short-story

Be a good reader first, if you wish to become a good writer.

A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken possession of my soul.

But men are funny about their wars, they act as if they own them, and perhaps they do, for I don't think women ever start them.

I wait, you play. You speak, I cave. I promise, you break. You game me, daily, you play me.

Thank you father, thank you. I know you watched me from above and protected me. I promise I shall serve the Magnarian Confederation with all my body and soul. I shall dedicate myself fully to our confederation, the family that you so loved. And I love it too. I shall protect, love and respect it always. This is my promise and commitment. Thank you

It was a fine summer morning, the kind to make a man happy to be alive. And probably the man *would* have been happier to be alive. He was, in fact, dead. It would be hard to be deader without special training.

It's unexpectedly painful to have become a pronoun.

A gossip spread a rumor, and became notorious from the deed. The gossip then started a fire beyond their control, and when it spread, the gossip spread the word around, but people just ran away. The gossip died in the fire they started, longing for warmth they could not find or keep when they did. And no one spread the word, about the gossips' death.

i__ super, it__ like my favourite meal and a birthday blowjob from Christina Hendricks in here.

When I watch a movie or read a book, be it a melodrama or horror, I always hate the female character... Well, most of the time I do.Why? Because she is always dumb.I shit you not.For example in this one chick-flick movie, "Serendipity", Sara tells that Jonathan guy that she won't give him her number because if they are meant to meet again, they will. Seriously? Romantic movie my ass, there's not anything romantic in letting go of someone when you can grab them with both of your hands. That is not romantic, THAT is stupid.In another movie the girl storms out, never hearing the guy out, just like in that one book I've been reading recently, "Tangled". Now this is an issue with most of the books and chick-flicks. Like why? Why won't you stop a minute, take a deep breath, count to ten and listen to the guy. Only after that, for God's sake, say __uck you_ then __amaste_ and then walk away while swaying your hips like there is no tomorrow? Let them know what they will be missing for the rest of their lives.In some other movies I hate the main female character because of the scriptwriters. The girl somehow always appears in front of the guy out of nowhere. Like he can be walking down the street and then boom! ABRACADABRA! The main girl bumps into him in NYC out of all places. They make it seem like whatever they do their steps always bring them back to each other. Dumb, I know.

We leave such a trail of bodies through our teens and twenties that it's hard to tell which one is us. How many versions do we abandon over the years

In all nature there seemed to be a feeling of hopelessness and pain. The earth, like a ruined woman sitting alone in a dark room and trying not to think of the past, was brooding over memories of spring and summer and apathetically waiting for the inevitable winter. Wherever one looked, on all sides, nature seemed like a dark, infinitely deep, cold pit from which neither Kirilov nor Abogin nor the red half-moon could escape....

As a rule, however fine and deep a phrase may be, it only affects the indifferent, and cannot fully satisfy those who are happy or unhappy; that is why dumbness is most often the highest expression of happiness or unhappiness; lovers understand each other better when they are silent, and a fervent, passionate speech delivered by the grave only touches outsiders, while to the widow and children of the dead man it seems cold and trivial.

And just as I'm about to lay on the Yi-Wang-Smooth, I see Lay #1 and Lay #3 show up to our table and take the two empty seats nearby. From: "My Worst Valentine's Day.Ever: a Short Story

Anyway, I think Florence and I noticed each other before the local train screeched to a halt at the 110th Street station, because as I boarded it felt as though we were supposed to step into the same car, and hold onto the same moist metal bar. My wishful hunch now seems confirmed by the way she's reading her Time magazine article next to me.

Everything is going as planned until I notice that Ashley has barely touched her wine glass or food after ordering the priciest bottle and several of the most expensive dishes on the menu.From "My Worst Valentine's Day.Ever: a Short Story

Like a driver who has lost control of his vechicle, I was bracing for the impending crash."From: "My Worst Valentine's Day.Ever: a Short Story

This was getting uglier by the minute, I thought. There really was no easy escape, since we were sitting far from the exit and the waiters knew me from prior dinner dates with Ashley and I hadn't paid the tab yet. From: "My Worst Valentine's Day.Ever: a Short Story