It's about glowing lights and small things that are big.
It's about glowing lights and small things that are big.
We both laugh and run and the moment is so thick around me that i feel like dropping into it to let it carry me.
It's not a big thing, but I guess it's true--big things are often just small things that are noticed.
We're silent now, both waiting, till I remind myself that I'm the older one and should therefore initiate conversation. But I don't. I don't want to waste this girl with idle chitchat. She's beautiful.
My full name's Ed Kennedy. I'm nineteen. I'm an underage cab driver. I'm typical of many of the young men you see in this suburban outpost of the city -- not a whole lot of prospects or possibility. That aside, I read more books than I should, and I'm decidedly crap at sex and doing my taxes. Nice to meet you.
When he moves, a streetlight stabs him, and the words flow out like blood.
All my friends seem to be smart arses. Don't ask me why. Like many things, it is what it is.
My voice is like a rumour. I'm not sure if it came out or not, or if it is true.
When her hands reached out and poured the tea, it was as if she also poured something into me while I sat there sweating in my cab. It was like she held a string and pulled on it just slightly to open me up. She got in, put a piece of herself inside me, and left again.
Beautiful women are the torment of my existence.
No, I'm not a saint, Sophie. I'm just another stupid human.
When we move apart, she looks at me again, till a small tear lifts itself up in her eye. It trips out to find a wrinkle and follows it down.
Believe it or not--it takes a lot of love to hate you like this.
Of course you're real-like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it.
Why can't the world hear? I ask myself. Within a few moments I ask it many times. Because it doesn't care, I finally answer, and I know I'm right. It's like I've been chosen. But chosen for what? I ask.
Big things are often just little things that people notice.
Only hearts... They're in the inside of the inside of me.
You're far from this. This story is just another few hundred pages of your mind.
Crowds of questions stream through me like lines of people exiting a soccer ground or a concert. They push and shove and trip. Some make their way around. Some remain in their seats, waiting for their opportunity.
Our footsteps run, and I don't want them to end. I want to run and laugh and feel like this forever. I want to avoid any awkward moment when the realness of reality sticks its fork into our flesh, leaving us standing there, together. I want to stay here, in this moment, and never go to other places, where we don't know what to say or what to do.
He prefers not to ruin things with any more questions. What it is is what it is.
People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it's the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.
He's most likely robbing the bank as a paycheck on the world for winning the ugliness prize at his local fete three years running.
She closes the door completely, and I crouch there. I allow myself to fall forward and rest my head on the door frame. My breath bleeds. My heartbeat drowns my ears.
I even move out onto the front porch and see my own limited view of the world. I want to take that world, and for the first time ever, I feel like I can do it. I've survived everything I've had to so far. I'm still standing here.
She even touches Jimmy's face on the photos, and I see what it is to love someone like Milla loved that man. Her fingertips are made of love.
I think of how she lives alone, just like me, and how she never had any real family, and how she only has sex with people. She never lets any love get in the way. I think she had a family once, but it was one of those beat-the-crap-out-of-each-other situations. There's no shortage of them around here. I think she loved them, and all they ever did was hurt her.
That was when the world wasn't so big and I could see everywhere. It was when my father was a hero and not a human.
I watch the beauty for as long as I can, then turn and face the rest of it.
The days and nights come apart. I feel them corroding at the seams.
I'd been in love with her for years. I never left this suburban town. I didn't go to university. I went to Audrey.
The flyscreen door is torn at the edges. Fraying. I open it and knock on the wood. The sound rhymes with my heartbeat.
I'd rather chase the sun than wait for it.
The Gunman is useless. I know it. He knows it. The whole bank knows it.
I'm just another stupid human.
The water crumbles on it's way down as my hands and feet push me forward. The world is lightening, taking shape, and turning to color. It feels like it's being painted around me.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories