I closed my eyes. My arms opened wide like wings, my feet left the ledge; my body light and weightless. I was flying.
There was a song about the houses, the little boxes made of ticky tacky… you know the song perhaps?
When the three of them loped into his studio, overplaying the role of moody artists, Brian wondered at the lack of instruments. Only for an instant. You got all sorts.
Narrated by Bob Eccles Clouds of bloody mist erupted in a burst of popping sounds like firecrackers exploding. Through the scope of his light machine gun, Vincent watched a now-headless teenage boy fall face down in the snow. Steaming blood pumped from the ruined neck. Vincent’s stomach lurched. The LMG fell from his shaking […]
The world spins around me as I twirl, my music the soft pattering of rain, my audience the clouds, grass, and trees blowing in the wind, swaying to the music of the storm, and also the small shiny wet faces peeking from under leaves.