GuessIts sleek metallic shell intrigued me so I touched it.
I traced its frame lines with my fingertips,
And a powerful surge flowed freely through me.
What it was, I do not know,
But joy encased my being, my very core
To think what else it produce,
Sent me into a feeling of ecstasy, electric happiness.
BrotherThis lackadaisical youth, this grotesque barbarian, this boy trapped in a obese man's body, is my brother. At 5 and 11 inches, he towers over me and all others that find residence in this house. He, 20 years old and four years older than I, finds a way to reach a level of immaturity that I passed when I was eleven. Sprouting out terms of endearment about action figures and games that he began playing at least a decade ago, I see no signs of aging. The creator of this creature, this Peter Pan, enable him to remain all alone in his magical world. Buying him reminders of pre-pubescence, she allows him to stay in his collective state of mind, forever wanting for nothing and getting all that pleases him.
His attachment to all things rooted in his childhood greatly worries me. As established a long time ago, I am my brother's keeper, and although it causes me nothing but heartbreak and disappointment. I see him for who he is a frightened little boy, afraid of growing up and dealing with the
Willis, William, Wilma Baker Willis, Mr. Bakers twin brother, had begged to join the army but because of his flat feet, they wouldnt let him. So he moved to France, hoping to get in on some of the action and boy did he. He was one of the taxicab drivers, driving soldiers to the front lines during the Battle of Marne. He had delusions that he had saved hundreds of soldiers, stockpiling them into his taxicab and driving them back to safety.
In reality, he had cowered in fear under the car as he watched the men he had transported there, shot down in cold blood. He would fill the already eerie house with stories of trench warfare, how he ate, slept, and breathed mud.
William was the one that went through the war, he was the one that saw a thousand deaths, forever scarring his young innocent mind. It had taken years out of him, leaving him an empty shell of a man. His eyes, once a vibrant shade of blue, were dark and hollow, sunken back into his he
A Future LAShe creates the smoke flowing through the air with a slender cigarette placed delicately between her fingers. She doesn't know what she is, her mind filled with memories that never occurred. "More human than human" is what she is, is what they all are, with an absence of emotion, and organs growing for those that live in the light of the sun.
Flickering lights outlay a handsome man of the law, outfitted with an optical recognition machine, flies through the sky in his patrol car. He is a hardened protector, a gallant servant, a right preserver of the wreckage that is now LA.
FamousI think that a little bit of all of us wanted the same thing, and while I didn't agree with what we all wanted. We wanted it all the same. It was evil and dark and malignant, but it was there and it was calling us.
At first, it didn't seem so bad. It was just the little things that tingled the back of my mind. Maybe it was a sign or something. A sign that we should have stopped but we didn't and that was our failing grace. Things just started to get worse and by the time we wanted to realize it, it was too late.
It was the attention that made it hard to leave. It was the people that recognized us on the street and asked about things that were really important and actually wanted to listen to us for a change. It was the smiles that were passed around our little table in secret acknowledgement. It was the way life got a new meaning from what it used to be. It excited us now and gave us a reason to keep on living. It gave us the feeling of invincibility, immortality and who doesn't want t