I glanced at the mocha that the funeral director served me. She made the cream shape itself into a heart.
“So, which one will it be for you?” she asked. “Chestnut or steel?”
A steel casket. Definitely steel.
Although I have completed to plan out my entire funeral, I feel as if it’s not fully completed.
I need more to do while I’m alive then just sit here and look at flowers and boxes for me. I need a set of goals to do, and list of things to complete before I expire. Something like a bucket list, perhaps.
there was a girl once who took the bucket down to the beach and collected a some sea shells and she met and guy and they started talking and he came to realize that she was pretty cute and amazing so he gave her his number and walked away leaving her blushing.
water, beach, cleaning, chemical, clothes, bucket, purple, paint, give away, dump, music, box
julz
Tenemos cosas pendientes, tengo unas cuantas apuntadas. Otras solo en mi memoria, cosas pendientes por hacer. Cosas que quiero hacer con vos.. Talvez un libro, talvez una película.
Son de ese tipo de cosas de las que me acuerdo.
Esa es mi lista de cosas por hacer, con vos.
Mónica
The same bucket that her grandfather had used for years on his bright red Chris Craft boat that he used for cleaning fish was now being used for the beautiful daisies that she picked and put on the dining room table.
Suz
water holder with in the people of earths lives. It can hold water, it can pour water it can be the one scarce thing that will behold the water.
aisling
I want to own a bucket. One that’s big and strong. One that can hold all the problems int he world. The wars and the hunger. I want one that’s small. Small enough that I don’t lose whats important. That I can always find what I’m looking for.
Jess
I once filled a bucket with sand and created a sand castle as a kid. i hoped to make one that could fill an entire beach but i was never able to do stick to one project for so long. Sometimes I would go to the beach and make many different smaller projects because I found smaller projects easier. It was my favorite part of the beach. :)
Jenn
There’s a bucket there with my name on it, literally and figuratively. Its contents are a scorpion and its prey, which I have supplied; today it’s a grasshopper. It’s my pet, and has been since my eleventh birthday.
Something is different about today, though. I feel like by the end of the day I won’t be able to stand it any longer, my mind will shatter, and I’ll thrust my hand into the bucket and let nature take its course.
He just…died. Passed on. Kicked the bucket. Said good bye to the world. And me? Well, I was stuck here in this shitty world with a bunch of closed-minded egotists that couldn’t care less about me. I had lost the one person who really enjoyed my company, the one person who made this painful existence somewhat bearable. And I didn’t even get to say good bye.
Isabelline
He filled the bucket with syrup. Thick, viscous syrup, sugary in nature. Pancakes were not to be his life. He wanted, needed, more. The business must be put behind if grander dreams were to be achieved. “Go,” he said to himself silently.
Dean Praetorius
It is that which contains all I need to do in this world. It contains the essence of life, both in reality and in wishes. It carries our hopes, dreams and a means to survive. Never, never kick it, else you will never be able to gather all that it holds.
Andrea Yoshida
i wish ihad a bucket with me right now. that way i
ll throw it on top of sergio. WAIT. it’ll have water in it forst. or else it would be completely pointless of me to do so. also i want a bucket of goldfish with me right now as well. yummymmyyyyyyyy. i love it. :) also i would like a bucket of warheads. even though it would completely split my tongue but i dont care at ALL. because i still think it tastes DELICIOUS. its the most mouthwatering thing in the whole wide world.
Aimee
It was rather surprising that his managed to fit inside the bucket at all. You would likely think, as he did, that wearing a size eleven should would absolve him of such odd occurrences.
Kate
Down in the buckets? Is that even a saying? Like when you’ve been friendzoned once again and you can’t figure out why all the boys think you’re a great friend. Maybe I just fall for the wrong guys. Maybe they can all just go fuck themselves….. This friendzone shit is crap.
Shelby
a bucket is full of nothing, or full of everything. whatever you put in it makes it become. whether or not you just let the bucket sit there and not be good for anything, or you fill it up with something special, is all up to you and that bucket. whether or not you decide to fill it up is on you, and only you.
jennifer carpenter
Buckets filled with sour apples from the orchard behind my grandfathers cabin, where we always go for the family reunion. This image is the first to come to my mind when I think of “up north”. Then I start to remember all of the other beautiful images, the trees, the remote star-lit sky, all the little caterpillars and butterflies…I can’t wait be there again.
Courtney
Bucket. A bucket sitting on a porch, perhaps containing icy water to keep our soda cans cool during the hot summer day. The whole neighborhood is sitting in the front yard, perhaps, and chatting about the community gossip. Perhaps the old doctor married a much younger nurse. Perhaps a little boy was caught stealing from the local store. Perhaps the bucket doesn’t exist at all, nor the water nor the soda nor the porch nor neighborhood. Perhaps.
MD
The bucket sat in the empty room on the second floor for days. Eventually she came and picked it up, where it was moved to the shed out back, where it would sit in the far corner to the left, and collect dust and a few cobwebs.
don’t think. just write. I am in a bucket with water over my head. it is a very big bucket. I believe in following my heart only my heart isn’t really showing me a way right now. not true: it shows A way; it shows MANY ways; it does not indicate WHICH way to choose. the human condition, right? love in so many forms. all equally valid? risk one for the sake of a chance?
L.V.Newc
I looked up at the ceiling of our worn-down apartment and swiftly placed another steel bucket underneath a water droplet that was precariously hanging above my head. The drop landed with a satisfying clang before I figured that I should probably do something about this mess in the first place.
What to do with it. A random bucket filled with random things just staring at me. Why did he even keep it? What could possibly possess him to keep a rusted bucket with a broken handle? And in what universe would a bucket contain a hodgepodge such as this: a lone shoe, a broken alarm clock, an old army helmet, and a rubber duck?
anonymous
There once was this bucket that sat in my backyard all day long. I never knew what to do with it. The bucket was a ripe blue color, like the color of my mother’s eyes in the sunlight. This bucket really was of no importance to me, but it glimmered in the sun.
Karis McBride
there was a bucket, a green one. fake plastic bucket for fake plastic trees. It had an elephant painted on it, a grey elephant. It was filled with water? What for? I don’t know. It is in the garden. It’s a big bucket.
Mariana
a bucket filled with mashed things like pomace for combustible fluid or cheap wine. I’d like to fill my bucket with jello and bathe my feet in it, squish the red (cherry jello please)
My bucket list. You were everywhere in it, everywhere in my future. Now your name is fading on the paper, like somone is burning away your imprint. If I throw water on the fire the paper will dissolve, how do I stop you from leaving when you are merely grains of sand slipping through my fingers?
This reminds me of when Elliott first showed me I can haz bukkit. I thought it was hilarious. We must have looked at that website for a solid hour, and I laughed so hard it hurt, I cried and there was no sound coming out.
We had good times. We had pain, but we had lots of times where we laughed so hard it hurt. And times we loved so hard it hurt.
Lisa
a bucket is a wonderful source of imagination; you can put anything inside. When you die you kick one, when you are thirsty you fill one. They tend to be brown, wooden, and lovely.
Megan
i think of a gray bucket. I think of what I use at work to wash all the surfaces. I think of the white muddy bucket outside my house that my dog drinks out of. I think that I need to wash the said bucket.
Chastity
there was a fog hanging in the town of crystal. the street was empty and the smell of lavender from a distance garden grew. there i saw a pile of dirt and a broken bucket.
Amanda
There was a bucket a boy had. He filled it with water. This was the 1930s so he had to go to his well on his farm and get some water for the cows. His parents were no where to be seen, and this boy though very lonely had his cows to keep him company. A
Brittany
There wasn’t much time to race to the well and come back again with a washed face, so I figured the bucket by the stool would be good as anything. The water was brown and probably diseased, but that didn’t matter at all. It must have been one hundred degrees outside, so I dunked my sweaty face into the bucket and hoped for the best.
It was a sunny lazy afternoon. Granma was making lunch and asked to wash the vegetables in the metal bucket with the pond water. Those where the best I’ve ever eaten to this day.
i kicked it. finally free from what i called my life. Pathetic. Fuck the corporate ladder and the american dream. nothing but bullshit. working hard will give you freedom my ass. Bucket.
Colton Adrian
The bucket sat on the floor in the middle of the room, waiting for the rain so it could catch drops of water from the ceilings leaking roof.
I cried myself to sleep last night. I cried because you left, and didn’t say a word. No goodbye, nothing at all. All I got with me is a bucket full of tears — tears because of you.
a bucket of water being poured on the head of a small innocent child. the person pouring the water was an old grumpy man with grey hair and small evil eyes.
kathleen
There once was a bucket that was used for many different things. It’s favorite was holding water and flowers for it’s owners. It’s favorite flowers were sun flowers. The bucket was happy it was valued as something, even if it was just a decoration.
I glanced at the mocha that the funeral director served me. She made the cream shape itself into a heart.
“So, which one will it be for you?” she asked. “Chestnut or steel?”
A steel casket. Definitely steel.
Although I have completed to plan out my entire funeral, I feel as if it’s not fully completed.
I need more to do while I’m alive then just sit here and look at flowers and boxes for me. I need a set of goals to do, and list of things to complete before I expire. Something like a bucket list, perhaps.
there was a girl once who took the bucket down to the beach and collected a some sea shells and she met and guy and they started talking and he came to realize that she was pretty cute and amazing so he gave her his number and walked away leaving her blushing.
He glanced at the hot mocha; the cream made a heart shape. It was still sitting there hot.
“So, which one do you like best?” she asked. “The chestnut or steel?”
Steel. Definitely steel.
Now that I have set up my last part of my funeral, I feel though not everything is complete just yet.
What may complete it is a list of things to do; maybe like goals. Maybe a bucket list.
water, beach, cleaning, chemical, clothes, bucket, purple, paint, give away, dump, music, box
Tenemos cosas pendientes, tengo unas cuantas apuntadas. Otras solo en mi memoria, cosas pendientes por hacer. Cosas que quiero hacer con vos.. Talvez un libro, talvez una película.
Son de ese tipo de cosas de las que me acuerdo.
Esa es mi lista de cosas por hacer, con vos.
The same bucket that her grandfather had used for years on his bright red Chris Craft boat that he used for cleaning fish was now being used for the beautiful daisies that she picked and put on the dining room table.
water holder with in the people of earths lives. It can hold water, it can pour water it can be the one scarce thing that will behold the water.
I want to own a bucket. One that’s big and strong. One that can hold all the problems int he world. The wars and the hunger. I want one that’s small. Small enough that I don’t lose whats important. That I can always find what I’m looking for.
I once filled a bucket with sand and created a sand castle as a kid. i hoped to make one that could fill an entire beach but i was never able to do stick to one project for so long. Sometimes I would go to the beach and make many different smaller projects because I found smaller projects easier. It was my favorite part of the beach. :)
There’s a bucket there with my name on it, literally and figuratively. Its contents are a scorpion and its prey, which I have supplied; today it’s a grasshopper. It’s my pet, and has been since my eleventh birthday.
Something is different about today, though. I feel like by the end of the day I won’t be able to stand it any longer, my mind will shatter, and I’ll thrust my hand into the bucket and let nature take its course.
He just…died. Passed on. Kicked the bucket. Said good bye to the world. And me? Well, I was stuck here in this shitty world with a bunch of closed-minded egotists that couldn’t care less about me. I had lost the one person who really enjoyed my company, the one person who made this painful existence somewhat bearable. And I didn’t even get to say good bye.
He filled the bucket with syrup. Thick, viscous syrup, sugary in nature. Pancakes were not to be his life. He wanted, needed, more. The business must be put behind if grander dreams were to be achieved. “Go,” he said to himself silently.
It is that which contains all I need to do in this world. It contains the essence of life, both in reality and in wishes. It carries our hopes, dreams and a means to survive. Never, never kick it, else you will never be able to gather all that it holds.
i wish ihad a bucket with me right now. that way i
ll throw it on top of sergio. WAIT. it’ll have water in it forst. or else it would be completely pointless of me to do so. also i want a bucket of goldfish with me right now as well. yummymmyyyyyyyy. i love it. :) also i would like a bucket of warheads. even though it would completely split my tongue but i dont care at ALL. because i still think it tastes DELICIOUS. its the most mouthwatering thing in the whole wide world.
It was rather surprising that his managed to fit inside the bucket at all. You would likely think, as he did, that wearing a size eleven should would absolve him of such odd occurrences.
Down in the buckets? Is that even a saying? Like when you’ve been friendzoned once again and you can’t figure out why all the boys think you’re a great friend. Maybe I just fall for the wrong guys. Maybe they can all just go fuck themselves….. This friendzone shit is crap.
a bucket is full of nothing, or full of everything. whatever you put in it makes it become. whether or not you just let the bucket sit there and not be good for anything, or you fill it up with something special, is all up to you and that bucket. whether or not you decide to fill it up is on you, and only you.
Buckets filled with sour apples from the orchard behind my grandfathers cabin, where we always go for the family reunion. This image is the first to come to my mind when I think of “up north”. Then I start to remember all of the other beautiful images, the trees, the remote star-lit sky, all the little caterpillars and butterflies…I can’t wait be there again.
Bucket. A bucket sitting on a porch, perhaps containing icy water to keep our soda cans cool during the hot summer day. The whole neighborhood is sitting in the front yard, perhaps, and chatting about the community gossip. Perhaps the old doctor married a much younger nurse. Perhaps a little boy was caught stealing from the local store. Perhaps the bucket doesn’t exist at all, nor the water nor the soda nor the porch nor neighborhood. Perhaps.
The bucket sat in the empty room on the second floor for days. Eventually she came and picked it up, where it was moved to the shed out back, where it would sit in the far corner to the left, and collect dust and a few cobwebs.
the bucket list. starring morgan freeman. in a perfect world morgan freeman would narrate every movie/show and audio book. yeah dats right.
don’t think. just write. I am in a bucket with water over my head. it is a very big bucket. I believe in following my heart only my heart isn’t really showing me a way right now. not true: it shows A way; it shows MANY ways; it does not indicate WHICH way to choose. the human condition, right? love in so many forms. all equally valid? risk one for the sake of a chance?
I looked up at the ceiling of our worn-down apartment and swiftly placed another steel bucket underneath a water droplet that was precariously hanging above my head. The drop landed with a satisfying clang before I figured that I should probably do something about this mess in the first place.
What to do with it. A random bucket filled with random things just staring at me. Why did he even keep it? What could possibly possess him to keep a rusted bucket with a broken handle? And in what universe would a bucket contain a hodgepodge such as this: a lone shoe, a broken alarm clock, an old army helmet, and a rubber duck?
There once was this bucket that sat in my backyard all day long. I never knew what to do with it. The bucket was a ripe blue color, like the color of my mother’s eyes in the sunlight. This bucket really was of no importance to me, but it glimmered in the sun.
there was a bucket, a green one. fake plastic bucket for fake plastic trees. It had an elephant painted on it, a grey elephant. It was filled with water? What for? I don’t know. It is in the garden. It’s a big bucket.
a bucket filled with mashed things like pomace for combustible fluid or cheap wine. I’d like to fill my bucket with jello and bathe my feet in it, squish the red (cherry jello please)
My bucket list. You were everywhere in it, everywhere in my future. Now your name is fading on the paper, like somone is burning away your imprint. If I throw water on the fire the paper will dissolve, how do I stop you from leaving when you are merely grains of sand slipping through my fingers?
This reminds me of when Elliott first showed me I can haz bukkit. I thought it was hilarious. We must have looked at that website for a solid hour, and I laughed so hard it hurt, I cried and there was no sound coming out.
We had good times. We had pain, but we had lots of times where we laughed so hard it hurt. And times we loved so hard it hurt.
a bucket is a wonderful source of imagination; you can put anything inside. When you die you kick one, when you are thirsty you fill one. They tend to be brown, wooden, and lovely.
i think of a gray bucket. I think of what I use at work to wash all the surfaces. I think of the white muddy bucket outside my house that my dog drinks out of. I think that I need to wash the said bucket.
there was a fog hanging in the town of crystal. the street was empty and the smell of lavender from a distance garden grew. there i saw a pile of dirt and a broken bucket.
There was a bucket a boy had. He filled it with water. This was the 1930s so he had to go to his well on his farm and get some water for the cows. His parents were no where to be seen, and this boy though very lonely had his cows to keep him company. A
There wasn’t much time to race to the well and come back again with a washed face, so I figured the bucket by the stool would be good as anything. The water was brown and probably diseased, but that didn’t matter at all. It must have been one hundred degrees outside, so I dunked my sweaty face into the bucket and hoped for the best.
It was a sunny lazy afternoon. Granma was making lunch and asked to wash the vegetables in the metal bucket with the pond water. Those where the best I’ve ever eaten to this day.
i kicked it. finally free from what i called my life. Pathetic. Fuck the corporate ladder and the american dream. nothing but bullshit. working hard will give you freedom my ass. Bucket.
The bucket sat on the floor in the middle of the room, waiting for the rain so it could catch drops of water from the ceilings leaking roof.
I cried myself to sleep last night. I cried because you left, and didn’t say a word. No goodbye, nothing at all. All I got with me is a bucket full of tears — tears because of you.
a bucket of water being poured on the head of a small innocent child. the person pouring the water was an old grumpy man with grey hair and small evil eyes.
There once was a bucket that was used for many different things. It’s favorite was holding water and flowers for it’s owners. It’s favorite flowers were sun flowers. The bucket was happy it was valued as something, even if it was just a decoration.