schermanfreak
"Dehydration!"
"Is no fun!"
I thought to myself as my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth once more. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and sat down on the nearest rock, my hiking boots crunching in the sandstone gravel.
"Damn you," I told myself, "You should've brought more water. You should've told someone where you were going. You should've thought this through!" But berating myself would do me no good. I stood up and resumed my search for the trail, for water, for civilization.
Plans. We make them all our lives. From the moment we're born our parents figure out what to do with us. When we go to school, we work hard so we can follow our plans to go to a good college so we can follow our plans to get a good job so we can make money and live well enough to send our kids to a good college so they can have a good job and make enough money. We plan for the future. We plan so much that we don't actually live in the moment.
"I'll give it," she said to the man who held her life in his hands. Her life as well as her children's lives. "Just don't do anything to hurt them. I'll give the statement the way you want it given."
Sweeny swung the razor. Farewell, sir.
Orange. Like the number five.
His shirt. It was the perfect color. His blue eyes looked magnificent against the fabric.
She held onto the microphone like the edge of a cliff. Though she breathed quickly, it felt like she couldn't get enough oxygen into her body. Faces in the crowd blurred into one massive hostile body waiting for her to act, waiting for her to provoke it so it could attack. The microphone slipped out of her hand to the floor and the speakers thundered with the impact. An individual disentangled itself from the blurry monster and helped her off the stage as she mumbled apologies and thank yous and pleases and anything else that came to mind.
She was lucky to have pulled her headphones out of her ears when she had. Any later and the bus would've crushed her. It was a different story for that small animal, though. All that remained of it was and unrecognizable mass of flesh.
He'd never admit it, but she glowed with a light he'd never seen before.
He looked through the small kitchen window out to the old woman's garden. He pictured her bending low despite the pain, patting the moist soil down bare-handed. He pictured her murmuring lovingly to the plants, giving them more care than she'd ever given him. He shook his head, driving out these images. He turned to the door, grabbed the last box of stuff that smelled of old lady, and locked the door behind him.
Towering higher than anything she'd ever seen before, the tree seemed to touch the sky. It must've been ancient. She wished it could tell her of the things it had seen, the changes it had been witness to. It was magnificent.
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