"Fuck!" Was she really going out with him? Joe Jackson's song was ringing in my ears as I watched this ape of a man bear hug, and paw, one of the most attractive, and alluring women, I had yet experienced. She was on stage singing some folky tunes of original composition; her voice, her looks, the way she moved, how she seemed to look me straight in the eye,...
Anticipation of good things to come energized Bill, as he drove the car from the hospital parking lot to the front door. Faith had finally been released and declared fit to return to normal life. He was eager to coddle and care for her, and to restore the woman that fallen in love with. Faith looked pitiful, sitting in the wheelchair, resting a hand on her...
Elsewhere in the mansion, a Shadowcat hunted. Moving with more stealth then any normal cat could hope to imitate, she went from the first floor to the second floor and finally up to the attic on the western side of the mansion. The eastern attic was assigned to Ororo Monroe, who had turned it into arboretum, which was allowed by the massive skylights in the...
The journey begins... The cave wasn’t hard to find. It was just a few miles from the small village of Jhäsk, and the reward for this little “sidequest” would be well worth your while. Your legs started to hurt from all the crouching down in the foliage. You were waiting for sundown to ambush the small colony of Lamias who were terrorizing the men of Jhäsk, i...
First times: 04 -- Love down under I got the idea for this short story from a lovely lady who introduced me to Haiku poetry. To my immense surprise, I found that I like it and have a minimal talent for it. The poem at the end is hers. Thank you, dear heart. She's the inspiration for the story as her...
Saturday In The Park "AFTER THE TONE, PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE. WHEN YOU ARE FINISHED—" "Oh, come on," I grumbled under my breath as the call went to voicemail. I swiped my finger across the glass screen to end the call. As I did, I scrunched my face and exhaled with a pained sigh. The ridges of my brow bunched with more dramatic flair than I intended. It wa...
This is mostly a freeform story, loosely scripted. I'm still sort of feeling my way through this, so I'm trying different things. Also, I cannot say enough thank-yous for the response to my last audio. You are all way, way too much. Wow! Thank you (again)! I really didn't have any idea what to expect in terms of how it might get noticed, so I'm gratified -...
She sipped her champagne as she stared at the painting. She couldn't really say what fascinated her about it. The colours, of course; she was always attracted to the colours in art. This reminded her of the fauvist movement: bright and bold, but with tempered lines -- not quite real. Except that she couldn't actually make out what it was. She peered at the t...
She sat in the first row of tables in the smoky basement room in the Village on both evenings I was reciting my poetry. I was a painter really—a portraitist mostly of real life, its sensuality. I was compared—or at least I compared myself when asked—to Whistler or Renoir in my use of rich colors and lush settings to set off the sensuality of the human body....
That's misleading. It should read: 'how to capture a song'. A song is not something you manufacture, it's something that happens, sort of like a little literary fart, seeping out at the most inopportune time. Your literary fart might bubble up while you're in the bath, or driving to work, or perhaps while waking up in the morning. You'll roll over, open your...