And there in the trunk of a tree, so small it was easy to miss, was a doorway. and on that door was the tiniest of handles. Ever so gently, I turned the handle and the door flew open with such force, that I found myself on he ground amongst the dried up autumn leaves.
oh god, i thought as i threw everything in my trunk. i was done, so fucking done. done with everything. life was beyond pointless and it was time for me to embark on a new adventure. where was i going to go? somewhere west? some where south? maybe somewhere north. hell i was already as east as i could get. i wanted to leave new york in general. find a new state, a new state of mind, a new state to fall in love and start over.
I opened up my trunk at a red light on my way to school, to see if I left my school shoes in there, but instead I discovered a man hidden in there! I don’t know how or when he got in there, but I screamed at the top of my lungs and closed the trunk door! I couldn’t just block traffic from the green light, but literally, there was a man crouched in the back of my trunk. He could be a murderer, or a rapist, or a kidnapper! I was not about to hop back in my car and drive. I am sure Mrs. Perretta will understand.
all i can think of right now with this word is the phrase “junk in trunk” which is both demeaning, hilarious, and perfect I guess to describe the reproductive and ridiculous organs that comprise the trunk of a girl. i’m glad i’m not a dude, always observing the moving trunks about the world. i think that would get rather boring, when the real treasured trunk is that of the mind and all that is above the belted trunk below.
They hid him in the trunk until they thought he was desperate, then they let him out and beat the shit out of him. It wasn’t what he expected, but it was definitely what he deserved. That’s what you get when you use a woman as your punching bag.
Denise Trimm
The elephant lifted its eyes and stared at me, wisdom emanating from its eyes. The way it tilted its head made me wonder if my mind was causing the animals’ movements, or if the animals in this place had minds of their own.
The trunk sat at the foot of the bed, a folded quilt on top. Mohagony warmth, beaming under the morning sunlight, regal and stoiac at sundown. For years it sat faithfully at the foot of the bed, where clothes lay piled, and children sat and giggled, kicking their socked feet against its side.
The elephant lifted its head and stared at me, with an age old wisdom emanating from its eyes. The way it tilted its head made me wonder if my mind was causing the animal’s movements, or if the animals in this place had minds of their own.
Riley
I’d haul your useless body
across the dirt road.
Don’t give a damn
if your head hits a rock,
you never used it anyway.
Won’t give a shit
if your skin tares open,
it was too soft to start.
Load you up on into my truck,
bring you to the river.
Wash you away like I should’ve done
many moons before I met you.
I woke up and knew I was in the trunk. It was dark and smelled of oil and dirt. My mouth was taped shut, I assumed with duct tape and my hands were restrained behind my back. I had no idea how I’d got there or how I was going to get out. Sunlight beamed through the broken tail light and I could smell the sea air.
is the essential part of the tree, is what remains, is the basis and this serves as a source of inspiration not only as raw material, besides when i was small I loved to climb the trunks of the trees because it is incredible the varierity of forms that it present naturally
priscila
“It’s in the trunk,” was the first thing that popped in my head as I rounded the corner and saw the intricately carved Ganesha in front of me. It was beautiful and it made the hairs on my arms stand up.
I stared at the trunk in disbelief. How had it survived? I threw it off a bloody cliff with a stick of dynamite inside it! The trunk was the bane of my existence. It contained things that would end my life forever if they were ever found.
Krissy
“We can totally fit that tree in the trunk”
“But baby, we have to fit groceries in there”
“so we can take it home and drop it off first. This is the best time of year because we get to burn all the Christmas trees”
John was rather frustrated with Sherlock’s uninterested request for help. How had he gotten himself wrangled into unpacking his flatmate’s trunk? He hadn’t had any of the fun on the trip to… wherever it was Sherlock had gone. John’s musings on a revolt against the lazy man-child detective were cut short when his hand withdrew a black, lacy piece of lingerie .
A trunk might be used to carry belongings such as clothes or someone’s items. A trunk can also be referred to as the tru.nk in the car, where there is extra storage space of where the spare gire might be hidden.
B
I want to pack up my trunk. I want to leave, say good-bye to everything I know know and get the hell out of here. The worst is being stuck in a world that you know you’re not meant for. I’m not meant for this small time. I’ve got big dreams. I will get out of here one day. I have to, I couldn’t bear to be here forever. I just couldn’t.
The growth from the trunk. Life sprouted from it. Te hope of new being, new existence. The fresh greenness of hope. Life begining. Hope fostered.
Sophie
He drove quickly into the thick brush of trees, holding her hand and gazing at her, smiling, in the passenger seat. She was entirely oblivious to the fact that in his trunk was a picnic basket with sandwiches, cupcakes… and an engagement ring.
The trunk was curved like a banana and as wrinkled as an old man’s scrotum. There was nothing that could entice the young trapeze artist.
Julzy
In the trunk of my car, that’s where I keep the goods, girls. Bags of nailpolish, stacked up high and filled with Vogues. I’m like the Mary Kay lady because my car is so pink, bringing all of the little girls racing to me, fast on Cinderella heels. I fill with them with the lessons of my kind, that girls can like girls can like boys can like boys.
The massive elongated derriere of our existence, promising loads of space to store those things we no longer want, can no longer use. The butt end of our useless days.
Norman Carey
She threw the remainder of her suitcases into the trunk with lots of pent up rage. She sighs as she looks back at the house she was leaving. It was a great buy, but she realized now why no one stayed there.
She pushed the trunk down, closing up her chapter in this town and ready to drive off and start a new in another.
She walks along the side of the car and the hops into the drivers seat. She puts the key in the ignition and as she is buckling her seat belt, she looks up and sees a bright light, ‘Trunk Ajar’ it reads.
She grunts and jumps out the car. The trunk was wide open and she didn’t understand how. She lifts her hands up and slams the trunk down again. Once she is sure it’s secure, she begins to walk off, only to hear it swing open again.
“What the hell?” She curses, walking back around.
“Is this a joke?” She asks herself as she begins to push it down again.
The last thing she sees is the silver of her car before she feels a hand at the back of her head. The unknown person behind her slams her head into the back of the car, opens the trunk, and stuffs her in it.
Because no one leaves here alive and he was there to make sure of it.
The rear end of existence, the stuff that you don’t know what to do with, the holder of the disposed, of bodies on their way to a secret burial, of the tidy white line between sanity and insanity. Oh the trunk!
Norman Carey
It sits there, at the end of his bed. It sits there as he sleeps, it sits there as he silently removes himself from his cocoon of blankets, it sits there as he drags himself past her dresser and past her shoes and into the bathroom, where her toothbrush still rests on the counter. Her trunk. It sits.
i have junk in my trunk.
in my bedroom i have a wooden antique trunk at the bottom of my bed. it is made out of oak and is varnished with a brown shiny paint. it has a beautiful detailed black lock that you use to lock it up and keep the contence a secret.
Bethanie Paris Fisher
He pushed the trunk closed, hardly being able to shut it with his duffle bags spilling out. This was the end, no turning back, not again. He looked up at her little Miami beach house one last time, hopping into the driver’s seat of his Range Rover. Sometimes it lasts in love, and sometimes it doesn’t.
I knocked and knocked. No one answered. Why won’t anybody answer? Don’t they hear me? I want it open, its so stifling in here. Let me out… oh wait, I’m outside…
Calin
Nikada nisam podnosio kamione, niti ljude koji su ih vozili. Oduvjek su mi se činili još patetičnijima od stereotipa koji su o njima na razne načine nastajali. U stvari, lažem. Volio sam kamione, nikada nisam volio kamiondžije.
my Dad’s old trunks now our coffee table. It sailed to england almost 80 years ago. So many miles so many memories!
maureen sinclair
I knew when the trunk slammed shut, and all her bags packed and loaded into the car, that this was going to be it forever. All the laughter, lovemaking, partying, the simple joys of our lives together were now gone. And with those memories…she was gone too.
skunk, funk, punk… skunk. you are a skunk. i don’t like you. i don’t care about you. because you smell. you and your stinky lies. smell! like a skunk. yuck!
Camilla
Whatcha gonna do with all that junk, all that junk inside that truck. I’m gonna gett gettt getttt you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump!
Fergie
The trunk of the car was not big enough to hold the chair that I had brought. I fell in love with it he first time that I saw it. what a shame, how can I tell my friend that I could not get it home on time.
victor walkes
I keep a picnic blanket in the trunk of my car at all times. I don’t think there are enough impromptu summer picnics. Light salads. Fruit and cheese. Iced tea. Sunglasses. Not a care in the world. Just soaking up the vitamin D.
THe trunk is red
I like ur trunk
Fuck my trunk
How big is ur trunk
Is my trunk bigger then yours?
how old is ur trunk
I dont know what to write about
Umm college sucks this is kinda werid
how was ur day mr. trunk? brrrahhhh
i dont know what this is. OMG TRUNKS R AWSOME APPARENTLY
I love myself and nones else and my trunk
BBBBBBBBBBBRAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWERRRR TRUNKS
Liz
The trunk was empty. Peculiar. I swore it would contain the past. The future. The present. The trunk should have held it all. But no. Instead, an empty trunk. Vacant.
Emily
Tree trunks are pretty darn cool. They are stable and colorful and full of detail. We used to have an avocado tree in the back yard when I was kid. You could ride horses on that tree because the trunk was shaped like a horse’s back. We were forever playing cowboys and Indians and riding that horse across the Plains.
And there in the trunk of a tree, so small it was easy to miss, was a doorway. and on that door was the tiniest of handles. Ever so gently, I turned the handle and the door flew open with such force, that I found myself on he ground amongst the dried up autumn leaves.
oh god, i thought as i threw everything in my trunk. i was done, so fucking done. done with everything. life was beyond pointless and it was time for me to embark on a new adventure. where was i going to go? somewhere west? some where south? maybe somewhere north. hell i was already as east as i could get. i wanted to leave new york in general. find a new state, a new state of mind, a new state to fall in love and start over.
I opened up my trunk at a red light on my way to school, to see if I left my school shoes in there, but instead I discovered a man hidden in there! I don’t know how or when he got in there, but I screamed at the top of my lungs and closed the trunk door! I couldn’t just block traffic from the green light, but literally, there was a man crouched in the back of my trunk. He could be a murderer, or a rapist, or a kidnapper! I was not about to hop back in my car and drive. I am sure Mrs. Perretta will understand.
all i can think of right now with this word is the phrase “junk in trunk” which is both demeaning, hilarious, and perfect I guess to describe the reproductive and ridiculous organs that comprise the trunk of a girl. i’m glad i’m not a dude, always observing the moving trunks about the world. i think that would get rather boring, when the real treasured trunk is that of the mind and all that is above the belted trunk below.
They hid him in the trunk until they thought he was desperate, then they let him out and beat the shit out of him. It wasn’t what he expected, but it was definitely what he deserved. That’s what you get when you use a woman as your punching bag.
The elephant lifted its eyes and stared at me, wisdom emanating from its eyes. The way it tilted its head made me wonder if my mind was causing the animals’ movements, or if the animals in this place had minds of their own.
The trunk sat at the foot of the bed, a folded quilt on top. Mohagony warmth, beaming under the morning sunlight, regal and stoiac at sundown. For years it sat faithfully at the foot of the bed, where clothes lay piled, and children sat and giggled, kicking their socked feet against its side.
The elephant lifted its head and stared at me, with an age old wisdom emanating from its eyes. The way it tilted its head made me wonder if my mind was causing the animal’s movements, or if the animals in this place had minds of their own.
I’d haul your useless body
across the dirt road.
Don’t give a damn
if your head hits a rock,
you never used it anyway.
Won’t give a shit
if your skin tares open,
it was too soft to start.
Load you up on into my truck,
bring you to the river.
Wash you away like I should’ve done
many moons before I met you.
I woke up and knew I was in the trunk. It was dark and smelled of oil and dirt. My mouth was taped shut, I assumed with duct tape and my hands were restrained behind my back. I had no idea how I’d got there or how I was going to get out. Sunlight beamed through the broken tail light and I could smell the sea air.
is the essential part of the tree, is what remains, is the basis and this serves as a source of inspiration not only as raw material, besides when i was small I loved to climb the trunks of the trees because it is incredible the varierity of forms that it present naturally
“It’s in the trunk,” was the first thing that popped in my head as I rounded the corner and saw the intricately carved Ganesha in front of me. It was beautiful and it made the hairs on my arms stand up.
I stared at the trunk in disbelief. How had it survived? I threw it off a bloody cliff with a stick of dynamite inside it! The trunk was the bane of my existence. It contained things that would end my life forever if they were ever found.
“We can totally fit that tree in the trunk”
“But baby, we have to fit groceries in there”
“so we can take it home and drop it off first. This is the best time of year because we get to burn all the Christmas trees”
John was rather frustrated with Sherlock’s uninterested request for help. How had he gotten himself wrangled into unpacking his flatmate’s trunk? He hadn’t had any of the fun on the trip to… wherever it was Sherlock had gone. John’s musings on a revolt against the lazy man-child detective were cut short when his hand withdrew a black, lacy piece of lingerie .
A trunk might be used to carry belongings such as clothes or someone’s items. A trunk can also be referred to as the tru.nk in the car, where there is extra storage space of where the spare gire might be hidden.
I want to pack up my trunk. I want to leave, say good-bye to everything I know know and get the hell out of here. The worst is being stuck in a world that you know you’re not meant for. I’m not meant for this small time. I’ve got big dreams. I will get out of here one day. I have to, I couldn’t bear to be here forever. I just couldn’t.
The growth from the trunk. Life sprouted from it. Te hope of new being, new existence. The fresh greenness of hope. Life begining. Hope fostered.
He drove quickly into the thick brush of trees, holding her hand and gazing at her, smiling, in the passenger seat. She was entirely oblivious to the fact that in his trunk was a picnic basket with sandwiches, cupcakes… and an engagement ring.
The trunk was curved like a banana and as wrinkled as an old man’s scrotum. There was nothing that could entice the young trapeze artist.
In the trunk of my car, that’s where I keep the goods, girls. Bags of nailpolish, stacked up high and filled with Vogues. I’m like the Mary Kay lady because my car is so pink, bringing all of the little girls racing to me, fast on Cinderella heels. I fill with them with the lessons of my kind, that girls can like girls can like boys can like boys.
Put your secrets in the trunk and lets leave town
Because I think we could use a brand new start
The massive elongated derriere of our existence, promising loads of space to store those things we no longer want, can no longer use. The butt end of our useless days.
She threw the remainder of her suitcases into the trunk with lots of pent up rage. She sighs as she looks back at the house she was leaving. It was a great buy, but she realized now why no one stayed there.
She pushed the trunk down, closing up her chapter in this town and ready to drive off and start a new in another.
She walks along the side of the car and the hops into the drivers seat. She puts the key in the ignition and as she is buckling her seat belt, she looks up and sees a bright light, ‘Trunk Ajar’ it reads.
She grunts and jumps out the car. The trunk was wide open and she didn’t understand how. She lifts her hands up and slams the trunk down again. Once she is sure it’s secure, she begins to walk off, only to hear it swing open again.
“What the hell?” She curses, walking back around.
“Is this a joke?” She asks herself as she begins to push it down again.
The last thing she sees is the silver of her car before she feels a hand at the back of her head. The unknown person behind her slams her head into the back of the car, opens the trunk, and stuffs her in it.
Because no one leaves here alive and he was there to make sure of it.
The rear end of existence, the stuff that you don’t know what to do with, the holder of the disposed, of bodies on their way to a secret burial, of the tidy white line between sanity and insanity. Oh the trunk!
It sits there, at the end of his bed. It sits there as he sleeps, it sits there as he silently removes himself from his cocoon of blankets, it sits there as he drags himself past her dresser and past her shoes and into the bathroom, where her toothbrush still rests on the counter. Her trunk. It sits.
i have junk in my trunk.
in my bedroom i have a wooden antique trunk at the bottom of my bed. it is made out of oak and is varnished with a brown shiny paint. it has a beautiful detailed black lock that you use to lock it up and keep the contence a secret.
He pushed the trunk closed, hardly being able to shut it with his duffle bags spilling out. This was the end, no turning back, not again. He looked up at her little Miami beach house one last time, hopping into the driver’s seat of his Range Rover. Sometimes it lasts in love, and sometimes it doesn’t.
I knocked and knocked. No one answered. Why won’t anybody answer? Don’t they hear me? I want it open, its so stifling in here. Let me out… oh wait, I’m outside…
Nikada nisam podnosio kamione, niti ljude koji su ih vozili. Oduvjek su mi se činili još patetičnijima od stereotipa koji su o njima na razne načine nastajali. U stvari, lažem. Volio sam kamione, nikada nisam volio kamiondžije.
my Dad’s old trunks now our coffee table. It sailed to england almost 80 years ago. So many miles so many memories!
I knew when the trunk slammed shut, and all her bags packed and loaded into the car, that this was going to be it forever. All the laughter, lovemaking, partying, the simple joys of our lives together were now gone. And with those memories…she was gone too.
Just sitting here. So peaceful, leaning against the trunk of an apple tree. Serenity envelopes me. I never want to leave. <3
skunk, funk, punk… skunk. you are a skunk. i don’t like you. i don’t care about you. because you smell. you and your stinky lies. smell! like a skunk. yuck!
Whatcha gonna do with all that junk, all that junk inside that truck. I’m gonna gett gettt getttt you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump!
The trunk of the car was not big enough to hold the chair that I had brought. I fell in love with it he first time that I saw it. what a shame, how can I tell my friend that I could not get it home on time.
I keep a picnic blanket in the trunk of my car at all times. I don’t think there are enough impromptu summer picnics. Light salads. Fruit and cheese. Iced tea. Sunglasses. Not a care in the world. Just soaking up the vitamin D.
THe trunk is red
I like ur trunk
Fuck my trunk
How big is ur trunk
Is my trunk bigger then yours?
how old is ur trunk
I dont know what to write about
Umm college sucks this is kinda werid
how was ur day mr. trunk? brrrahhhh
i dont know what this is. OMG TRUNKS R AWSOME APPARENTLY
I love myself and nones else and my trunk
BBBBBBBBBBBRAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWERRRR TRUNKS
The trunk was empty. Peculiar. I swore it would contain the past. The future. The present. The trunk should have held it all. But no. Instead, an empty trunk. Vacant.
Tree trunks are pretty darn cool. They are stable and colorful and full of detail. We used to have an avocado tree in the back yard when I was kid. You could ride horses on that tree because the trunk was shaped like a horse’s back. We were forever playing cowboys and Indians and riding that horse across the Plains.