explodingspider
I can't fix what isn't broken. These fault lines are not perfect; but they are beautiful. Each crack in the earth exposes bare rock -- beautiful molten soul.
He stared at the pattern across the broken, scarred subway wall. Four lettered words littered its surface, a pattern of hate, rage, love, hope and help. He willed it to change, but the it still remains until the rat, the man, the sickness dies.
She wiped her floured hands along the sides of her already smeared apron. Her smile was dotted with bits of flour, a streak of chocolate along the side of her face. She smiled sugar and perfection.
I opened the back of the car slowly. I knew what as back there, but I was trying to convince myself it wouldn't look as bad as it did. It would have worked too if it hadn't smelt so awful. "Yep," I said. "That would be Mrs. Darling. Or at least, what's left of her. How long have you left her in here?"
There was a faint glimmer in her eye as she gazed out across the water. It was as if the sun dancing on the wave crests were glinting back at her, broken only by the foam that kissed the side of the boat.
I thought she was dumb at first, the way her eyes were all glazed over when I asked her if she knew whose dead dog that was out in the middle of the street. But then I realized she hadn't even heard the sound of its body hitting the pavement, and couldn't hear me screaming at her anymore than she'd heard the accident. She was halfway across the avenue when she finally noticed that the poor thing was dead and she was about to be hit by a speeding milkman.