yardapeJV
Pull the camera out of your pocket, you don't want to miss this. In fact, don't miss anything. That way, you have it. Don't you want to have it?
The distant sound of a horn sailed over the hill, and that was the signal they were waiting for. The dirty, bloodied soldiers jumped to their feet, cried out together to the gods, and charged over that war torn hill, spears held high, which moments before had sat next to them in the mud.
Come on, Reverend, you owe us. The 226 ain't gonna forget what we've put in to this ghetto cathedral of yours. I'm sure God would want you to reward those who honor the church, right? So reward, Reverend, reward.
The doors open to a scene which caused Sandra to gasp. She knew there was an unwritten rule to look the other way in this speakeasy, not just when it came to booze, but to all things illegal. But by god, the debauchery she witnessed in those first steps into this heavily guarded boys club almost made her stomach turn.
Stealth is the artist's secret weapon, and lifeline. The artist needs to keep under the radar, never revealing why they made the piece, or what it means. That is, if they want to be famous.
The dull glow from the screen lit up the room, but only enough to pronounce shadows, to hint at the things in the room, to give your mind enough license to play tricks on you. Somehow, the room seemed darker in that light.
Plunged into the icy lake, time stopped for young Michael. "This is what God entering my body feels like?", he thought. "Cold, uncomfortable, and making my nose burn?" When reverend Josef pulled him back up, he felt no different, and the beaming smiles on his parents' faces from the shore broke his heart, in this moment and throughout his life.
Most of what's out there is a joke. But no one cares. If you don't like it, you can change stations. And you know what? You'll here the same crap on that station too. The illusion of choice, as they always say, is the right way to do business. Why innovate when you can just make it seem like you are?
It was a tough read, echoes of ghosts doomed to a fate they didn't see coming. When flipping through the ship's manifest, all I wanted to do was shout at the pages, "Don't port in Casa Nuestra, you fools!" And as the skeleton of the great tanker lumbered into view, one pothole littered block at a time, my internal screams grew louder, and so did the ghosts'.
Intent is the toughest thing to prove. We've got motive, we've got prints, but how the hell do you show this asshole intended to do anything more than scare her? I'm not a goddamn mindreader, are you?
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writing since 2013 · 25 entries · 25 days shown up
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