The pigeons' nest is beset, beleaguered, bewitched by the stinkhawks. The pigeons pray to their god for surcease from sorrow.
Scared to fly, they offer their children as Isaacs to stave off disaster.
Their god, who, turns out, looks, acts, and quacks like a stinkhawk, just laughs. See, among stinkhawks are priests whose mission it is to preach to the pigeons a love for the strong and contempt for the weak--a sort of roll-over-and-take-it salvation for fools--and seal their damnation… Continue
Added by Robert Crisman on October 31, 2010 at 10:30pm —
He had been wrong about her, but she liked the way he’d been wrong. He’d made a beautiful mistake, she thought, fatal and beautiful.
His back turned to her, now, as he counted the stolen cash, she quietly slipped the knife out of its sheath and moved close enough to look over his shoulder at the piles of bills that lay on the table.
She paused for a moment, long enough to notice that on this cool, crisp, fall day, the wind had strewn… Continue
Added by Brad Rose on October 31, 2010 at 10:28pm —
Just when you thought Starbucks had already bamboozled you out of your “fun money” for the week, now they’ve upped the ante with fermented grapes and barley pop. After 4pm, you can get your drunk on with the other artsy types and poor college students killing time at Seattle’s finest soaking up the free Wi-Fi. Besides coffee, they will be sporting beer and wine… Continue
Added by bolton carley on October 31, 2010 at 10:12pm —
As women, we walk through this world weaving magic. Sisters together or against, softening with salt and flour. Blossoms we grow, bloom with fullness, dry and die. Our magic is strong and subtle, bitter and sweet. Our legs open, our hearts pump, while breathing deeply. Waxing moon draws us out, bleeding us along, to weave our magic.
Added by Sissy Anderson on October 31, 2010 at 10:00pm —
I can sit all day wondering what the world would look like if it were not artificial, and I see the landscape filling out, the buildings crumbling and so much light and green. I can feel the damp coolness of heather and Continue
evergreens, the musty smell of fern filling my nostrils, reminding me of a long forgotten armpit I used to burrow my face in; eyelashes playing Eskimo kisses with…
Added by Sunnah on October 31, 2010 at 6:30pm —
engines humming, lulling me to sleep
papers rustling as pages turn
weak cofffee keeping cold hands warm.
wide-eyed, mouths open
steaming up windows;faces trying to touch the view.
Heads falling unnaturally low
necks disappeared,three chins appear
trying to stay afloat
heavy eyes close, open,…
Added by Sunnah on October 31, 2010 at 6:00pm —
Currently, probably over-prepared.
That’s what I usually do.
So that inspiration is beaten flat and lifeless – a pancake, a poppadom and not the plump chocolate-coated profiterole that promised so much a fortnight ago.
Bridie and Sean – mere cardboard cut outs, arms folded, gazing in opposite directions. Dumb, dialogue-less and incommunicado.
Fingers crossed, sooner or later, they'll get their act together ... they need to do a LOT of talking to get through 50,000 words.
Added by Sandra Davies on October 31, 2010 at 6:00pm —
Stefano doesn't tell Grandpa about the request for Vito from his undead chum since the cookie craving Grand Fellows are reckoned half-baked and no one would believe him anyway. When the sun sets, he takes what appears to be a yellow cab as suggested on the invitation to the Palisades Parkway and without hurry, the vehicle ambles to a murky road not far from the Hudson River.… Continue
Added by Stephen Torelli on October 31, 2010 at 4:11pm —
Hack writers would have it that guys who frolic in sewers--gangsters and spies and riff-raff like that--get laid in such ways that would make even dead men jump up to go get some. These scribblers' hero is always some guy with a cock like a rocket who has all the women ecstatically screaming for more, conjured with visions of book sales hitting the moon and the scribblers themselves maybe getting the good thing at last...
eat this… Continue
Added by Robert Crisman on October 31, 2010 at 1:55pm —
I am immortalized by my lack of thought, this lack of 'me' which will most certainly precede me. It makes me shudder, then nothing. Indifference, insignificance, but not really 'in' something at all, more out of everything. Far away in the most directionless way possible where sounds are just sounds and bodies just bodies; breathing, ticking, turning, over and over and over...until there's no where to turn and inevitably, you fall… Continue
Added by Sunnah on October 31, 2010 at 1:00pm —
Hey, you lot, I want to put something right. I've been the subject of really bad press, I and my compatriots have picked up the bill for YOUR failings and a mighty big bill it was… Continue
Added by Bob Clay on October 31, 2010 at 12:30pm —
She would only let herself cry on Tuesdays, if it rained. She would sob loudly during thunderstorms, let tears fall silently during light showers. She liked the lack of control and a sense of higher authority that governed her emotions. Tears collected in puddles as insignificant as rain drops. She would not allow herself to cry forever. Only on Tuesdays, weather… Continue
Added by Sunnah on October 31, 2010 at 12:30pm —
Adi Da went to an island, and he said that when he got there the spirits of the place tried to size him up a bit, to see what the case with him was, and were even mildly challenging towards him. Soon they backed off, and changes in the weather and other signs appeared, but as things go,… Continue
Added by Brian Michael Barbeito on October 31, 2010 at 10:47am —
Betty's got an apple for you, my friend. When her incisors pierce the stiff red flesh you will feel it crunch and hear the call, all the way 'cross town. And you will drop what you're doing my man, coffee briefcase coat and all because you feel it burning. Sleepwalking to her sanctuary you think of what she's doing while she's waiting for you. Betty's silver voice is all you hear now, saying "Nothing finer, nothing sweeter than some secret apple." There will be nothing left of either of you… Continue
Added by Kristine_ES on October 31, 2010 at 10:00am —
They do not greet in any way imaginable.
They are poorly chaperoned, and travel like Huns.
They do not recite the magic phrase, or utter thank you without a prompt.
They posess an unreasonable sense of entitlement, especially the old ones, who should exclude themselves, but are too shameless and greedy.
They are strangely attired, and wait for compliments from confused adults.
They are the Trick or Treaters, and I give them candy so that I will not eat it… Continue
Added by Angela on October 31, 2010 at 10:00am —
The inescapable truth is that autumn is the season of decline and decay; the light fades, and the branches are stripped bare to await the next generation of leaves, each with its own distinct shape and color and span of days. But, oh how we flare out! We seek immortality for our ghost children in words, on paper and in the virtual webscape, but pages will yellow and fall to dust, backup servers will crash and data will be corrupted, our words hovering for a mere blink in history's eye and then… Continue
Added by Bill Floyd on October 31, 2010 at 9:00am —
Everyone knew two things about old Tony: that he had a mild case of Tourette’s, and goosing him would trigger it. Whenever poked, he’d make a pistol with his finger, point it at the sky and say “Goddamn,” along with the last word or phrase he’d heard.…
Added by Mike Handley on October 31, 2010 at 1:21am —
Stump Shiner spotted his brother Hoot at the far end of the barroom, leaning over backwards into the lap of a voluptuous brunette and waving an empty beer bottle.
By any standard, Hoot's bachelor party had been a most successful, old fashioned boys' night to howl.
Even Bootsy Sykes, their designated driver, had enjoyed Seven-Ups with a side of stripper. Continue
Stump was plowed, and he knew it, but the spinning room did nothing to lessen the beauty of the blonde goddess holding…
Added by Gita on October 31, 2010 at 12:47am —
In the weeks after Angelica returned from Woodstock 99, she was different in ways that left her father feeling uncomfortable, but he didn’t say too much about it in front of his ex-wife because Cassie had… Continue
Added by Michael Brown on October 30, 2010 at 8:30pm —
Once there was a girl who got laid off from work because she was not good at it, she didn’t have any other skill as well to survive. She was moving towards the river side for a suicide, on the way she decides to stay for a while and she sits near a bench where there was an empty closed bottle. She picks the bottle and starts to check it, she opens the bottle and Genni comes out and asked for her one wish.
She get confused but still managed to asked, “there should be…
Added by Moosa Hemani on October 30, 2010 at 8:14pm —