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Literature Text
This poem has been temporarily removed in order to be submitted to a kick-ass anthology on the theme of rock 'n' roll. If it doesn't make the cut, it'll be back soon.
Literature
Fellowship Lost, Ch 1, Prt 1
“Shoot.
“Oh, shoot!
“Shoot, shoot, shoot.”
Yes, that was what Lorin said. She couldn’t deny it. She heard it leave her lips. Shoot? Any number of profanities would have been more appropriate under the circumstances, but her mother’s training was kicking in when least expected.
She would say more later – much more – but right now there was no time. She had to concentrate on moving her foot from the gas pedal to the brake; had to convince her reluctant right hand to let go of the steering wheel and shift the car into park at fifty-five miles per hour – screw the transmission. Had to remind hersel
Literature
A cappella
My mother, a famous classical violinist in her day, was on her deathbed and I didn't care. She was bedridden by the usual suspects, old age and a fall, and had been for many months when they called me. "Come see her," they said. "She'll pass on soon." They told me the nurses played Tchaikovsky, her favorite.
"No," I said, and hung up the phone, slamming it against the wall, the cord jerking about in a wild dance. I glared at my CD player, as though it would suddenly come to life with violin concertos, then grabbed my coat, and left the house.
The critics never tired of sayin
Literature
...27...
She wore barbed wire necklaces so that every time she laughed, it hurt.
Little Freckles Frankie was the first to make her laugh so hard she bled. He was ten, she was eleven. I don’t think he has found anything funny since. It was too bad really, baby blue eyes tend to twinkle when they laugh.
I caught her countin
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OK, this is a bit silly. Sorry.
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Darn, wish I could read it 