‘Dark house, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street,
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,
A hand that can be clasp’d no more –
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.
He is not here; but far away
The noise of life begins again,
And ghastly thro’ the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.’
(Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam, VII)

"We all die. The goal isn't to live forever, the goal is to create something that will." - Chuck Palahniuk

She walked over to the sink, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her usally bright blue eyes were red and swollen,from thhe crying. She turns on the cold water tap and catching water in her hands she splashes her face. The water runs down her face and over her chin. She did this a few times then grabs the the hand towel and wipes her face. She turnsoff the water. Grabbing her blue comb she comes her long hairto get the knots out then puts it up into a poney tail. Which was an inprovement, but she couldn't do any thing about her swollen eyes. She grabs some toilt paper and blows her nose, then flushes it in the toilet. When she felt in control of her feeling she returned to her children.
I must keep busy until Ben comes home, he know what to do. She started to prepare the children's lunch, smiling at them as they come to show her there drawings. She took their pictures and put them on the refrigerator, held by a frog magnate.

“She is very nice Larry”
“I like her! Well, except for when she takes off her skin...that just creeps me out!”
“Dude! That is not her skin. She is human. Humans wear “clothes” to hide their real skin cause it makes them get all twisted up together and make strange noises”

         Past the thicket and broken branches stands a crumbling memory of human indulgence. Bricks and steel once manufactured and put to perfection now lay waste as a broken relic of dirt and rust, while its organs of furniture and facilities now obtrude out, burnt and solemnly rotting. And all around this dead edifice is an overgrowth of greenery - a true urban jungle. Trees crowd around as pedestrians once did, while weed penetrate through fractured concrete and vines creep up the dilapidated walls. This beast wilts in the midst of nature, and soon, like a distant memory, it will die away and cease to exist.

Life, the most precious gift one could ever receive or give. As I tell you this it's been only a few days since I've died, and as I think I can not draw a conclusion as to why I've died. I can only remember being taken to the hospital and the few minutes I lived upon arrival.
I lay on the stretcher as they wheel me in, "Move! Move! Get out of the way! We have to get her to the ER! STAT!" shouted one of the nurses. I couldn't see much, all was blurry and the ceiling was all I could make out. An immense amount of pain rushed over me and as I recall it was far beyond any limits of what I had once had.

If only she hadn't stepped into that elevator with him after so much caffeine. She was gullible when she was caffeinated; gullible, excitable, and too social.

“Hey!” she said, hefting her grocery bag up to the balance point on her narrow hip. “I'm Jessica, but you can call me Jess. What floor are you on?”

He smiled a little nervously and it vaguely occurred to her that conversations in elevators were awkward by nature.

If looks could kill then I would be deemed a murderer, just like him. I glared at him with more hatred than I knew I was even capable of. The rage I felt within my own soul scared me. I had grown accustomed to his harsh criticisms and overbearing nature. I no longer flinched when he went into one of his jealous rants. But running over my dog? No. He had gone too far this time.

Something was wrong. A clap of thunder rang through the forest, but the sky was not right for it. Clear blue was all I saw through the canopy of green. Not a cloud was in sight.
I settled down low on the river bank, where I was fishing. I devoured each fish as quickly as I pulled them from the river. The aroma of salmon scraps mixed with the musty smell of the rotting log I had hidden them under. I scanned the tree line along the opposite bank for any movement, anything out of the ordinary. Nothing seemed amiss.

Stuart almost tripped on the hill. His pirate boots were long and pointed at the toes. He felt more like a jester than a fearless mutant-cowboy-space-pirate. The breeze nearly blew his hat off his head. “Wait up!” Jimmy called behind him. Stuart slowed enough to glance over his shoulder, breathing hard. The pumpkin in his arms was getting heavy.

The red belt holding up Jimmy’s blue pants were slipping. His pant cuffs lopped over his shoes. An old red towel he used as Superman’s cape flew in all directions. “We don’t have to run!”

“Sure we do slow-poke; we have to get these pumpkins out of here.” Terrence raced after him.

“Food is just food! It's something you can eat. It has bits and pieces that go together well and some that are just wrong. The only thing people care about now are how fast it goes together and if it fits their fad diet." It was a really good thing her editor was calling from New York or she would never have his attention through a whole rant like this. "A year from now people won't care what low-carb, non-dairy, paleo diets even were. They'll be convincing people to pay them to say eat bread smothered in cheese is a health diet!”

Rita wasn't sure it was the phone reception crackling or the saute of peppers and onions she was tossing in her skillet as she waited for his reply.

“Rita, if you feel that strongly about it, then write that! I don't care what it is, but if you don't produce something soon no one will remember your first book and you can kiss this wave goodbye.”