Sitting at the edge at the bathtub, naked, bald, one hand clutching a bottle of bourbon, the other a bottle of pills, Alex felt sad, alone, and lost.
Re-reading my sister, Bethany’s Will, I sighed, “My dear sister, you shall be the death of me.”
She opened her eyes and sat up. Where am I? What is this place? She wondered as she looked out the window of the house. The house was surrounded by wheat fields.
“Crap, we’re stuck.” Em said as she dusted off her dress. A few minutes before, she and her husband, George, leapt from her granddad’s beloved train aka time machine as it hurdled 88-miles-per-hour toward what used to be a ravine.
“Honey!” I shout and immediately, I can hear a pair of big feet padding down the corridor to outside the bathroom door.
Come on, announce the winner already!
Sometimes, I think there’re more interesting things happening behind the camera than in front.
The drawing was blinding. I couldn’t even touch it, let alone look at it. This is what I spent $500 for? I was expecting scandalizing photographs, detailing all those mysterious hours my husband has spent away on his so-called “work trips”. I was definitely not expecting this.
“Re…lax,” I inhale and exhale, dragging the word, doing everything to calm the tension in my body. I shouldn’t be this nervous. Come on, I’m performing to a crowd on Zoom, not some important figure.
I have never trusted anyone. My whole life, I’ve known only one thing – people lie. People cheat, break promises, betray one’s trust, and never do the things they say they would do.
I stood there, staring at my husband’s desk. I should’ve known it’d be too good to be true. Neat-freaks and scatterbrains aren’t opposites. They don’t attract. They repel.
“What cha doin’?” George asks.
Emma moaned as she rolled over and pressed herself against her husband’s chest. It’s Christmas Eve and for the first time since moving into their new apartment, she and her husband finally got to sleep in together. They are both ER surgeons and neither of them is ever home at the same time. Neither of…
Mr. C stares at the sign and sighs. Still gone as it has been for 50 years. He’s stranded in this desolate place as his brain kept wandering back to that fateful night. What went wrong? “I triple-checked that spirit-meter, didn’t I?” He muttered.
“They call this the “Scrooge Farm”. Instead of Christmas decoration each year, around Christmas, there would be scarecrows dressed in rags and sandbags for heads popping up in random places ’round the farm. Now, no one has ever seen the owner as there’s no house on the hundred-acre property. “
Tossing his jacket onto the table, he sat down and sighed. He couldn’t believe it. Another pandemic. I’m 109, how many more events do I need to go through?
Great, fantastique, awesome, super. Just how many more different ways can I exaggerate this situation? I don’t know what gave anyone the idea or the impression I can single-handedly put together a Thanksgiving dinner in 4 hours. 4 HOURS!!! There I was, slaving away in the kitchen – turkey, vegetables, and stuffing in the oven,…
Sitting on this park bench, I am supposed to feel cold but somehow, I feel nothing except exhaustion and resignation.
Sitting in her car, Shelley debates whether she should go in.
Melanie rests her chin on her hands on the window ledge of her father’s car.
“Welcome to the future!” A large headline flashes before me. I suppress a laugh.
With her hand in mine, my daughter and I walk toward the Ferris wheel. “Are you sure you want to do this?”