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Klepto by Proxy On Thursday we drove to the market. Jan shopped; I shadowed, carrying the baskets. When we got back to the car, Jan reached down into a coat pocket for the keys, and exclaimed, "What the heck?" From the pocket she withdrew a little knickknack, such as the vendors display for tourists.Klepto by Proxy by KreepingSpawn
"Have to take it back. Wait here, Tommy, I'll just be a minute."
I settled the baskets in the rear seat as she executed the duty. It wasn't the first time. Wouldn't be the last. It seemed whenever I went out, whoever I was with 'acquired' things; usually tacky, low-end items, but sometimes merchandise of real value. Two months ago a friend had appropriated one of those pricy little hand-held electronic thingums which "must have fallen into my bag. Have to run it back tomorrow."
It didn't matter who I was with or where we traveled. A young neice had walked out of a pharmacy with a lovely stuffed toy tucked under her arm. Just as if
A cappellaMy mother, a famous classical violinist in her day, was on her deathbed and I didn't care. She was bedridden by the usual suspects, old age and a fall, and had been for many months when they called me. "Come see her," they said. "She'll pass on soon." They told me the nurses played Tchaikovsky, her favorite.A cappella by mackwrites
"No," I said, and hung up the phone, slamming it against the wall, the cord jerking about in a wild dance. I glared at my CD player, as though it would suddenly come to life with violin concertos, then grabbed my coat, and left the house.
The critics never tired of saying she was passionate, that's what always got me. I remember going to her concerts; it was true, she had the most intense face, and her rigid body echoed the tension and frenzy of the music she loved to play. When she practiced, nothing could shake her from scales climbing, climbing, climbing. As a child, I always imag
this time it countsMitchell leapt into the air, hanging in a moment created by the crush of sound and bodies surrounding him. A flash of light, the drum sticks a blur, the vocalist's hair thick with sweat, hanging in his eyes, and the pick against the guitar, the chord holding Mitchell up.this time it counts by mackwrites
It was the perfect shot. As he began to fall back down to ordinary, he pulled his camera to his face and fired. His converse hit the floor and a body slammed into him. The camera whipped around to his back, the strap cutting into his neck, and he was crushed against the wall. His heart dropped.
When the bodies came away, he saw glass winking on the floor, shoes already coming down to beat it into dust, bodies already coming around again, pushing against him, too intimate, ugly for being unaware.
He staggered out of the crowd, shoving against t-shirts coated in sweat and the faces, eyes forward, expressions high and drunk on either the music or something else, somet
My allotment"For a man is destined to but once to live and allotted to each one time to die. This is the way it has been and will always be."My allotment by smitusjonix
Well, I can't really explain how it all happened or even why, so you'll get no help that way. What I can do is tell you what happened and maybe you can help me with the rest.
I was born the same as everyone else, went to school in Bozeman hated it just like everyone else grew up, got a girlfriend, got a job nearby; you know, I was a normal person. I got married and had two kids. I never moved out of the area. When my eldest was just three, war broke out. The entirety of Western Africa decided that it would be a good idea to invade Europe. With the sheer force of their numbers, it only took a few days. They greedily set their eyes on the rest of the world and, joined by certain expansionist nations in Asia, they opened the tides of battle.
Being a patriotic man, as far as you can b
|These are stories written by the members of this group using the prompts I've provided. This is where the "good writing" is at deviantART. Trust me on that.|
|These are my own stories from the prompts I've provided. I'd be a sorry-ass administrator if I didn't write the prompts with you guys, wouldn't I? Hell yes, I would.|
|It is Chris Cornell's mouth from a bootleg cd of a Soundgarden concert from 1993 (or 1989 or 1991, there's no telling with those things). The picture was stolen long before the internet existed so I think we can allow it to be grandfathered in as the group icon without too much static.|
Scream is the name of his most recent solo album, one co-produced with Timbaland. Old school Soundgarden fans still living in 1992 wrapped in their old flannel HATED this album because it wasn't like his old stuff. He took a chance and went in a new direction. That is what inspired the name of this group -- trying something totally new or something that might go against what you've been doing for years CAN be a good thing with good results. Seeing as the album is absolutely fantastic, I felt it was only right to see if that concept would apply here as well.