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0:17……
0:16…..
Marshall watched the clock tick down and flashed a wild grin at the woman inside the glass tube beneath. She had played right into it.
“PLEASE, MARSHALL!” She screamed over the blaring sirens. “DON’T DO THIS TO ME!”
He spat a dry laugh and shook his head, with his finger over the button. As soon as the safety countdown was completed, he could finish this.
“It’s you or me, Anya. Only enough air for one.”
0:02…
0:01…
He mashed the button, opening the airlock.
“I love you, Anya.” The vacuum sucked away the words, and then Marshall himself.
0:16…..
Marshall watched the clock tick down and flashed a wild grin at the woman inside the glass tube beneath. She had played right into it.
“PLEASE, MARSHALL!” She screamed over the blaring sirens. “DON’T DO THIS TO ME!”
He spat a dry laugh and shook his head, with his finger over the button. As soon as the safety countdown was completed, he could finish this.
“It’s you or me, Anya. Only enough air for one.”
0:02…
0:01…
He mashed the button, opening the airlock.
“I love you, Anya.” The vacuum sucked away the words, and then Marshall himself.
Literature
Panhassett
in my mind is another country running wide-open in the snow, sun, and rain it's old to us in the world but it's new just the same vibrant vintage melodies of laughter, love, and pain tall grass grows at the edge of town hiding the rails that run away forever a whitewashed shack stands by a sycamore grove exuding straw-strewn silence from its dusty heart a water tower stands at the east end of town a windmill stands at the west the blades carve the sun going down loneliness runs like blood on the ground on Friday afternoon the wind came around rawboned and dry wending mid the pines hello old son it's been many moons since last we spoke- said the wind as he caressed a longhorn skull bleached white from the sun yes it has I replied- my voice a scarf of blue grey smoke the wind spoke in shadows- of dappled Iowa poplars of Kansas City railheads of Powder River coal drags of empty two-lane blacktop in Nevada of an abandoned farmhouse on the
Literature
sometimes i am
sometimes i am a little bird singing to you from a wooden box fragile colorful and small sometimes i am a roaring river carving my way through the earth wild foaming and reckless. sometimes i am stained glass pieces of a shattered church window broken sharp and scattered. and sometimes i am only bones water and atoms and i do not know what to make of myself.
Literature
reflective
One minute you will stand watching prior moments drift past your fingertips on kite strings. You will think, I could not have known such things would fly away. You will think, I was happier tied to such fragments of time. You will think, My heart sang for lack of knowledge. My heart leapt for ignorance. Witness now--the mouth of a tunnel, think then on the other end. Close your eyes and fall backward, into the shoes of former selves, envying their blindness to this present. Linger. Then lean back into reality-- your future shouldn't need to wander forward alone.
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Flash-Fic-Month July 3, 2015
No challenge.
Decided to do a little drabble today, and kept it to exactly one hundred words. I don't know if it has the desired effect, but it's all I've got time for, so hey hey.
No challenge.
Decided to do a little drabble today, and kept it to exactly one hundred words. I don't know if it has the desired effect, but it's all I've got time for, so hey hey.
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Comments21
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It absolutely had the desired effect, great job!