Mr. Foxworth and The Raven Haired LadyA hungry Mr. Foxworth wandered around town in hopes to find some food. However, with the lack of money in his pockets, no grocery store or restaurant would even let him inside. So, his search continued until he stumbled upon a raven haired lady with a basket of fruit.Mr. Foxworth and The Raven Haired Lady9 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
He went up to her with a sly smile and charmingly said, "Oh my, you are beautiful. Why, if your voice is even half as beautiful as your face, you must be destined for fame and fortune. Let me hear you sing."
She smiled at this flattery. And accepted the challenge eagerly. She set the basket on the ground walked over to pick up a wine glass from a table at the nearby café. The raven haired lady waled a high pitch note until the glass broke into small pieces. She stood there triumphantly with the broken glass in her hand.
However, by the time she looked up, Mr. Foxworth had already run more than a block away along with her basket of fruit. She pouted and looked down at her feet, where she found a note.
Lap Dances"Look, don't touch."Lap Dances22 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Words went unheeded.
MomentsSometimes there are moments when the world should stop.Moments17 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Moments, made for the sole purpose to shock. To yell silently and falling down unconscious on the spot. To inflict suffering.
There are very many of these moments, thousands, even trillions, even more sad moments than happy moments, but I think that would not surprise anyone, right? At least not the ones who go through life without hiding their eyes behind the palms of their neighbours.
Sometimes there are moments clinging to the duration of one breath. Moments which only contain the blink of an eye.
And if one of those moments is suddenly over and the pulse starts to pound again, the blood rushes back into the ears and the throat feels sore and rough, one wonders why the world has not stood still then. Why not all people sit stunned on their knees while their hands cover up their heads and cry cry CRY.
Why the water does not freeze and the fire is immutably burning.
Why the tears don’t stick on their che
SundayIt was a cold Sunday morning on the eve of winter. Elsewhere people would complain about the unfriendly weather and just about anything and basically everything. But here was different. Well, different in an audible way: it was quiet. So quiet that even the sound of a creeping mouse on the nearby road could almost wake the nearest household. This quiet place was a church. To be exact, it was the fancy cathedral that used to house part of The Church on Sundays and Wednesdays for the use of fellowship, worship, and services. It used to be a thriving and even growing Church. At that time the beautiful stain glass windows and towering steeple used to match the state of the Church, but now it proved to be the direct opposite. At one time the steeple acted as a reminder of where they were going and where the world desperately needed to go in the end, but now the church had been empty for years. Back then the stain glass windows seemed to show what they desired to be like, to be Christ-like,Sunday5 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Megerkezni ReykjavikbaMielőtt megérkeztem Reykjavíkba elhatároztam, hogy azért, hogy szeressenek ultra-toleráns leszek mindenben, ami az izlandi szokásokat és embereket illeti. Ha valami fickó arcon akar csókolni üdvözlésképpen én sugárzó arcal visszacsókolom, ha rothasztott bárányfej lesz az érkezésemet követő első vacsorán a menü én az utolsó mócsinging benyomom és kérek még repetát. Ilyen gondolatokkal spannoltam magam, míg végül el nem érkezett a pillanat mikor találkoztam a fogadásomra kiküldött emberrel, Gunnarsson úrral, aki egy elég visszataszító alak volt és mielőtt lelekileg felkészülhettem volna nagy elánnal felém indult és gyors gesztussal magához ölelt. A színészkedésben levő gyakorlatlanságomnak kMegerkezni Reykjavikba7 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This