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18 May 2007
One Sentence. Anyone want to write stories that are only one sentence long?
His dream, cherished since early childhood, of fashioning the perfect story using only two sentences, was abruptly truncated by the falling Bösendorfer Model 290 grand piano.
"Hold still, Dad," Rosie says, and I try to, but it’s not easy because frankly I don’t like that she’s got scissors so close to my ears-- they may stick out some, but I’m attached to them and I’d prefer to keep it that way; it's just too damn bad for me and my ears that I don't try hard enough.
It wasn't until after the ship had drifted out of sight, past the frame of his open door, beneath the horizon, that his face--devoid of emotion save for the single tear which had made a wild escape down his cheek, leaping off his chin and into the earthen floor--gradually took on the old, forgotten form of a smile; he was alone at last.
The Tsar himself invited me to Prince Ivanushka and Princess Vasilisa's nuptial feast where I drank beer and mead, though none of it touched my lips, for it all ran down my beard; my throat was dry but my soul was drunk.
I dreamed I was supposed to meet seanyboy, but was told he had died--suddenly he was there, beardless green-eyed and dark but with the same cashmere voice...he confirmed he was dead and held me.
Fortunately for Marvin and Latoya, generic cipro was on the $4 prescription list at Walmart; only in America are broadband antibiotics cheaper than high end chocolate, and romance still the stuff of popular culture legend, driving both big box profits and consumer satisfaction.
*inspired by a glimpsed real life vignette, from earlier today.
With one cold, withering look, she turned on her sleek, patent leather heels, crushed his cigarette with her stiletto, and stalked proudly into deepening sunset.