channelingramona
the gleaming statuette on the counter represented not that she had beat the competition, but that she had beat her own badness. that was what the program was for, was it not?
they break bones. the moral of the story has only ever been just that. but misery business is just that of words, like the ones creeping from my keyboard and scrolling across the screen. they hurt.
hat tipped, the sipping noise form the tea glass strong beneath the drinker's lips. a few blurred figures subsiding and growing in the heat like seagulls across a sea. the drinker sat on the beach, awaiting them to peck him out. the sand blew in his face and he squinted.
again, the murderous applause slashing and clashing through the untamed chorus of laughs and whistles. it had become a repetition for the grinning line of flamboyant architects on stage. the theatre rang with the love for the cast