The strange man known by no name lowered his hand into a glass vessel of cold water. His fingers slowly probed and flexed, searching, searching. Small bubbles began to form and rise along the inside of the glass. Very soon the bubbles grew large and violent, obscuring the man's hand. The audience gasped as he slowly lifted his hand out of the boiling water. He held aloft a perfect sphere of ice.
"A miracle!", shouted an onlooker.
The stranger's voice boomed. "No! Water from water is no miracle!"
Then he vanished.
But I was here to do a job. I raised my gun and shot the alien between the eyes.
What will greet me behind that door?
She will be wearing a housecoat - loosely tied - and nothing else. We will not speak. I will close the door behind me and gaze into her into her lustful eyes. She will grab me by the collar and draw me into a passionate kiss. I will press her up against the wall and grow. She will push me away, smirk, then turn and walk towards the bedroom, dropping her robe as she rounds the corner. I smile and follow.
I knock and hope.
As the bear approached, breathless and limping, the man stood his ground. The recognition was mutual. He had raised this bear from a cub. They had helped one another through many cold winters. Seeing it suffering in hunger, as he was, he knew it would be dead within a day, as he would be.
Perhaps they could help each other once again
The natives had heard the old stories, passed down through the generations. Their roots go deep. But the loggers ignored all warnings and grew giddy as the cutting beam sliced several meters into the trunk.
Without warning, a burst of steam erupted from the slit, followed by a fiery fan of molten rock.
For years afterwards, the natives would watch the gruesome and painful deaths on repeats of "Zorlexx IV's Scariest Home Videos-.
Spring. Crystal clear streams trickle down from the mountains. Nearby, floodwaters destroy a wooden bridge.
Summer. Billowing clouds dot the sky. Wisps of mist cover the bay like pieces of cotton candy. Across the ocean, tsunamis devastates a coastline.
Autumn. A light rain subsides, leaving behind a vivid rainbow. Elsewhere, a heavy hailstorm cracks car windshields.
They say humans are mostly water. Perhaps that's why we too can be both so beautiful and so terrible.
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IÃƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬Ëœm pretty sure it was intended to do something. I took the cover plate off and noticed wires attached, but couldn't tell where they went. All the lights in the house have their own switches, and it doesn't control any of the outlets. Perhaps it's for a ceiling fan that was never installed, or removed before we moved in.
But maybe it does control something, somewhere that I don't know about. If that's the case, the question is: Should I leave it on? Or off?
Those who heard him believed beyond all doubt. They said his eyes told them it was true. All others believed when they heard of his heart-breaking words and his magical deeds. But what they heard only gave focus to what they already knew to be true.
And he who they now revered and feared smiled at his achievement. For he knew that if he revealed himself as who he truly was, only a few would believe.
Who is more likely to leave their domain to walk the Earth?
A witch with a particularly colourful wart stepped forward and directed a third, fourth and fifth eye at the man. A low hypnotic voice emerged. "You will henceforth follow my command.. Leave! At once! And never return!" The man just stared. Another witch screeched and threw her hand towards the sky. A blinding bolt of lightning enveloped the man, who simply blinked. Next, a rickety old staff was thrust into the air, casting a shadow at the man's feet. The ground creaked and opened, but he did not fall.
One witch watched and giggled.
Without looking, he took aim. His chest exploded.
As he slumped to the ground he realized his mistake, but also smirked in defiance. He'd had his vital organs repositioned, otherwise the slug would have incinerated his heart. As he passed into unconsciousness he resolved not to make the same mistake next time.
No, not even remotely plausible.
Of course the real reason is that cartoonist Jim Davis is simply capitalizing on our own hatred for Monday's. Smart.
As the waves retreat, the sun glistens off the moist sand like the fluorescent lights off my concrete floor after I had wet-vac'd the floodwaters from my basement.
The soft breeze plays among the tall grasses along the boardwalk. I really should get off my ass and mow the lawn.
Deer prancing near the forests edge. I need to walk the dog tonight.
Birds chirping, traffic beeping.
Leaves blowing, need to start raking.
The first models sold for 250 million, each. Sterile, and they couldn't fly of course. But they could keep their wings folded then spread them on command. The second generation models sported larger hearts and thicker ribs, and therefore lived twice as long. The third design could breed, but the wings would break during birth.
Demand decreased, stock plummeted and another species quietly became extinct.
I am a recovering optimist, but I'm sure that someday I'll have a relapse.
I lack discipline.
I am painfully aware that I have not learned from the mistakes I have made in the past, and have therefore changed my ways.
I have 3 spelling bee throfys
Sometimes I can control what I do in my dreams. Sometimes I only dream that I can control what I can do in my dreams. (Maybe it's only the latter.)
I often put off until the last minute things that only take a minute to do.
I like nachos.
Sure, I'll answer yer questions. But you better listen good. I talk low, under my breath, on purpose ya see. That way I weed out the ones that don't listen.. the overtalkers.
Nobody listens, everyone just talks. Me included. I talk a lot. But I'm allowed... got that? You do it, conversation over. Maybe I'll stab you in the neck with that pen of yours and write a victory poem with your blood.
Heh. Don't worry kid.. Haven't done that in a looong time. Broke the habit.
So I threw a half empty glass of beer at it.. Turns out I hit my pickup truck instead. Damn metaphors always screw up my aim.
Huh? Yeah, half full, half empty. Whatever. I alternate. Keep the universe balanced. Don't try to analyze me, boy! No use in that.
It was my grandfathers cup. From his wedding. I ferget which one. He gave it to my father on his thirteenth birthday. Dad carried it through both world wars. Used it to catch hermit crabs and oysters in the jungle. Saved his life countless times. He gave it to me on my thirteenth birthday. It made a damn good radar detector.
Guess I gotta give it a proper burial. I'm diggin' a hole anyways.
Heh. No, I didn't run over their dog. Not on purpose anyways. Ran over its chain, and the mower caught on and sucked it in like a fly on the end of a frog's tongue. I call my tractor Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬Ëœfrog' now. Wanna go for a ride?