It was the fear of good things happening, because they, sooner or later, would lead to something bad.
Bridget’s tight fists began to shake as something from deep inside, born of utter anger and hatred, crept from the depths of her soul. She lunged at him, prepared to pound his handsome face to blood and bone, but the straps prevented her. Instead, ...
He was an artist, and she, an anarchist, the destroyer of his beautiful creations. His body tensed, pushing hot adrenaline through his body with irascible rage. His anger gave way to lamentation as his heart wailed for his lost inventions. His mind s...
She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she kept her convoluted and confused thoughts to herself. He was her light in the darkness, but she was unsure if it was actual love or a form of Stockholm syndrome.
She clung to the memories of her youth as if they were the only way she could save a piece of her soul from whatever it was she was about to face.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror, but instead of the handsome, successful, owner of a billion-dollar corporation, he saw the remnants of the unpopular, socially-awkward, Magic The Gathering-obsessed nerd he left behind all those...
An egg would rendezvous with a sperm one not-so-romantic night in a petri-dish, and cellular division would begin under the watchful eye of some goggle-wearing geek.
He wanted to crumple her up and toss her from his mind like a scrap piece of paper filled with nonsensical doodles or dissonant words that formed unbalanced rhymes. Yet, he refused throw her away.
