The man I married had only one eyebrow. And what makes this especially strange is that the guy I had dated before him had a dream one day, and he asked "are you, by any chance, dating someone who has only one eyebrow"?
(more) And everything went well, until, one day, he got a cortisone shot and the eyebrow started to grow back.
That day, I suddenly became the woman who dated a perfectly wonderful, handsome man. Which was an unwelcome change from being the woman who dated the weird guy with one eyebrow.
Normalcy set in, and symmetry brought doubts rather than excitement.
There's something wonderfully thrilling about feeling off-balance. There's change in it. Challenge. Adventure. Every second feels like an opportunity to fix the world. And there's power in that feeling.
So, we got divorced, he and I.
Was it the eyebrow? Money spent foolishly on steroids?
Or was it the inevitable order of the world that forces us towards balance when all we want is chaos.
It was rare that Yosuke acted like this, wanton and desperate; he'd been all over Souji the second they'd walked into Yosuke's room, pushing him to the floor and straddling him and probing his tongue into Souji's mouth. They'd made quick work of unbuttoning each others' shirts, Yosuke discarding his(more) completely, and Souji couldn't keep from wondering what he'd done to provoke this kind of reaction so he could take note of it and do it again.
A door opened downstairs, and Yosuke froze.
"You have to HIDE," he hissed, yanking Souji to his feet in one panicked movement. Yosuke hastily pulled a t-shirt on, both backwards and inside out, and started shoving Souji towards the window.
"Wait a second," Souji said, planting both feet firmly on the rug. "What's going on?"
"I didn't think my dad would be home this early! He can't know you're here!" Yosuke gripped Souji's arms with surprising strength, continuing to push. "I'm kinda-sorta grounded."
"It's not MY fault," Yosuke insisted. "I had to skip work to go into the TV the other day and my dad FLIPPED. So I need you to hide before--"
"Can't I hide in here?"
"All of Teddie's stuff is in the closet!" Souji finally couldn't hold out any longer and stumbled back towards the window. He was pretty sure Yosuke would throw him right out if he didn't go on his own, so he wrenched his arms free and climbed out onto the roof.
"But Yosuke," Souji tried to say, but Yosuke's hand was covering his face and pushing him down out of sight just as the door to his room opened.
"Yosuke, is there someone here?"
"Nope!" Yosuke said, spinning around to face his dad.
Souji knew what was coming next. "Then whose shoes are these?"(less)
The night was clear and outside crickets chirped. Lark never wasted an opportunity to slip through her open window into the night air. Carefully she removed the screen from the frame and placed it against the wall. On her way out she grasped a blanket and wrapped it around(more) her shoulders as she settled onto the roof. Above her was a mass expanse of stars and she felt the smallest of smiles tug at the edge of her lips. More than once she had heard a quote of the adoration of stars enabled an individual to never fear the night. She couldn't help but relate such a silly quote to herself. As a child she had anticipated the night so she could creep towards the windowsill and see the universe above her creep through the veil of darkness. And now she sat upon the roof staring up at the sky in sheer adoration wishing to reach out and grasp the lights that filled the sky. (less)
The rain was falling in sheets, and Edda Pureheart smirked at the simple irony of it. The weather in Camp Drybone had been inhospitable since she had arrived from Ul'dah; she had reluctantly stayed overnight in the hopes that it would clear up, but the downpour had gotten worse instead(more) of better. She cursed the Skywatcher who had told her otherwise as she went out into the dark night, clutching her belongings to her chest.
The lichyard was deserted, as expected. She had paid quite a sum to a lalafell black mage for a map of the graves and their inhabitants; Paiyo Reiyo hadn't been lying when he'd said gil could get you anything in Ul'dah. Edda was careful to avoid the Church of Saint Adama Landama at the top of the hill, despite the shelter its eaves might have provided. Whoever was in charge of the lichyard at this time of night was likely taking shelter inside, and she didn't want to answer any questions.
She dug through the mud with her bare hands, shivering in the wet and cold. It would have been suspicious to bring a shovel, and using conjury might draw attention from the inhabitants of the church. It was slow and arduous, but eventually she felt her nails tap on the solid wood of a coffin's lid. It felt improper to thank the Calamity for anything, but the new practice of digging shallow graves had proven to be a boon to her endeavor.
It was then that Edda saw the flickering light of a candle in one of the church's windows. She held her breath and crouched close to the grave marker, tucking her belongings under her skirt until the flame blinked away.
"That was close, Avere," she whispered to the bundle at her feet.(less)
She always kept the windows open. Her parents looked down on her for it, and her relatives often whispered among themselves about the numerous illnesses to be caught and all the insects to be sprayed, but she always, always kept the windows open.
(more) The scent of monsoons and the gossiping of zephyrs entertained her far more than snobbish chats and the clinking of crystal wine glasses. Butterflies, for all their silence, could listen to her rambles and simply fly away if bored or displeased instead of throwing her into a corner and rallying the rest of the family to spit blindfolded nonsense down her throat. Strangers were more fun to watch, too, with their hats and coats and oddly-styled boots (instead of the same bedazzled and over-polished stilettos clicking across slave-washed marble).
So when her parents threatened to board up her window ("you'll get sick, you'll get rashes, you'll get moonburns and fairy colds and rabies from butterflies and your relatives think you ought to be finding rich men and curling your hair instead of sitting and rotting away"), of course the first thing she did was jump.
An ankle is a small price to pay for peace and space, she told herself later.(less)
Ralph threw another lit cigarette out the window. The smoke spun ten stories downwards before the ember at its tip became indistinguishable from the orange sea of the streetlighted pavement. The music inside persisted as jam band bullshit and he was growing bored.
I wish to open this window of mine.
I want to see the world outside this room.
Its vibrant colors dancing on my gray walls.
The summer air brushing my face painting my cheeks red.
But alas I cannot.
(more) This metallic box holding a firm grip on my consciousness with its many pixels.
“Maybe tomorrow I will.” I say shaking my head for I know full well that tomorrow may never come.
I wished with all my heart that things could be different. That I could have re-wound time back to when my parents didn't forget to make my lunch or remind me to wear my coat even though I was old enough to remember now myself. I wished that I could invent(more) a time machine to take us back to that day in the middle of the Summer when we were still a family.
It was hot hot hot. I was lying on the nursery floor trying to lie still so I wouldn't get even hotter by moving around. Harold was standing up in his cot crying at the top of his lungs. Mum was in the next room packing and Dad was in the driveway loading up the car. We were off on holidays! Yepee! Two weeks in the sun. Swimming every day and ice-cream from the kiosk in the hotel every evening after dinner. I couldn't wait but first we had to get ready. Mum and Dad had been taking about getting ready all morning. I had to job of staying clean and quiet and watching Harold while they did the packing and the loading.
Harold's crying was not stopping. I got up off the floor and lifted him out of his cot. His hot fists beating on me and his t-shirt damp. He didn't like the cot. He was too big for it. He wanted to play.
"Jack, love, come pick out your books for the plane", Mum called.
That is the last time she called me "love".
When I returned the room nursery was empty. The open window mocking me. There was no holiday. My suitcase sat packed at the end of my bed for the rest of the Summer.
The house was quiet now.(less)
The edge of reality before me
My future is gone, no longer I see.
Voices fill my mind, like a tsunami.
Everything behind me, nothing ahead.
Now to the cliff, with a call I dread
One voice now said, “Ready to jump.”
Helen didn't like things that were black or white. She preferred the middle ground. "There's no such thing as being a little bit naked", as she and her friends used to giggle over in school. It was true, but that was the kind of state she constantly longed for, a sort of(more) non-committed half in half out sort of existence.
So far she had organised her life well enough according to this principle. She had done okay in school and neither excelled nor disappointed in her exams. She participated in sports without ever exerting herself too much and when she went to do her course in college she sat inconspicuously towards the middle of the class both physically and grade-wise.
She carried on this way in the workplace. Happily under the radar. She went in and did just about enough at just about good enough to keep her job but not enough to get noticed as one of the more eager ones who got extra work or responsibility. Now this was under threat. The cushy set up Helen had was in danger by the arrival of the new company manager. He had called a meeting with each staff member. He had to "trim the fat" so to speak and each and every one of them had to have a written account of their targets achieved, training done and new policies put in place for it. Helen, for the first time in her life would have to pull out all the stops. Even though she did not particularly like her job, it was, well, her job. On this occasion she was not ready to jump ship and to start over again. Effort would have to be made, she resolved as she arrived ten minutes early to her desk that day.(less)
Toby fidgeted, hands turning his phone around absentmindedly in his hoodie pocket. He's never stressed this much over a text; he rarely even gave out the number of his crappy flip-phone straight out of '02, so no one ever really texted him besides his mom and other family members.(more)
Plus, he's never really had friends.
But now he does, and he's terrified that he'll mess that up.
He doesn't know how many times he's pulled up the terribly pixelated number in his lacking contacts screen. He lost count at twenty times, because he had somehow convinced himself he was going to stop after that. He didn't.
He pulls up the number once again.
He gave him his number because he expects him to talk to him, right? So, sending a text out of the blue would be perfectly normal, right? Expected, even?
OR was it intended to be an emergency/help with homework/reminding him of some deadline sort of you're-a-contact-in-my-phone-relationship? They have the right amount of classes together that that could be entirely plausible.
He had to at least test the waters, right? Otherwise he wouldn't know? Just one misstep could be acceptable, right?
He could just wait until the other boy texted him first. Ideal.
Toby shook his head, scowling. No, he had to push forward, take initiative. With shaking hands, he typed up a quick "hey man whats up", and off the text sent.
He panicked immediately, but his terror was replaced with confusion when he got a ring on his phone not a minute later.
From: Azrel Yassim
"Dude, so much homework, you have no idea. Wbu?"
They texted until three, when they were both reprimanded for having lights on after curfew.(less)