This, she thought to herself, is uncomfortable. Bloody uncomfortable. Like being pregnant and not able to deliver. Or like being married to Prince Charming and not being able to make love to him. *Groan* Those lines might have been really good but sounded trashy. Only because…because…she gave up. I have…
Who is the Mona Lisa talking to?
I saw a tag floating around and decided to write my own memoirs in 6 words: I strove for individuality, then acceptance.
Her fingers paused on the edge of the key-stroke. The ceasing of the rapidfire tap-clackety-clack-tap of her keyboard sounded very loud and she glanced up guiltily to see who had noticed. No one had, apparantly, so she breathed in a slow rush of air, settling that odd fear to rest…
Jack’s eyes lazily scanned the room, taking in all, accommodating none. Gillian paused mid-speech, in spite of herself and her breath stuck in her throat. Then she caught herself and smoothly moved on, ramming her words into each other to create an artful slip of tongue. The ripple of amusement…
She’s generous. Just bring her a great deal of stories. But he knew that already.
A week of passion is always followed by a hangover.
He looks at her from the corner of his eyeThinking she won’t noticeSecretly hoping she willSo secret, he won’t even admit to himself She feels his lookLike sunlight, warm on her cheeksHer eyes stay downcastShielded from his blinding gazeWarmed nevertheless by its intensity Then it starts to rain.
A short tale in 55 words. Her parents say that she was born talking. Then she discovered writingEnglish grammar compositionsStories and poetryLetters and emailsChats and instant messagingSMSes, Orkut scrapsResumes and reports Then she stumbled onto bloggingAnd anonymous postingEven editing and deletingAnd much later, private publishing But silence is yet to…
A short tale in 55 words about value, money and worth.