A persistent rattle. “What IS that?!” Bunny wondered. She cocked her air-brushed head, tried to narrow down the source of the sound. A door handle? a window latch? a snake’s tail? the old man’s teeth? or his bones? or Oh God not the death rattle! Bunny sprung from her chair, started toward the bedroom door. Just past the dresser, she stopped. She slid the top drawer open, saw her vibrator jigging around her peek-a-boo bras. “Oh silly me!”
His body smashed the wardrobe in the hall. Rattle was so loud, it woken up all of them. “They are coming.” Gin whispered, shaking “We are all going to d…”. He had no possibility to end up his sentence, as silver sword pierced his throat ripping his vocal chords into pieces.
His screaming voice rattles the sleeping household with two severely hungover women and a teenage girl who hasn’t seemed to get nearly enough sleep.
“Pancakes! Get up and let’s get breakfast!”
I sigh in my pillow as this fifty year old man throws a temper tantrum like a child, disturbing the little sleep I received.
there you are, bouncing around in my thoughts
you rattle like a serpent
but there’s no threat there
only an ache, a silent scream
ceaseless, endless
always present,
always desperate
ever mindful of your place in my mind, in my heart
making your claim on my soul
His brain was blank. Nothing. Zilch. Maybe a cigarette would help. What’s wrong? Nothing. Nothing, as usual. What’s going on? Artist’s Block? The smoke rolled around… and numbed him. He shivered.
Moylin
“We gotta shake rattle and roll!” The prom kings and queens rose on this night to boogie down one more time, before they rested their heads in a dirt grave. Non-survivors from all sorts of prom night disasters came to the Prom of the Undead.
I see a baby with a rattle. He loves to just listen to the noise it makes and then tries to eat it. To be a baby again would be strange.
Melissa
She walked, plodding on with steady feet, never faltering in where she was going. The sound caught her off guard, seemed to come out of no where. The small, shrubby bush by her feet exploded, and she felt the pain from the bite. Tears stung her eyes, water she couldn’t afford to lose. She was going to die out here, alone in the desert.
Rae
she rattles the bars of the cell. no one approaches,. she’s alone, abandones. and she knows that she’ll die here, that no one will come rescue her. and she’s esigned to her fate, but she cnnot help but try. escape has been her dream since forever, but its a dream she wont act towards and so she’s stuck here, for good, for ever.
meens
My heart rattles around in its chest like a dry seed in a husk. Dry as the desert, dry as the sun. Skin blackened to a crisp, bones and teeth burnt blinding white.
It was impossible to see why he liked her. Why he couldn’t like me. My hands shook with jealousy the way bones rattle when its cold. I couldn’t contain myself, I’ve never felt so rejected, so I walked away tears streaming heavily.
the snake rattled its tail at me and scared me where I sat. I didn’t want to disturb it but I was scared. I really didn’t know what to do so I prayed.
Melissa
You uttered those few words,
And my ears prickled, hot and angry
My fists clenched around that sentence
Reeking with injustice
My already frayed nerves
Explosively snapped
Your audacity birthed the lightning from my eyes
You rattled my temper.
Jacklin
Flipping through that new magazine and watching the rattle of traffic through the large glass windows. They were playing behind me, but I didn’t watch; I only listened. Across the street, several ladies passed wearing red dresses and purple hats, on their way to the theater, no doubt. I thought of my grandma and sipped my overpriced iced mocha. When did I grow up?
I really wish for the first time I try this site I would know the meening of the word.. To me it sounds like those broomsticks to pick up the leaves although I know that’s not it.
iliah
He’s rattled by his inability to think. He cannot focus. He cannot put together the puzzle pieces of memory and intuition and knowing. He is confused, and unknowing. There is something he must remember, but what? What must he do?
Jessica
to rattle off things it what comes to my mind. to rattle off words or sentences of any kind. or to rattle an item of some sort. rattle. rattle things off.
Jette
Seattle in a bank heist
we’re rattled but not giving up
until someone stakes a claim, slams
the gavel down and says y’all go home — no money, no coins: Tackle your guilty conscience first.
Cy Margucci
John had snuck back into Mycroft’s sitting room after dinner, and had pulled out yet another book of old photos. Not nearly SO old this time, however, as they were printed in color with only a little bit of a grainy texture. The dates in the corners confirmed, 1970s. He flipped through pictures of a happy nuclear family dressed in only the finest of garb; their ten-year-old son was holding a newborn. The parents regarded each other with a cold fondness. The young boy, John presumed Mycroft, was the only one in the picture who still had the nerve to smile. He was beaming down at his new baby brother, like he was the most cherished posession in the world.
A few pages later, and the date showed 06 01 1974. An infant with matted dark curls sat in a high seat, his face smothered in cake. In one hand he held more out to his brother, in the other hand he tightly gripped at a giant, old-fashioned magnifying glass. “Happy 1st Birthday,” the banner on his chair read.
John smiled and tried not to get emotional at the sight, a young budding detective with this glass as his plaything instead of any ordinary baby’s rattle. He wondered what had happened to these two brothers and their family, which forced them into the strained relationship they had now.
A persistent rattle. “What IS that?!” Bunny wondered. She cocked her air-brushed head, tried to narrow down the source of the sound. A door handle? a window latch? a snake’s tail? the old man’s teeth? or his bones? or Oh God not the death rattle! Bunny sprung from her chair, started toward the bedroom door. Just past the dresser, she stopped. She slid the top drawer open, saw her vibrator jigging around her peek-a-boo bras. “Oh silly me!”
Snakes and babies.
His body smashed the wardrobe in the hall. Rattle was so loud, it woken up all of them. “They are coming.” Gin whispered, shaking “We are all going to d…”. He had no possibility to end up his sentence, as silver sword pierced his throat ripping his vocal chords into pieces.
His screaming voice rattles the sleeping household with two severely hungover women and a teenage girl who hasn’t seemed to get nearly enough sleep.
“Pancakes! Get up and let’s get breakfast!”
I sigh in my pillow as this fifty year old man throws a temper tantrum like a child, disturbing the little sleep I received.
there you are, bouncing around in my thoughts
you rattle like a serpent
but there’s no threat there
only an ache, a silent scream
ceaseless, endless
always present,
always desperate
ever mindful of your place in my mind, in my heart
making your claim on my soul
His brain was blank. Nothing. Zilch. Maybe a cigarette would help. What’s wrong? Nothing. Nothing, as usual. What’s going on? Artist’s Block? The smoke rolled around… and numbed him. He shivered.
“We gotta shake rattle and roll!” The prom kings and queens rose on this night to boogie down one more time, before they rested their heads in a dirt grave. Non-survivors from all sorts of prom night disasters came to the Prom of the Undead.
I see a baby with a rattle. He loves to just listen to the noise it makes and then tries to eat it. To be a baby again would be strange.
She walked, plodding on with steady feet, never faltering in where she was going. The sound caught her off guard, seemed to come out of no where. The small, shrubby bush by her feet exploded, and she felt the pain from the bite. Tears stung her eyes, water she couldn’t afford to lose. She was going to die out here, alone in the desert.
she rattles the bars of the cell. no one approaches,. she’s alone, abandones. and she knows that she’ll die here, that no one will come rescue her. and she’s esigned to her fate, but she cnnot help but try. escape has been her dream since forever, but its a dream she wont act towards and so she’s stuck here, for good, for ever.
My heart rattles around in its chest like a dry seed in a husk. Dry as the desert, dry as the sun. Skin blackened to a crisp, bones and teeth burnt blinding white.
It was impossible to see why he liked her. Why he couldn’t like me. My hands shook with jealousy the way bones rattle when its cold. I couldn’t contain myself, I’ve never felt so rejected, so I walked away tears streaming heavily.
One word. Again?
the snake rattled its tail at me and scared me where I sat. I didn’t want to disturb it but I was scared. I really didn’t know what to do so I prayed.
You uttered those few words,
And my ears prickled, hot and angry
My fists clenched around that sentence
Reeking with injustice
My already frayed nerves
Explosively snapped
Your audacity birthed the lightning from my eyes
You rattled my temper.
Flipping through that new magazine and watching the rattle of traffic through the large glass windows. They were playing behind me, but I didn’t watch; I only listened. Across the street, several ladies passed wearing red dresses and purple hats, on their way to the theater, no doubt. I thought of my grandma and sipped my overpriced iced mocha. When did I grow up?
I really wish for the first time I try this site I would know the meening of the word.. To me it sounds like those broomsticks to pick up the leaves although I know that’s not it.
He’s rattled by his inability to think. He cannot focus. He cannot put together the puzzle pieces of memory and intuition and knowing. He is confused, and unknowing. There is something he must remember, but what? What must he do?
to rattle off things it what comes to my mind. to rattle off words or sentences of any kind. or to rattle an item of some sort. rattle. rattle things off.
Seattle in a bank heist
we’re rattled but not giving up
until someone stakes a claim, slams
the gavel down and says y’all go home — no money, no coins: Tackle your guilty conscience first.
John had snuck back into Mycroft’s sitting room after dinner, and had pulled out yet another book of old photos. Not nearly SO old this time, however, as they were printed in color with only a little bit of a grainy texture. The dates in the corners confirmed, 1970s. He flipped through pictures of a happy nuclear family dressed in only the finest of garb; their ten-year-old son was holding a newborn. The parents regarded each other with a cold fondness. The young boy, John presumed Mycroft, was the only one in the picture who still had the nerve to smile. He was beaming down at his new baby brother, like he was the most cherished posession in the world.
A few pages later, and the date showed 06 01 1974. An infant with matted dark curls sat in a high seat, his face smothered in cake. In one hand he held more out to his brother, in the other hand he tightly gripped at a giant, old-fashioned magnifying glass. “Happy 1st Birthday,” the banner on his chair read.
John smiled and tried not to get emotional at the sight, a young budding detective with this glass as his plaything instead of any ordinary baby’s rattle. He wondered what had happened to these two brothers and their family, which forced them into the strained relationship they had now.