The nurses were on strike. They walked in front of the hospital, wearing their white uniforms to make sure that everyone knew who they were, and they carried signs proclaiming that they were not paid enough.
My nose was bleeding and my vision was blurred. I wasn’t sure what had happened to me, but I knew I needed to get to the hospital.
STRIKE THE F1 KEY
okay…
STRIKE THE F1 KEYYYY
OKAY!
BEEP BEEEP BEEEEEP
oh my god.
they tell you what to do
and it all comes down
to simple acts of violence.
it was struck for reasons.
He drew a long line through the air, unseen but heard, once, twice. Then the flame leapt to life between his fingers. Deep shadows lined the jags of his hair, the lines in his face. The whole world was made of only his face.
The stake was driven into the railroad steel bar, digging into the prepared soil and gravel. The worker responsible for the work wiped his sweaty forehead. He looked up at the horizon, workers silhouetted against the sun’s fading rays of light, wondering if the rail line would ever be complete. His doubts would soon be abolished in the near future when communication and travel would develop at an unbelievable rate.
Smack your lips and violentlyfeel the way you hurt me. My life, it’s strife and your hands guide Mt reckless heart. When can the tides that wave and gold mine together destroy this callous practice. It continues and with it Mt world shatters. The brink is at the end of a road I can’t seem to find. Endless the rough bumps of your skin clash with the porcelain tears on my cheeks and I feel relief. When will you see how your presence releases me. All love receeds and escapes in the first crimson vesicle.
chance
Such an odd concept. Strike a pose, strike a match, strike a stage. In essence, it means the beginning of something. A new start. Who knows where the dance will lead? Who knows where the fire will burn? Or what the play will speak? So much unknown at the beginning of each strike. So much waiting to be discovered.
Sarah baddeley
He jolted her with bitter words. She wanted to strike back. At the end, she walked away. Didn’t want to perpetuate their sour discourse.
Krystyna Fedosejevs
She winces at the strike he’s sent her, and goes tumbling down unto the floor. It hurts. She cries. He smiles.
He struck her, but she would put up with it no longer. She angrily walked out of their apartment, dead set on the tasks before her. She fled as fast as she could, until she saw Marina down the road, crying for the same reason as she was fleeing. It was all such a grand mess.
Cecilia
Strike one! Strike two! I never could get into baseball. I like going to a game on occasion. It’s more the whole experience than the game itself I like. I wish I could like it though, it seems like the thing to do and my Grandfather watched the entire season each year.
My heart raced as the snake leveled its head with mine. Its eyes were yellow, and they wanted nothing more than to kill me. The snake reared back, its fangs oozed with venom. Then all i could see was black.
K. M. Mortensen
Another strike to her cheek. She staggered, blood trickling from her mouth.
“You broke the rules,” he said as he stood over her.
She pushed to her hands. Her arms trembled. “I did everything…I could…”
His boot slammed into her back, shoved her to the floor. “Don’t say one more word.”
709
The first strike was devastating, leaving millions of dead and dying in its wake. The second, was worse. And the third was worse still.
“You strike me as someone who knows what they’re doing” she breathed as she stared into his deep green eyes
Hands trembling
Heart beating hard and fast
So gentle and soft.
She didn’t want to penalize him for mistakes, clear ones that he should by now–seven years gone by–know. Her reaction was to take a strike against herself for being so un-levelheaded. Then she took a second for using a senseless word. She beat herself up repeatedly and let him walk.
Strike down the magnets with your thunder, scatter them to bits and toss them asunder. Strike, Stroke, Stricken. Fell ill and behead the shark. Gondolin and barracuda, who will save me from the falling plane? Me? Her? Who knows, who can tell. Coffee. Too much or maybe too little.
The strike left most of them without enough money to live on, but they would not back down. The owner of the factory, however, was glad to be free of the burden of paying them, as the company had been losing money for years, and he was eager to be rid of it.
tonykeyesjapan
They use the word ‘strike’ differently here. It confused me when I first arrived. There’s a strike in the next town they would say, be careful. And I would struggle to understand how an entire town could go on strike. What they really meant was ‘riot’. Bottles smashed in the road and burning tyres belching out black smoke. “Without a baseball pitch for 34 years!” the signs would read. And the guaguas would have to take the back route, rickety buses clunking and clattering over potholes and drainage ditches, swerving to avoid sun-stunned dogs standing in the middle of tiny tracks. And soon there would be men in serious-looking boots, guns swinging casually, both idle and menacing. They won’t stop until they get that pitch sorted, they would tell me in the village. But come 5pm the strikers would clock off, clear the road and go home to rice and beans.
Teressa Cornish
It was another strike on the play, and Javier clenched his teeth loud enough for his sister Shana to hear. The pitcher was good. Too good. José hardly had a chance with his last swing. Any throw, Javier knew, would curve slightly away so it couldn’t be touched.
He wanted his brother to get a home run. His team desperately needed it. They were tied. It was the tenth inning. It was all cinematic, clichéd madness.
Belinda Roddie
features. striking. love yourself, be confident in who you are. dare to be different. each person has something about them that sets them apart from others. embrace it. live it. love it.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong…”, were the only words that left my mouth before he struck me. The slap across my face was more than a physical pain I felt; it was if he struck my soul, my hopes, my dreams. I felt like a child. I was being punished, and I had no idea what for. All I knew was that he had hurt me and broken me, and that I was sure I would never heal..
I striked out when I met you
In all the right ways
but as we threw and threw
We striked out
We were never meant to bowl
or never meant to bowl together
my lucky strike
roya
You can always strike something in life. It’s good. Striking means finding something. It means finishing a difficult task(and striking it of your to do/bucket list).
Doroteja
i never thought it would strike me to feel this way about someone. to feel as open, and honest, as natural as i could ever have believed. he struck down like lightning, this boy.
When I was working
In food service, the others
were too scared to strike
Later things had changed
Some realized their power
If only more would!
– !Haiku-man!
!Haiku-Man!
I had never rebelled against her in my life. I was beyond scared of her, for I had heard what she did to other girls who refused her. I had always vowed to stay away from that. i thought I loved her. then one night we were sitting at the kitchen table and I told her I was done. I was leaving. She reached over the table, I thought she was going to touch my shoulder but instead her hand swung forward and she struck me, sending my crashing to the ground.
“Nobody leaves me”
Drawing a dagger as quickly as he lashed a whip, the slave driver’s eyes narrowed as he honed in on the young man at the very end of the line, dragging along at least twice his weight in gold. He was still thirsty from the arm-toss motion of whipping, the hot sun beating down on his fair skin, adorned with white fabrics imported from the east and weighted heavy in gold accessories.
“You there!”
Well, when he stroke me I hit him back, Then we went to a baseball game and this one person got “three strikes, you’re out!” The we went to a donut shop and got this kind of doughnut that id called strike. It was all really fun! This doesn’t really make sense, does it?
Lauri
The ball spun forward slowly, almost too slowly…then…WHAM! It connected with the bowling pins and one by one they toppled, except for one in the back right corner. I crossed my fingers and held my breath, as everyone else probably did—and then, like magic, it fell. I blinked, wondering for a second of this was some type of dream—instead, it was a strike! The championship, albeit unbelievable, was ours.
Finally.
Our bench erupted into loud screams and cheers and Josh lifted me up onto his shoulders, yelling, “Amy, you did it!”
“I know, I know!” I replied, laughing and feeling truly happy for the first time in quite a while.
AJ Kenobi
It was clearly time to strike. The iron was hot, and so was Marjorie. She ironed a few more wrinkles out of the dress she planned to wear to the bachelorette party, and blinked rapidly in an attempt to determine if her freshly applied false eyelashes would stay attached.
Strike like snakes bearing their white fangs, gleaming beneath the sun.
Strike – I was never struck. I was never bitten, never beaten. I was thrown out of cars and pushed against walls, but never struck.
Strike – picket against the feeling that’s been tearing you apart inside. Refuse to leave until it puts on its shoes and the door hits its ass on the way out.
MR KRABS IS UNFAIR
MR KRABS IS IN THERE
STANDING AT THE CONCESSION
PLOTTING HIS OPPRESSION
ok for real tho
you have shown him too much mercy. throw him away already. you need no man, no misogynist like that to make you feel as inferior as he does. he is well past three strikes. so send him out. better yet, kill him. men are trash, so you will see soon enough.
Lightning did hit twice, long ago, in purple deserts and in the hearts of displaced workers whose dusty arms shake under the weight of the signs they doubt can do a damn thing to achieve equity. Balance, strive.
Moth
And there it goes again! Without even trying you strike me down with your crookedly wonderful smile and that thing so delicately wrapped around your finger, you know that chick that doesn’t belong with you.
The nurses were on strike. They walked in front of the hospital, wearing their white uniforms to make sure that everyone knew who they were, and they carried signs proclaiming that they were not paid enough.
My nose was bleeding and my vision was blurred. I wasn’t sure what had happened to me, but I knew I needed to get to the hospital.
We had no time, no hope, no road behind us only ahead. We had trust misguided misplaced or otherwise. It was time to strike.
STRIKE THE F1 KEY
okay…
STRIKE THE F1 KEYYYY
OKAY!
BEEP BEEEP BEEEEEP
oh my god.
they tell you what to do
and it all comes down
to simple acts of violence.
it was struck for reasons.
You squint at the piece of paper. It’s hard to read, but you eventually spot your name.
…Ah.
Now you understand.
(it’s amazing, how much difference a line of ink can make)
He drew a long line through the air, unseen but heard, once, twice. Then the flame leapt to life between his fingers. Deep shadows lined the jags of his hair, the lines in his face. The whole world was made of only his face.
Bang
Bang
The stake was driven into the railroad steel bar, digging into the prepared soil and gravel. The worker responsible for the work wiped his sweaty forehead. He looked up at the horizon, workers silhouetted against the sun’s fading rays of light, wondering if the rail line would ever be complete. His doubts would soon be abolished in the near future when communication and travel would develop at an unbelievable rate.
Smack your lips and violentlyfeel the way you hurt me. My life, it’s strife and your hands guide Mt reckless heart. When can the tides that wave and gold mine together destroy this callous practice. It continues and with it Mt world shatters. The brink is at the end of a road I can’t seem to find. Endless the rough bumps of your skin clash with the porcelain tears on my cheeks and I feel relief. When will you see how your presence releases me. All love receeds and escapes in the first crimson vesicle.
Such an odd concept. Strike a pose, strike a match, strike a stage. In essence, it means the beginning of something. A new start. Who knows where the dance will lead? Who knows where the fire will burn? Or what the play will speak? So much unknown at the beginning of each strike. So much waiting to be discovered.
He jolted her with bitter words. She wanted to strike back. At the end, she walked away. Didn’t want to perpetuate their sour discourse.
She winces at the strike he’s sent her, and goes tumbling down unto the floor. It hurts. She cries. He smiles.
Strike up a conversation. Strike out. Strike a match. Start something up. Go on a strike.
He struck her, but she would put up with it no longer. She angrily walked out of their apartment, dead set on the tasks before her. She fled as fast as she could, until she saw Marina down the road, crying for the same reason as she was fleeing. It was all such a grand mess.
Strike one! Strike two! I never could get into baseball. I like going to a game on occasion. It’s more the whole experience than the game itself I like. I wish I could like it though, it seems like the thing to do and my Grandfather watched the entire season each year.
My heart raced as the snake leveled its head with mine. Its eyes were yellow, and they wanted nothing more than to kill me. The snake reared back, its fangs oozed with venom. Then all i could see was black.
Another strike to her cheek. She staggered, blood trickling from her mouth.
“You broke the rules,” he said as he stood over her.
She pushed to her hands. Her arms trembled. “I did everything…I could…”
His boot slammed into her back, shoved her to the floor. “Don’t say one more word.”
The first strike was devastating, leaving millions of dead and dying in its wake. The second, was worse. And the third was worse still.
“You strike me as someone who knows what they’re doing” she breathed as she stared into his deep green eyes
Hands trembling
Heart beating hard and fast
So gentle and soft.
That was my first strike, the hand on her upper thigh. She looked at me. “Luke, please.”
“What, Amy?” I asked. Amy shook her head.
“I don’t feel that way about you,” she said. “I think we should just be friends.”
She didn’t want to penalize him for mistakes, clear ones that he should by now–seven years gone by–know. Her reaction was to take a strike against herself for being so un-levelheaded. Then she took a second for using a senseless word. She beat herself up repeatedly and let him walk.
Strike down the magnets with your thunder, scatter them to bits and toss them asunder. Strike, Stroke, Stricken. Fell ill and behead the shark. Gondolin and barracuda, who will save me from the falling plane? Me? Her? Who knows, who can tell. Coffee. Too much or maybe too little.
The strike left most of them without enough money to live on, but they would not back down. The owner of the factory, however, was glad to be free of the burden of paying them, as the company had been losing money for years, and he was eager to be rid of it.
They use the word ‘strike’ differently here. It confused me when I first arrived. There’s a strike in the next town they would say, be careful. And I would struggle to understand how an entire town could go on strike. What they really meant was ‘riot’. Bottles smashed in the road and burning tyres belching out black smoke. “Without a baseball pitch for 34 years!” the signs would read. And the guaguas would have to take the back route, rickety buses clunking and clattering over potholes and drainage ditches, swerving to avoid sun-stunned dogs standing in the middle of tiny tracks. And soon there would be men in serious-looking boots, guns swinging casually, both idle and menacing. They won’t stop until they get that pitch sorted, they would tell me in the village. But come 5pm the strikers would clock off, clear the road and go home to rice and beans.
It was another strike on the play, and Javier clenched his teeth loud enough for his sister Shana to hear. The pitcher was good. Too good. José hardly had a chance with his last swing. Any throw, Javier knew, would curve slightly away so it couldn’t be touched.
He wanted his brother to get a home run. His team desperately needed it. They were tied. It was the tenth inning. It was all cinematic, clichéd madness.
features. striking. love yourself, be confident in who you are. dare to be different. each person has something about them that sets them apart from others. embrace it. live it. love it.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong…”, were the only words that left my mouth before he struck me. The slap across my face was more than a physical pain I felt; it was if he struck my soul, my hopes, my dreams. I felt like a child. I was being punished, and I had no idea what for. All I knew was that he had hurt me and broken me, and that I was sure I would never heal..
I striked out when I met you
In all the right ways
but as we threw and threw
We striked out
We were never meant to bowl
or never meant to bowl together
my lucky strike
You can always strike something in life. It’s good. Striking means finding something. It means finishing a difficult task(and striking it of your to do/bucket list).
i never thought it would strike me to feel this way about someone. to feel as open, and honest, as natural as i could ever have believed. he struck down like lightning, this boy.
When I was working
In food service, the others
were too scared to strike
Later things had changed
Some realized their power
If only more would!
– !Haiku-man!
I had never rebelled against her in my life. I was beyond scared of her, for I had heard what she did to other girls who refused her. I had always vowed to stay away from that. i thought I loved her. then one night we were sitting at the kitchen table and I told her I was done. I was leaving. She reached over the table, I thought she was going to touch my shoulder but instead her hand swung forward and she struck me, sending my crashing to the ground.
“Nobody leaves me”
Drawing a dagger as quickly as he lashed a whip, the slave driver’s eyes narrowed as he honed in on the young man at the very end of the line, dragging along at least twice his weight in gold. He was still thirsty from the arm-toss motion of whipping, the hot sun beating down on his fair skin, adorned with white fabrics imported from the east and weighted heavy in gold accessories.
“You there!”
it all went so fast! It’s all a blur…
Well, when he stroke me I hit him back, Then we went to a baseball game and this one person got “three strikes, you’re out!” The we went to a donut shop and got this kind of doughnut that id called strike. It was all really fun! This doesn’t really make sense, does it?
The ball spun forward slowly, almost too slowly…then…WHAM! It connected with the bowling pins and one by one they toppled, except for one in the back right corner. I crossed my fingers and held my breath, as everyone else probably did—and then, like magic, it fell. I blinked, wondering for a second of this was some type of dream—instead, it was a strike! The championship, albeit unbelievable, was ours.
Finally.
Our bench erupted into loud screams and cheers and Josh lifted me up onto his shoulders, yelling, “Amy, you did it!”
“I know, I know!” I replied, laughing and feeling truly happy for the first time in quite a while.
It was clearly time to strike. The iron was hot, and so was Marjorie. She ironed a few more wrinkles out of the dress she planned to wear to the bachelorette party, and blinked rapidly in an attempt to determine if her freshly applied false eyelashes would stay attached.
Strike like snakes bearing their white fangs, gleaming beneath the sun.
Strike – I was never struck. I was never bitten, never beaten. I was thrown out of cars and pushed against walls, but never struck.
Strike – picket against the feeling that’s been tearing you apart inside. Refuse to leave until it puts on its shoes and the door hits its ass on the way out.
MR KRABS IS UNFAIR
MR KRABS IS IN THERE
STANDING AT THE CONCESSION
PLOTTING HIS OPPRESSION
ok for real tho
you have shown him too much mercy. throw him away already. you need no man, no misogynist like that to make you feel as inferior as he does. he is well past three strikes. so send him out. better yet, kill him. men are trash, so you will see soon enough.
Lightning did hit twice, long ago, in purple deserts and in the hearts of displaced workers whose dusty arms shake under the weight of the signs they doubt can do a damn thing to achieve equity. Balance, strive.
And there it goes again! Without even trying you strike me down with your crookedly wonderful smile and that thing so delicately wrapped around your finger, you know that chick that doesn’t belong with you.
Strike one, just a mistake.
Strike two, not too bad.
Strike three, you’re out.
I guess that means I was out of chances anyway.
When i called in a strike in call of duty it killed about half of the enemy team and i went on a 10 kill streak. Im pretty good.