On the nights when he was with her; when she would stay awake waiting for the inevitable. Just waiting for his terrified eyes to meet hers, waiting for him to mutter about guns and friends departed. She would trace the faint white lines lining his back - new stories that she would never gather the courage to ask of. He always looked so confident in his uniform, but when the clothes come off she would see the damage that lay in their wake.
We went into battle with all the gear, of course, there's too many crazies out there not to. But to us, "bulletproof" was more a state of mind - it was the choice to go out there and do what's right despite the risks. Otherwise we end up living in a world unfit for our children to inherit. Sometimes, even when the odds of victory are low to none, its still better to take that bulletproof attitude out of the closet and wear it with bold confidence.
Alice walked along the rough cobbled streets that caused her feet to ache. The buildings were tight together and loomed over her, like a forest of stone. When she looked up the roofs were so close together that she could only make out a sliver of the blue sky that was mirrored by the tiny stream of light that trickled along the cold stone ground. The alleyway twisted and turned back on itself, first going to the right, then to the left. From where Alice stood, whether she look in front or behind, she saw nothing but stone.
The need to belong to a group is biological, thus when nationalism fails people flounder for a new identity, and the colour of skin is an obvious feature, as are clothing styles and religion. So xenophobia rises; recall that groups are not defined by who is in them, but by who is not. So in these troubled times we can fall down into the sewage mire of primitive fears or be intelligent about it and offer a new group to belong to. We are all humans of Earth. We belong to a group called humanity. You are born into it and membership is lifelong. We can be one tribe or fracture into vile factions that believe their own lies and bring war.
The blanket was art, a creation in vibrant wool, an expression of nana's love. When Nate watched television I could see his emotions by the way he held it, the sensations of pleasure and tension told in how he either held it softly in his hands or else pushed his fingers though the holes, twisting and grasping. When he was happy it was his covering for games of "ghost," or else it was his invisibility shield. Some days, when it rained, it was our indoor picnic blanket. Other times it was his cape when there was superhero work to be done. It was his best toy, his comfort, his woven rainbow and keeper of his memories. And as he grew Nate would once in a while comment that he had thought the blanket was bigger and ask if it had shrunk somehow.
Your easy smiles and gentle teasings strung my heart and blinded my eyes. I overlooked your veering lies and shady actions and glanced the other way when you enjoyed the company of other women more than mine, convincing myself that it was merely the green eyed monster rearing its ugly head. But when you strayed, I knew for sure that you took me for a mindless fool. You made a mockery of my love and blamed me for your straying.
You abused my innocent love and cut off the happy strings of my heart.
You aren't worth my time or even a fleeting thought; you are a bad story and I choose to only read good ones.
Alexander sat upon the cool metal bench, his trousers soaking up the damp morning dew, as he overlooked the sea. Darkness had not long surrendered to the light, yet he could see the thick grey clouds that were cast over the sky. The sea was tainted; no longer an abyss of black, nor did it appear blue. Instead it looked a metallic grey, glistening as the occasional spear of light pierced through the clouds and danced over the surface.