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Opening his eyes, he didn't think, just put his foot forward onto the wooden dock, then the other - faster, running, bounding, the water's almost a breath away - three, two, one: leap!
I pressed my nose into the leather, breahed in deeply, slowly, completely, and out with a puff of warmth. This was how it should be.
He kissed her collar bone, gently, letting his lips linger on her skin in a mock of affection. And for a moment, just a second (she swears) she let herself believe he meant it. "I love you," he whispered.
I wound the ball of yarn nervously in my hands, slowling letting the string stretch out over my footsteps. I though this was something they only did in the movies, but now it was my lifeline.
The fire curled from his fist like a contained volcano, and lashed out in an angry snarl, clashing brilliantly with the water she pulled from the lake. He could see the fight in her eyes, and he wasn't backing down.
The lanter's lined the ominous corridor, but still I couldn't make out more than the shadow's thrown across the stone. There had to be a door somewhere, had to be an end. But maybe some light was too much to hope for now.
Mmmm, she sunk her teeth into the ham/cheese/chip sandwich with a satisfying 'crunch'. It tasted like summer, like swimming pools, and sun tan lotion, and sweet sweet freedom. "pass the root beer"
He made it with sticks and his mom's old bedsheet. He found the scissors in the kitchen drawer, the Yarn in his mother's sewing room. No one was around that saturday but the wind. And as he placed the sticks into an X and wrapped yarn around the end, he knew he didn't need anything else.
I looked for hours at that red balloon. First I saw it bobbing behind the corn dog stand with a pack of others: red, orange, green . . . I dug in my pockets for change but came up empty.