The table stood haphazardly in the middle of the room. It’s knotted wood recalled times past, dinners spent, family memories. One leg more wobbly than the last, but isn’t that like family?
Nicole
she sat on the table, looking outside at the down cast weather, the rain beating the windows. what was she going to do? 8 years had passed and he was still after her.
empireofthesun
Sitting at the dinner table, I pick at my food as my parents give me lectures on life and boring things I don’t pay attention to. My kitchen table is covered in all of my school books, unorganized, piled, all over even after my parents begged me to clean them up. Moving into my new house, we bought all new tables. A dining room table, coffee table, kitchen table, fancytable for the family room, and even a table for eating outside. Such a variety of tables. Marble tables, wood tables, glass tables, so many. And who would think that without tables, we would go crazy. Where would we eat or do work? I wonder what the cavemen did with out tables…
Lacey Larkin
I saw the assorted figures and equations in the damn table, exact absolute infinite approximations, nuances of reality.
Breaking the world down by infinity and zero, as Laplace and Fourier had done….
I’m using one. For my laptop. It’s not the most interesting thing ever, but it gets the job done. Good for pounding out my frustrations on with my fists, for banging my head against once I feel like my skull is going to explode from studying, for ranting away my anger over dinner to an audience as enraptured by my fury as I was by the idiocy of the subject matter.
The grain has seen so much time and energy. From the saw to the giggling child playing hide-n-seek. It sits there, bearing the load and being an integral part of the family memories. Yet, it remains forgotten.
The soid base held strong through the yrears as the table has put again and again books droopped by unwilling students
Jennifer
We want a new one. Large, enough to seat a team of football or a host of angels. Pale wood. The kind that used to inhabit farmhouses years ago; aged with worm and inscribed with knorls and whirls and the penknives of lovers.
When I was a little boy, I used to sit on tables. I don’t know why, I just did. It was entertaining. It had some sort of excitement to it. I loved it. One day, however, the table broke.
Matt
Once in a while I wake up from a dream and realize that I have been sitting at a table with very wise, old men. My first feeling is that of joy because I am thinking this: “So that is the secret to the universe! Thank you so much for sharing that with me.” Then just as I try to remember what the answer to the universe is…it fades. The most important information in the world and it evaporates before I know what it is. And I am left with this … I am grateful that I was shown that there is an answer out there, somewhere.
Peaceable
I gave him a table. “This is the best thing anyone has ever given me,” he said. I blushed and thanked God he appreciates it.
The table stood haphazardly in the middle of the room. It’s knotted wood recalled times past, dinners spent, family memories. One leg more wobbly than the last, but isn’t that like family?
she sat on the table, looking outside at the down cast weather, the rain beating the windows. what was she going to do? 8 years had passed and he was still after her.
Sitting at the dinner table, I pick at my food as my parents give me lectures on life and boring things I don’t pay attention to. My kitchen table is covered in all of my school books, unorganized, piled, all over even after my parents begged me to clean them up. Moving into my new house, we bought all new tables. A dining room table, coffee table, kitchen table, fancytable for the family room, and even a table for eating outside. Such a variety of tables. Marble tables, wood tables, glass tables, so many. And who would think that without tables, we would go crazy. Where would we eat or do work? I wonder what the cavemen did with out tables…
I saw the assorted figures and equations in the damn table, exact absolute infinite approximations, nuances of reality.
Breaking the world down by infinity and zero, as Laplace and Fourier had done….
I’m using one. For my laptop. It’s not the most interesting thing ever, but it gets the job done. Good for pounding out my frustrations on with my fists, for banging my head against once I feel like my skull is going to explode from studying, for ranting away my anger over dinner to an audience as enraptured by my fury as I was by the idiocy of the subject matter.
The grain has seen so much time and energy. From the saw to the giggling child playing hide-n-seek. It sits there, bearing the load and being an integral part of the family memories. Yet, it remains forgotten.
The soid base held strong through the yrears as the table has put again and again books droopped by unwilling students
We want a new one. Large, enough to seat a team of football or a host of angels. Pale wood. The kind that used to inhabit farmhouses years ago; aged with worm and inscribed with knorls and whirls and the penknives of lovers.
When I was a little boy, I used to sit on tables. I don’t know why, I just did. It was entertaining. It had some sort of excitement to it. I loved it. One day, however, the table broke.
Once in a while I wake up from a dream and realize that I have been sitting at a table with very wise, old men. My first feeling is that of joy because I am thinking this: “So that is the secret to the universe! Thank you so much for sharing that with me.” Then just as I try to remember what the answer to the universe is…it fades. The most important information in the world and it evaporates before I know what it is. And I am left with this … I am grateful that I was shown that there is an answer out there, somewhere.
I gave him a table. “This is the best thing anyone has ever given me,” he said. I blushed and thanked God he appreciates it.