The runway was long and empty before here. No sounds could be heard from anywhere. It seemed eerie, and wrong. There should be tons of people here. But there was no one. She was dressed up for nothing. A few steps forwards told her there was something wrong. A loud kreening came hollowly from somewhere in the distance.
She struts down the runway, attitude in check. fuck the world. It’s all me baby. Watch me take over. See me conquer. Get out of the way or become road kill.
She struts down the runway, attitude in check. fuck the world, just strut. It’s all ego baby. It is ALL me. So shut up and marvel at me. Watch me take over.
She gripped his hand tightly as the plane moved slowly down the runway.
“It’ll be okay,” she said, squeezing his sweaty palm with a smile. The confidence was a fallacy; though she hadn’t told him, this was her first time flying, too.
From the cabin of the small plane he stared at the runway. Here he was, ready to start fresh in some distant land where he didn’t even know how to say ‘hello’ or ask ‘what’s your name?’
The problem with leaving behind an old life, he thought, was that you’re not sure if you’re done just yet.
my aneroid key board.will runaway with autocorrdct since I’m too lazy to go and fire ipbthe computer to do today’s word. 360 words this year means a few are going to be from the kindle fire. oh bagatelle.
Models flashing with the cameras grazing their skin, letting the glitter of the stage fall from the ceiling. The crowd memorizes the dainty little movements of the heels clacking on the floor.
Run aways seems like quite a good movie, apart from the fact that one of the leading ladies in the film is KRisten Stewart, the horrible and disgusting techniques she uses disgraces m
A shadow, neglected and being stepped on,
forcing smiles for years and years,
is it because of the glasses? the wavy messy hair? the freckles?
She didn’t know, until one day she found the key to life.
She embraced it. She knew now.
Confidence; it made her feel like she’s the queen of everything,
No longer a little mouse but a glorious eagle.
She walks on her very own runway everyday, flashing some genuine smiles this time.
there once was a girl who decided that she wanted to get out of the world. She wanted to runaway from it all. From her family, from her teachers, from her schedule – she wanted to lift off the ground and soar into outer space. Maybe she could meet some aliens who could show her their meaning of life since, on earth, we haven’t figured it out yet.
The small plane banked sharply to land on the dusty African runway. Children ran alongside waving and cheering. The village waited in anticipation. The doctor had arrived. The outside world seemed somehow closer.
They sat in the highbacked booth, staring at one another’s hands. His held on to his cup, spilled over, saucer full of cream and coffee. Hers methodically tap tapped her cigarette. They were both so enamoured and so anxious, the radio seemed surreal.
its where you show what you got you work out until you’re skinny your hurt and starve yourself just to get the satisfaction of walking down a narrow walkway with flashing lights and people judging every move you make. you work so hard to look perfect but there will always be a better person walking down this destructible path.
airplanes land here. they’re used to make planes land in a safe and timely manner. without these it would be difficult to land a hulking airbus safely at an airport.
models, mesmerized by their beauty, intrigued by their unbreakable focus and ferocity strutting down a platform that would be bare without them. to planes, a necessity for take off and landing. for both it offers support in the simplest of ways, by providing itself as something sturdy, reliable, unchanging.
I’ve always wanted to be a runaway because I’ve wanted to remake myself. Disappearing into someone else seems appealing, as I’ve always been two people.The person that I am and the person that I’m trying to contain. Running away would be freedom.
there used to be only one runway at narita. has there any additional one built? i don’t know. but it feels fantastic the moment the plane wafts from the runway.
outrageous, daring, unreserved. yet, poised, dominating and pleasurable.
strutting along, higher than everyone else, perhaps blinded by flashing lights, living a bold and spoiled life, untouchable on the stage, and the audience sits in awe, gawking and fawning and investing, but your not theirs for amusement, you ride your own cloud, and not so long from now, when this is all over, youll already have a mind of where youre headed next, without looking back, because you never look back, and you dont need them, you need hardly anything, you dont know where the runway leads, but you take it for your own and demand a show worth applause.
I ran away when I was sixteen years old. I wasn’t able to handle it anymore, I just needed to get away. From all the screaming, the screaming, but the screaming followed me. I couldn’t get away, I couldn’t get away from all the screaming, the screaming that was in my head, and I hated it. Why couldn’t I get away, why couldn’t I get away from all the screaming, the SCREAMING that was in my head? I want out, I wanted out, I want out, out, out from all the screaming, screaming, screaming.
John shuffled home from a long, menial day at work. He drudged up the stairs and stood in the door frame of 221B. Everything was exactly how he had left it. No thumbs in the fridge, no chemicals burning away on the kitchen table, no violin wavering away through the air… and no gangly detective sitting in the leather armchair. John glanced at his own chair, despairing the thought of another day sitting in it with nobody across from him.
Instead of taking his jacket off and settling in, he turned back around and hurried down the steps. He had barely remembered to lock the door behind himself before sprinting away down Baker street, trying to escape everything that reminded him of Sherlock.
She glanced through the curtain staring down the runway. Her eyes recoiled against the flashing of light bulbs. So many people out there. Was she crazy? Could she really go out there, dressed in … what was this she was wearing? Was it a dress, or underwear?
My thoughts are prone to running away with themselves. They have such ideas, such ambitions, such disregard for the differences between what is possible in this world and what is utterly unattainable. But I run along with them nonetheless.
Runway! Excitement! Airports! Fast speeds! Butterflies in the stomach!
Watching out the window! Seeing the Earth slip away! Seeing the clouds get closer and closer! Hanging from the blue sky! Let’s go!
How I love to travel and my favorite way is on a plane but the worst part is sitting on the runway. Runways can be long or short depending on the airport.
I just wanted to run away. That’s all I wanted, more than anything else. Although I kept telling my friends, they continued to think I wasn’t serious. I’m pretty sure they thought it was just a cry for help. But it wasn’t. I was dedly serious. All I wanted was to simply run away. I was so done with being here. Here…was not the right place for me. I could feel it.
It is Friday.
Sometimes
the days are longer,
sometimes shorter.
The winter is cold
and sometimes hits home.
But if you get up
early enough,
the sun will rise,
and you will see that the days
roll slower,
the days heat warmer.
The leaves grow,
and fall,
once again,
never hitting the same spot
they have fallen before.
As soon as I closed the door as quietly as I could, I felt like a runaway. My feet went deep into the snow, making a satisfying crunch every step I took. I wouldn’t be back for a while, and for good reasons.
runway is the run wau to ythe run way is the run way to the waun ray is the run way to the tun may wauy jaio poap reehhapper lap zee boop dee bop lamp sheet sheep lamp lamp sheep sheep sheep sheep sheep ghoul ghoul ghoul ghoul sheep lamp poor more
I am standing on the runway and there are eyes. everywhere. watching me. Why? I am the object of eyes tonight it appears. Is that a new thing? I walk. I don’t trip, I don’t stumble. I am a model made of skin and bones and clothing. I am a dream and I am a ripped seam. I am a girl and I am a boy and I am on a runway looking at no one but the lights because the eyes seem to scare me.
How I’ve longed to drive a car that can give me the same rush of power felt when in a Boeing 767 as it accelerates, pressing into the wind, pushing to be airborne. I like power. I like flying. I like runways because they mean liftoff.
She looked over her shoulder at him, “We’re gonna be okay”
As they stood deathly still, they listen for footsteps coming around the alleyway, trying to suppress the chill slowly curling up their spines….
Run way. fashion. Battles. No wait. Why would there be a battle on a runway? I don’t know. That could be fun to watch though. Like a dull or something. WE COULD HAVE WANDS. OR MAYBE GUNS. OR BOTH. And since we would be on a runway we could be wearing fancy designer shoes? Maybe? That would be excellent. Let’s do it. Next thrusday sound fine?
The runway was long and empty before here. No sounds could be heard from anywhere. It seemed eerie, and wrong. There should be tons of people here. But there was no one. She was dressed up for nothing. A few steps forwards told her there was something wrong. A loud kreening came hollowly from somewhere in the distance.
She struts down the runway, attitude in check. fuck the world. It’s all me baby. Watch me take over. See me conquer. Get out of the way or become road kill.
She struts down the runway, attitude in check. fuck the world, just strut. It’s all ego baby. It is ALL me. So shut up and marvel at me. Watch me take over.
She gripped his hand tightly as the plane moved slowly down the runway.
“It’ll be okay,” she said, squeezing his sweaty palm with a smile. The confidence was a fallacy; though she hadn’t told him, this was her first time flying, too.
From the cabin of the small plane he stared at the runway. Here he was, ready to start fresh in some distant land where he didn’t even know how to say ‘hello’ or ask ‘what’s your name?’
The problem with leaving behind an old life, he thought, was that you’re not sure if you’re done just yet.
my aneroid key board.will runaway with autocorrdct since I’m too lazy to go and fire ipbthe computer to do today’s word. 360 words this year means a few are going to be from the kindle fire. oh bagatelle.
I don’t want to run slower,
My Tendons ache.
I don’t want to grow tired.
Growing taller to reach higher shelves,
Not the Cigarettes.
when i was a kid, i would walk out my front door and look down the street
and imagine what it would be like to run away.
i always went back inside.
Models flashing with the cameras grazing their skin, letting the glitter of the stage fall from the ceiling. The crowd memorizes the dainty little movements of the heels clacking on the floor.
mmmmm……
Run aways seems like quite a good movie, apart from the fact that one of the leading ladies in the film is KRisten Stewart, the horrible and disgusting techniques she uses disgraces m
A shadow, neglected and being stepped on,
forcing smiles for years and years,
is it because of the glasses? the wavy messy hair? the freckles?
She didn’t know, until one day she found the key to life.
She embraced it. She knew now.
Confidence; it made her feel like she’s the queen of everything,
No longer a little mouse but a glorious eagle.
She walks on her very own runway everyday, flashing some genuine smiles this time.
there once was a girl who decided that she wanted to get out of the world. She wanted to runaway from it all. From her family, from her teachers, from her schedule – she wanted to lift off the ground and soar into outer space. Maybe she could meet some aliens who could show her their meaning of life since, on earth, we haven’t figured it out yet.
The small plane banked sharply to land on the dusty African runway. Children ran alongside waving and cheering. The village waited in anticipation. The doctor had arrived. The outside world seemed somehow closer.
They sat in the highbacked booth, staring at one another’s hands. His held on to his cup, spilled over, saucer full of cream and coffee. Hers methodically tap tapped her cigarette. They were both so enamoured and so anxious, the radio seemed surreal.
its where you show what you got you work out until you’re skinny your hurt and starve yourself just to get the satisfaction of walking down a narrow walkway with flashing lights and people judging every move you make. you work so hard to look perfect but there will always be a better person walking down this destructible path.
airplanes land here. they’re used to make planes land in a safe and timely manner. without these it would be difficult to land a hulking airbus safely at an airport.
Run. Run. Run as fast as you can. Get away.
I felt the air burning through my lungs as if it stripped the very life out of me that I was trying so desperately to save.
I ran until I thought I couldn’t run anymore.
And then I stopped.
Falling to ground, tangled in everything from remorse to regret and the dust and dirt of the world beneath my feet.
I gasped for breath and I cried for release.
I wished that I was anything, anything but what I was right now. I didn’t want to be another runaway.
Not from Him.
models, mesmerized by their beauty, intrigued by their unbreakable focus and ferocity strutting down a platform that would be bare without them. to planes, a necessity for take off and landing. for both it offers support in the simplest of ways, by providing itself as something sturdy, reliable, unchanging.
I’ve always wanted to be a runaway because I’ve wanted to remake myself. Disappearing into someone else seems appealing, as I’ve always been two people.The person that I am and the person that I’m trying to contain. Running away would be freedom.
8.5″ by 11″ runways.
My handwriting, skidmarks.
there used to be only one runway at narita. has there any additional one built? i don’t know. but it feels fantastic the moment the plane wafts from the runway.
outrageous, daring, unreserved. yet, poised, dominating and pleasurable.
strutting along, higher than everyone else, perhaps blinded by flashing lights, living a bold and spoiled life, untouchable on the stage, and the audience sits in awe, gawking and fawning and investing, but your not theirs for amusement, you ride your own cloud, and not so long from now, when this is all over, youll already have a mind of where youre headed next, without looking back, because you never look back, and you dont need them, you need hardly anything, you dont know where the runway leads, but you take it for your own and demand a show worth applause.
I ran away when I was sixteen years old. I wasn’t able to handle it anymore, I just needed to get away. From all the screaming, the screaming, but the screaming followed me. I couldn’t get away, I couldn’t get away from all the screaming, the screaming that was in my head, and I hated it. Why couldn’t I get away, why couldn’t I get away from all the screaming, the SCREAMING that was in my head? I want out, I wanted out, I want out, out, out from all the screaming, screaming, screaming.
John shuffled home from a long, menial day at work. He drudged up the stairs and stood in the door frame of 221B. Everything was exactly how he had left it. No thumbs in the fridge, no chemicals burning away on the kitchen table, no violin wavering away through the air… and no gangly detective sitting in the leather armchair. John glanced at his own chair, despairing the thought of another day sitting in it with nobody across from him.
Instead of taking his jacket off and settling in, he turned back around and hurried down the steps. He had barely remembered to lock the door behind himself before sprinting away down Baker street, trying to escape everything that reminded him of Sherlock.
She glanced through the curtain staring down the runway. Her eyes recoiled against the flashing of light bulbs. So many people out there. Was she crazy? Could she really go out there, dressed in … what was this she was wearing? Was it a dress, or underwear?
My thoughts are prone to running away with themselves. They have such ideas, such ambitions, such disregard for the differences between what is possible in this world and what is utterly unattainable. But I run along with them nonetheless.
Runway! Excitement! Airports! Fast speeds! Butterflies in the stomach!
Watching out the window! Seeing the Earth slip away! Seeing the clouds get closer and closer! Hanging from the blue sky! Let’s go!
How I love to travel and my favorite way is on a plane but the worst part is sitting on the runway. Runways can be long or short depending on the airport.
I just wanted to run away. That’s all I wanted, more than anything else. Although I kept telling my friends, they continued to think I wasn’t serious. I’m pretty sure they thought it was just a cry for help. But it wasn’t. I was dedly serious. All I wanted was to simply run away. I was so done with being here. Here…was not the right place for me. I could feel it.
It is Friday.
Sometimes
the days are longer,
sometimes shorter.
The winter is cold
and sometimes hits home.
But if you get up
early enough,
the sun will rise,
and you will see that the days
roll slower,
the days heat warmer.
The leaves grow,
and fall,
once again,
never hitting the same spot
they have fallen before.
Oh and it’s dark now so
Dark
Climbing at the darkness but
Where
Where is out?
What is this-
No!
if I move forward toward a dream, then I have taken the right flight. May I find my actions take me to my dreams.
“Attention span, this is random idea, requesting access to the runway.”
“Roger, random idea, you’re cleared for takeoff.”
“Copy that, attention span, we’re taxiing now.”
“Careful, idea, you’re veering to one side too much, please correct your course.”
“Sorry about that, attention span, will correct our– ooh, something shiny!”
“Idea, please clear the runway.”
As soon as I closed the door as quietly as I could, I felt like a runaway. My feet went deep into the snow, making a satisfying crunch every step I took. I wouldn’t be back for a while, and for good reasons.
runway is the run wau to ythe run way is the run way to the waun ray is the run way to the tun may wauy jaio poap reehhapper lap zee boop dee bop lamp sheet sheep lamp lamp sheep sheep sheep sheep sheep ghoul ghoul ghoul ghoul sheep lamp poor more
I am standing on the runway and there are eyes. everywhere. watching me. Why? I am the object of eyes tonight it appears. Is that a new thing? I walk. I don’t trip, I don’t stumble. I am a model made of skin and bones and clothing. I am a dream and I am a ripped seam. I am a girl and I am a boy and I am on a runway looking at no one but the lights because the eyes seem to scare me.
How I’ve longed to drive a car that can give me the same rush of power felt when in a Boeing 767 as it accelerates, pressing into the wind, pushing to be airborne. I like power. I like flying. I like runways because they mean liftoff.
She looked over her shoulder at him, “We’re gonna be okay”
As they stood deathly still, they listen for footsteps coming around the alleyway, trying to suppress the chill slowly curling up their spines….
Run way. fashion. Battles. No wait. Why would there be a battle on a runway? I don’t know. That could be fun to watch though. Like a dull or something. WE COULD HAVE WANDS. OR MAYBE GUNS. OR BOTH. And since we would be on a runway we could be wearing fancy designer shoes? Maybe? That would be excellent. Let’s do it. Next thrusday sound fine?