The tank was full and it was time to go. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but away. Eliza pointed her truck south because south seemed as good a direction as any, and she thought she could follow the geese she saw heading out in a perfect V.
in the fish tank was this lonely fish.mind you this fish is our soul
lost in this immense space without a sense of belonging .must we not do something to rid ourselves of this loneliness
Siddharth
The tank, a beasterious manipulator of war, was created for the deformation of man and man’s greatest prie, his buildings. The English
Sox
tank is a funny word. its meaning varies in differnt way. one tank means a big metal box which is movable used in war and another is a holder to store water. now both are useful but you have to decide – how?
Shraboni
I would love to make love in a tank! Tanks are so sexy. One day, my girlfriend, on my birthday, appeared inside a tank that had a red bow on it. Since, I’ve loved thanks.
lalala
car
engine
gun
cannon
camo
army
soldier
green
brown
war
world
german
british
allies
axis
Nate
car
something to hold liquid
it can also be a very, meaning to store something within a bottle or a jar
christy
She sat before the fish tank for hours watching the fish and memories flooded her mind of her grandfather. The time her spent with his fish, and with her as a child.
The approaching tanks across the fire ridden ground were like blisters appearing across burning skin, shining white in the sun and rumbling like hungry dogs.
We had to stay away for now, our time would come later. The tanks could crush but if we were close enough, we could fight back.
Tanks are made to crush us, to defeat us, to make us kneel in the mud before the power of those who drive them. Tanks are ugly, rolling across the land they look like blisters on burnt skin. They are driven
me
It was during World War II that my grandfather drove a tank. Such a horrendous time. Seeing young men do the same nowadays makes me wonder where it will all end.
The tank rolled over the man’s head and it burst like fruit underfoot. The tattered remnants of his skin clung to the rippled tank tracks and flopped lazily around, stuck there, as it trundled away. He probably shouldn’t have been walking his dog in an army base.
It was all Callan could do to keep from whimpering at the sound of skulls crushing under the treads of the diabolical thing. He had never caught more than a glimpse of it, of shining metal and dried blood, but he had heard plenty of the sounds it made as it rolled over everything he had known and loved.
“Bring them in!” he screams, too far gone to even think. All they can do is stare. No one moves for a moment and then, the horrible creaking of long rusted gears and wheels sounds like a gunshot through the field and a rumble is felt in the ground. They approach.
Hannah
It seemed like all my memories were contained in a tank, of sorts.
The funny thing is that I never keep them locked away all in one place.
Some are transcribed in code, some are under lock and key, and some are all three.
While there are others open and free to read, if you know how to find them.
Still I cull them till only the good ones remain.
The more boring, somewhat immature ones?
Yes, I fed them some of those to the flames.
Looking at the tank upside down its so strange to understand the role gravity plays in our lives. The water stays put and the fish float aimlessely, upside down. Looking at the tank from where I’m sitting, my back where my butt should be and my head in replacement of my feet, everything looks like its been glued to everything else. In fact, the water being held looks like its almost coming toward me. The pressure on my head is persisting and my stomach is staring to feel sick but I’m still looking at that upside down fish tank wondering why we don’t call the surface the bottom.
I am not empty. I am full. I am power and energy. My wreckage will be my past and beauty my future. I will charge relentlessly into the unknown and be unstoppable with my pursuit.
the tank that thanked the nicest of fish,
for without his boxed wish,
for his home is a watery bliss,
to the creatures he will always love and always miss.
“You live in a tank?”
“Basically. Want to see it?” She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the treeline. Beyond sat a rusty old army tank, with pink and white graffiti mushrooms all over the outside.
Green, brown, large, and destructive. They roll down the street. Their images cast shadows over weary faces. So loud. So iconic. So horrible. Why?
Haley
knat
Luis Enrique
you became a tank, i cant see what is inside you and you ‘re destroying me
Luis Enrique
I watched helplessly as his the meter on his supply tank dropped closer and closer to empty. Please, please, please, I thought, make it back safe. I could only watch through the glass pane as he scrambled to find a way out, an escape from this chaos. His frantic eyes searching everywhere. His eyes soon found their way to mine, and he suddenly calmed. His eyes bore into mine, searching my soul. He seemed to have some found that satisfied him, and too quickly was his loving stare replaced with the back of the his body.
“C’mon, everyone! Buck up!” Bentham doesn’t think he could reach out to all of them and give them a good shake- and he’s not sure he really wants to. He knows they all have their own ghosts plaguing their thoughts, their own doubts creeping behind their shoulders and sing-songing into their ears. He knows it’s easy enough to be *afraid*, but he doesn’t want to be afraid.
“We’ll get right to the bottom of this. You’ll see, we’ll have it cracked eventually. Isn’t that right, Rousseau?”
“Since when did you get so sanguine,” Rousseau sneers but says nothing else. They’re all on some precarious clifftop, waiting for the next light breeze to billow them to one side and plunge them into an abyss. He sees it behind their eyes. Bentham thinks he can hold his ground. Bentham resolves to be unshakable. This is what they were picked for.
the little boy’s eyes were traffic lights when he stood by the dusty tracks
the shaft of the guns were all aimed and locked
but all he could do was stand in one place-
paralyzed
I stare at the screen; four more questions. I’m running on empty. My emotions today have been drained, and my tank holds only vacant space but for a few measly drops… are they tears? Sweat? Blood? Knowing how these late nights go, I can only guess some gruesome mixture of the three. I lay my head down in defeat and let out the last little bit of feeling held in my tank; it erupts in a wave of self-pity. Oh, how I wish I could be strong again.
The man was dunked in the tank and held there for ten seconds before he’s lifted out.
“How do you plead?” the priest asks before the man could catch his breath.
“I never-,” he started before he was immersed in the water again. Th torture went on for hours. Always the same question and always the same reaction. Only when he finally broke down and sobbingly admitted that he was a witch was he allowed to die.
The priest prayed for his sins as the last air bubbles escaped the drowning man the final word was uttered.
“You know what we’re doing is illegal” said Truman. “We’re selling tanks to Canada”.
“When is the last time you’ve been deterred by ‘illegal’?” Roman didn’t even look up from the magazine.
Stringer Bell
There was a tank in the corner filled with tiny tropical fish. He would spend hours watching it, to calm himself. Some days, depending on his mood, he would watch the cat instead, as it stared up at the large glass lunchbox that was beyond its reach.
tonykeyesjapan
She stood before the large tank, resolute in her determination. The tank inched towards her, the drivers of the vehicle undeterred by her act of protest. Shutting her eyes, she readied herself for her cause. And so, she became a martyr.
anonymouse
Tank. What is there to say about tank? It rhymes with Hank. The name of my very favourite character on Breaking Bad. Which rhymes with sad. Which is what I am now that it’s over. What am I supposed to watch now? That show ate up my days off for like a month. I binge watched. Now what? Tanks.
The fish tank shattered as he swung his baseball at it. “Stop! Don’t do that!” A woman yells at him as she hurries to save the poor fish. She pushes him out of the way and puts the fish in a bowl.
The tank lay like a felled giant in the desert, one set of wheels sandwiched between the gray rocks. It stood empty and abandoned, a relic of some time when law and order made sense, before they gave way to the violence and the brutality.
There was an old house with a big backyard. No one dared to enter there. The house was really old. With broken everything, garden that looked like savages. They say they can hear voices at night but nobody was there.
One time some children played there. Hide and seek. It was so much fun. They don’t care what other people say. Haunted? Let’s see. That’s what they said. Then a boy joined them. Around their age. they made friends with him and they played, and played until it was dark and ready to go home.
One man about 40 years old was looking at the kids.He asked them if they were friends with the boy, they said yes and went home.He was confused because the boy was 10 years dead already and he owned the house. He died at the big water tank at the backyard when he was playing and drowned.
My tank is empty. I am running on fumes. There is not gas, no energy, nothing. I can do no more and intend to do less. Good night oneworders, sleep well.
Drivven Wrinth
His words charged at me so quickly that I couldn’t dodge them. And I didn’t want to dodge them. Because each missile gave me a short sensation that I was alive, that I could feel with my skin and I could breathe with my lungs; hot tremors of morality hitting me all at once. He always came at me like a tank. He always came at me in armor.
He was tanked, there was no doubt about it. He stumbled as he came into the room; his eyes were bloodshot and bleary and he wore a sheepish smile.
The tank was full and it was time to go. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but away. Eliza pointed her truck south because south seemed as good a direction as any, and she thought she could follow the geese she saw heading out in a perfect V.
From the water tank at the back of the hostel, she took out the box wrapped in plastic and looked over her shoulder again.
Travelers leave the strangest things, she thought.
In the office, she locked the door and poured a tall slug of whiskey. Bloody backpackers, she thought. What have you left behind this time?
in the fish tank was this lonely fish.mind you this fish is our soul
lost in this immense space without a sense of belonging .must we not do something to rid ourselves of this loneliness
The tank, a beasterious manipulator of war, was created for the deformation of man and man’s greatest prie, his buildings. The English
tank is a funny word. its meaning varies in differnt way. one tank means a big metal box which is movable used in war and another is a holder to store water. now both are useful but you have to decide – how?
I would love to make love in a tank! Tanks are so sexy. One day, my girlfriend, on my birthday, appeared inside a tank that had a red bow on it. Since, I’ve loved thanks.
car
engine
gun
cannon
camo
army
soldier
green
brown
war
world
german
british
allies
axis
car
something to hold liquid
it can also be a very, meaning to store something within a bottle or a jar
She sat before the fish tank for hours watching the fish and memories flooded her mind of her grandfather. The time her spent with his fish, and with her as a child.
water tank should not be confused with the weapon system called a tank In WW@ the Germans used Panzer for tank
The Russians used the T34 for its main battle tank
The Sherman was the basic American tank plentiful but small gunned and thinly armored
The M!A! Abrams is the current US main battle tank. It entered service in the early 1980’s
The approaching tanks across the fire ridden ground were like blisters appearing across burning skin, shining white in the sun and rumbling like hungry dogs.
We had to stay away for now, our time would come later. The tanks could crush but if we were close enough, we could fight back.
Tanks are made to crush us, to defeat us, to make us kneel in the mud before the power of those who drive them. Tanks are ugly, rolling across the land they look like blisters on burnt skin. They are driven
It was during World War II that my grandfather drove a tank. Such a horrendous time. Seeing young men do the same nowadays makes me wonder where it will all end.
The tank rolled over the man’s head and it burst like fruit underfoot. The tattered remnants of his skin clung to the rippled tank tracks and flopped lazily around, stuck there, as it trundled away. He probably shouldn’t have been walking his dog in an army base.
It was all Callan could do to keep from whimpering at the sound of skulls crushing under the treads of the diabolical thing. He had never caught more than a glimpse of it, of shining metal and dried blood, but he had heard plenty of the sounds it made as it rolled over everything he had known and loved.
“Bring them in!” he screams, too far gone to even think. All they can do is stare. No one moves for a moment and then, the horrible creaking of long rusted gears and wheels sounds like a gunshot through the field and a rumble is felt in the ground. They approach.
It seemed like all my memories were contained in a tank, of sorts.
The funny thing is that I never keep them locked away all in one place.
Some are transcribed in code, some are under lock and key, and some are all three.
While there are others open and free to read, if you know how to find them.
Still I cull them till only the good ones remain.
The more boring, somewhat immature ones?
Yes, I fed them some of those to the flames.
One word is enough for all of us.
Tanks for the mammaries.
If the government spent as much on education as it does on tanks,
we’d be a much better country.
What’s in your tank?
Looking at the tank upside down its so strange to understand the role gravity plays in our lives. The water stays put and the fish float aimlessely, upside down. Looking at the tank from where I’m sitting, my back where my butt should be and my head in replacement of my feet, everything looks like its been glued to everything else. In fact, the water being held looks like its almost coming toward me. The pressure on my head is persisting and my stomach is staring to feel sick but I’m still looking at that upside down fish tank wondering why we don’t call the surface the bottom.
I am not empty. I am full. I am power and energy. My wreckage will be my past and beauty my future. I will charge relentlessly into the unknown and be unstoppable with my pursuit.
the tank that thanked the nicest of fish,
for without his boxed wish,
for his home is a watery bliss,
to the creatures he will always love and always miss.
“You live in a tank?”
“Basically. Want to see it?” She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the treeline. Beyond sat a rusty old army tank, with pink and white graffiti mushrooms all over the outside.
Green, brown, large, and destructive. They roll down the street. Their images cast shadows over weary faces. So loud. So iconic. So horrible. Why?
knat
you became a tank, i cant see what is inside you and you ‘re destroying me
I watched helplessly as his the meter on his supply tank dropped closer and closer to empty. Please, please, please, I thought, make it back safe. I could only watch through the glass pane as he scrambled to find a way out, an escape from this chaos. His frantic eyes searching everywhere. His eyes soon found their way to mine, and he suddenly calmed. His eyes bore into mine, searching my soul. He seemed to have some found that satisfied him, and too quickly was his loving stare replaced with the back of the his body.
“C’mon, everyone! Buck up!” Bentham doesn’t think he could reach out to all of them and give them a good shake- and he’s not sure he really wants to. He knows they all have their own ghosts plaguing their thoughts, their own doubts creeping behind their shoulders and sing-songing into their ears. He knows it’s easy enough to be *afraid*, but he doesn’t want to be afraid.
“We’ll get right to the bottom of this. You’ll see, we’ll have it cracked eventually. Isn’t that right, Rousseau?”
“Since when did you get so sanguine,” Rousseau sneers but says nothing else. They’re all on some precarious clifftop, waiting for the next light breeze to billow them to one side and plunge them into an abyss. He sees it behind their eyes. Bentham thinks he can hold his ground. Bentham resolves to be unshakable. This is what they were picked for.
Peter Bentham definitely…won’t be shaken.
the little boy’s eyes were traffic lights when he stood by the dusty tracks
the shaft of the guns were all aimed and locked
but all he could do was stand in one place-
paralyzed
I stare at the screen; four more questions. I’m running on empty. My emotions today have been drained, and my tank holds only vacant space but for a few measly drops… are they tears? Sweat? Blood? Knowing how these late nights go, I can only guess some gruesome mixture of the three. I lay my head down in defeat and let out the last little bit of feeling held in my tank; it erupts in a wave of self-pity. Oh, how I wish I could be strong again.
The man was dunked in the tank and held there for ten seconds before he’s lifted out.
“How do you plead?” the priest asks before the man could catch his breath.
“I never-,” he started before he was immersed in the water again. Th torture went on for hours. Always the same question and always the same reaction. Only when he finally broke down and sobbingly admitted that he was a witch was he allowed to die.
The priest prayed for his sins as the last air bubbles escaped the drowning man the final word was uttered.
“May God have mercy on your soul. Amen.”
“You know what we’re doing is illegal” said Truman. “We’re selling tanks to Canada”.
“When is the last time you’ve been deterred by ‘illegal’?” Roman didn’t even look up from the magazine.
There was a tank in the corner filled with tiny tropical fish. He would spend hours watching it, to calm himself. Some days, depending on his mood, he would watch the cat instead, as it stared up at the large glass lunchbox that was beyond its reach.
She stood before the large tank, resolute in her determination. The tank inched towards her, the drivers of the vehicle undeterred by her act of protest. Shutting her eyes, she readied herself for her cause. And so, she became a martyr.
Tank. What is there to say about tank? It rhymes with Hank. The name of my very favourite character on Breaking Bad. Which rhymes with sad. Which is what I am now that it’s over. What am I supposed to watch now? That show ate up my days off for like a month. I binge watched. Now what? Tanks.
The fish tank shattered as he swung his baseball at it. “Stop! Don’t do that!” A woman yells at him as she hurries to save the poor fish. She pushes him out of the way and puts the fish in a bowl.
The tank lay like a felled giant in the desert, one set of wheels sandwiched between the gray rocks. It stood empty and abandoned, a relic of some time when law and order made sense, before they gave way to the violence and the brutality.
There was an old house with a big backyard. No one dared to enter there. The house was really old. With broken everything, garden that looked like savages. They say they can hear voices at night but nobody was there.
One time some children played there. Hide and seek. It was so much fun. They don’t care what other people say. Haunted? Let’s see. That’s what they said. Then a boy joined them. Around their age. they made friends with him and they played, and played until it was dark and ready to go home.
One man about 40 years old was looking at the kids.He asked them if they were friends with the boy, they said yes and went home.He was confused because the boy was 10 years dead already and he owned the house. He died at the big water tank at the backyard when he was playing and drowned.
My tank is empty. I am running on fumes. There is not gas, no energy, nothing. I can do no more and intend to do less. Good night oneworders, sleep well.
His words charged at me so quickly that I couldn’t dodge them. And I didn’t want to dodge them. Because each missile gave me a short sensation that I was alive, that I could feel with my skin and I could breathe with my lungs; hot tremors of morality hitting me all at once. He always came at me like a tank. He always came at me in armor.