i stole a napkin once from an olive garden. my friends and i had a thing for taking silverware the our crushes had used. so i went back to the table after he left, took his spoon and wrapped it in his napkin. i still have those.
I don’t remember the last time I used a napkin… they’re a bit silly, really. Like, when they’re folded into roses or swans… we know they aren’t. And when you put them in wine glasses and everyone just takes them out and blows their noses into them. That’s just still. I suppose they make people feel better? Like they’re a bit posh or something?
napkin is my face. it is like a balloon disguised as a kite blowing over a volcano. that is too extreme. i wish it was a field, but the volcano erupts and the napkin turns to ash and then everybody with runny noses don’t have anywhere to go.
for writing words
we can’t say
that demand our attention
but not our guts, not the insides
that can fuel but mangle us
from day to day when we are just trying
to get to that next sunrise
the bright, immaculate air
that burns bright as white
and becomes something neutral
and nothing we can quite understand
the colors created and the colors
existed
The napkin made a poor choice in covering up. It was only a little piece of white square. There was no way it could possibly cover up all my nudity. I started ripping it into little pieces, unaware of the movement of my body at the little tearing motions. There was nothing else I could do anyway. I sighed.
she folded it and placed it on my lap
a thousand words with no explanation
a thousand ways to leave me
scribbled and scribbled
with lost faith and hope
and promises that were never
really
made
and
always
broken
I wiped my mouth delicately with my napkin. I was sitting at a ten foot long glass table and I’d just eaten an exquisite dinner. I picked up my glass and my chains clinked against the arms of the chair when I set my glass down.
“So…” I said, my voice echoing around the huge hall, “Who are you and why am I here?“
“Well, I could answer your question…” said my mysterious captor, hidden in the shadows, “Or I could just shoot you.” With one swift movement, he pulled up a crossbow and shot it at me. I had next to no time to move and I felt the sharp pain of the arrow spearing my flesh. As I blacked out, his face bent over me and I was shocked at the face I saw.
i stole a napkin once from an olive garden. my friends and i had a thing for taking silverware the our crushes had used. so i went back to the table after he left, took his spoon and wrapped it in his napkin. i still have those.
By Meredith on 06.17.2008
I cleansed my soul of granules of evil accumulated in my soul with a napkin I dare not admit to possessing.
By Crawford on 06.17.2008
I don’t remember the last time I used a napkin… they’re a bit silly, really. Like, when they’re folded into roses or swans… we know they aren’t. And when you put them in wine glasses and everyone just takes them out and blows their noses into them. That’s just still. I suppose they make people feel better? Like they’re a bit posh or something?
By Emily on 06.17.2008
napkin is my face. it is like a balloon disguised as a kite blowing over a volcano. that is too extreme. i wish it was a field, but the volcano erupts and the napkin turns to ash and then everybody with runny noses don’t have anywhere to go.
By krammer abrahams on 06.17.2008
for writing words
we can’t say
that demand our attention
but not our guts, not the insides
that can fuel but mangle us
from day to day when we are just trying
to get to that next sunrise
the bright, immaculate air
that burns bright as white
and becomes something neutral
and nothing we can quite understand
the colors created and the colors
existed
By jeanette on 06.17.2008
The napkin made a poor choice in covering up. It was only a little piece of white square. There was no way it could possibly cover up all my nudity. I started ripping it into little pieces, unaware of the movement of my body at the little tearing motions. There was nothing else I could do anyway. I sighed.
By SuJi Kang on 06.17.2008
she folded it and placed it on my lap
a thousand words with no explanation
a thousand ways to leave me
scribbled and scribbled
with lost faith and hope
and promises that were never
really
made
and
always
broken
By adam on 06.17.2008
thing to wash…
By rishi on 06.17.2008
and we were enveloped in the darkness that was as inviting as the warmth of a mother’s embrace.
By d on 06.17.2008
I wiped my mouth delicately with my napkin. I was sitting at a ten foot long glass table and I’d just eaten an exquisite dinner. I picked up my glass and my chains clinked against the arms of the chair when I set my glass down.
“So…” I said, my voice echoing around the huge hall, “Who are you and why am I here?“
“Well, I could answer your question…” said my mysterious captor, hidden in the shadows, “Or I could just shoot you.” With one swift movement, he pulled up a crossbow and shot it at me. I had next to no time to move and I felt the sharp pain of the arrow spearing my flesh. As I blacked out, his face bent over me and I was shocked at the face I saw.
By Amy on 06.17.2008