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following it down into the thickening blackness. The water was not as cold as she'd thought. It seemed to draw her in and wrap her up, a feeling like comfort, if not quite love. -
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consists of long intervals in which nothing seemed to happen. These, it turned out, were the most crucial. I recall one occasion when
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"Margaritaville." A woman with liver spots was trying to get a guy at the bar to buy her a drink. She saw me and sidled over. "You'll be number ten," she said. "Bring me to life."
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wings, falling from the sky like hail. Look up to the treacherous heavens. There is no comfort there. Bucket 34: Whiskey and oblivion.
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all the blights the Dark One chooses to visit upon you." Millicent struggled to no avail, searching her memory for the Melody of Rescue she had learned long ago. How had it gone?
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Grow Your Own had brigaded her with recipes for appalling vegan casseroles. I leaned back in my chair and lit a cigar. It was going to storm, and I wasn't going to miss it.
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smokes or pills or something that could stand for money in the joint. The guy was a creep. If half the things I heard about him were true, he belongs in prison. The next day,
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took advantage of the confusion by shaving her head and slipping away unnoticed. The grass smelt particularly rich as she hotwired a car and sat behind the wheel. Meanwhile, back
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week, and a parade was organized but cancelled at the last minute, owing to a sudden outbreak of good judgment. From that day forward, the sun seemed to shine a little less.
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She wrote historical romances under a French-sounding pen name and liked to make her problems sound worse than they were. Often, she would stay awake thinking of deserts.
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give into the screams again. Above, the clouds hovered with menace, swollen with grey rain like overripe fruits. Timid Pitt sighed and kicked the dog again.
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tartly, mindful of the mince pie that would be ready to leave the oven in a few minutes. Ms. Williams did not like the word "mince" -- her throat closed a little when she spoke it.
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I whispered to the tree. By the time the gang arrived, I was safely ensconced in bark, ready to slumber for another thousand years.
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and have nothing but respect for your kind." He held me in his inscrutable gaze, the pistols poised and ready to fire. We stared at each other. We're still staring right now.
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in the meadow across from the hollow tree. Donations of half-eaten salmon may be made in Big Top Bear Sr.'s name to the Starving Bears Foundation.
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Prize. Prize made of chocolate. Everything made of chocolate. Chocolate book. Chocolate house. Chocolate sex. World peace illusion. Dice roll. A thousand nightmares under hats.
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She straightened her wig and slid her palm along the leather skin of her purse, reassuring herself the gun was still there, ready to be drawn.
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put one foot in front of the other like everyone else. It's not my fault the dead speak to me. It's not my fault the past refuses to stay in its grave.
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made me think of that time I got lost in the corn maze, and stumbled around in the autumn dark until I came upon a guy making out with his girlfriend. "You lost, friend?" he asked.
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instills in me the most profound dread, like sitting down to take an exam and realizing you haven't studied the entire semester. I envy the life of dogs.