock of large, ugly birds had been startled by their approach and were circling overhead, screeching unhappily at the interruption.
#41
She moved like a shadow, working quickly and silently in the red glow of the exit sign above the door. With a firm tug, she broke the seal and slid open the rusted panel.
#40
He looked at the mangy flock of birds strutting, preening, and squabbling under the vapid headlines of the glossy tabloids that lined his newsstand, and wondered, wryly, if maybe people had evolved from pigeons.
#39
On paths of love, use a stealthy tread.
And remember well Ariadne’s thread.
For this is clear: the cost is dear.
And nature shows, he who braves love’s throes,
may well lose his head.
#38
The inner lining of the tank stretched up and away from him into the darkness, echoing back his increasingly feeble attempts to remain afloat. Exhausted and resigned, he slipped once more under the surface.
#37
It was a peculiar sensation, but he really didn’t mind. There was something oddly comforting about the hesitant, curious way their skeletal feelers rose from the deep to explore the contours of his frame.
#36
He silently chided himself for how quickly the sight of Willaim could weaken his resolve, how his kind eyes and warm hands made his mouth water. How he thrilled when he spoke his name.
#35
The approaching shore was lined with people. A mob, from the looks of it. They were screaming in purple-faced fury at the passengers of her small boat. This place would not be their refuge.
#34
From her window, she could see the world beyond the walls. But there wasn’t much to see. Gray, stone-covered hills stretched into the distance, growing faint and indistinct before finally dissolving into the mist.
#33
He took the seat across from her and sensed, deep in his gut, that coming here tonight had been a mistake. And judging from her dark, candle-lit expression, this mistake might be his last.
#32
The man was too thin, she thought, too unsteady; like anything stronger than a baby’s sneeze would topple him. Which made it all the more odd that he was standing so near the tracks.
#31
As a wood nymph, she knew that it was wrong. Or, at least, that it was supposed to be wrong. But she couldn’t see how. What harm could there be in loving a lumberjack?
#30
When darkness comes;
when doors are locked and windows shuttered;
when she is truly, finally alone;
the Ice Queen retires to her most secret place,
to light a fire and dream of warmer days.
#29
The old woman, smelling of coconuts and talc, stared down at her phone screen with the same apathetic, glazed-over determination of the passengers half her age. “She must want to forget, too.” he thought.
#28
Dax carefully raised the beaker. The strange substance slid around the glass in unsteady, lurching movements that reminded him of a drunk fraternity pledge stumbling across campus in the after-hours darkness of rush week.
#27
“Linda’s a bit of a legend among the zoo workers” he whispered, as she moved through the primate house, flirting with the male staff with a brazenness that would have made Jane Goodall blush.