scissormirror
He was a mole. I knew this, and yet I let myself be swept away by him. I fell into his trap, his sly words creating a reality existing only in my dreams. When the time came when he was exposed, I felt only sadness.
The door was closing, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. No lever to pull, no magic 'stop' button-- there was nothing. I took a deep breath and walked away from the finality of it all, my feet dragging on the way home.
To shoot to kill. That was the basic idea of the mission, and yet somehow I had managed to screw it up within seconds. A shot to the target's shoulder was all I managed from my position, much to my own shame and humiliation. I'd be paid in full for this later.
I stepped into the darkroom, and the door to the light slammed shut behind me. Taking a deep breath, I stretched out my hands, and touched a soft fabric. I pulled myself towards it and settled into your embrace.
The stuff you spread on toast. The stuff you make into Jello. The stuff you can lube up with. The stuff that accumulates on the top of old meat.
Good stuff, that jelly.
Wouldn't it be cool if we all had something like a Rorschach mask? One that doesn't have a consistent print or pattern? That would be totally badass. Except, maybe there would be a lot more robberies happening....D:
He leaned against me, careless, excited breath in my ear as we fell through the sky. I clutched my parachute straps, feeling the air whip my cheeks and toss my hair while we plummeted.
Once upon a time there lived a man with clumsy fingers. He was always dropping everything he picked up. One day, as he was walking down the beachfront, he picked up a small shell. Naturally, it tumbled from his hands. It was picked up a small child, who took it and ran off with a smile. He was glad for his clumsiness that day.