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Just one Line.

The opening to a story I've been writing on and off for a couple of years.

To be perfectly honest, a bad German winter can be as cold as a woman who had her birthday and anniversary on the same day and her oblivious husband went to a sports bar. With face paint, no less.
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And another from a short story

"A conscience is a luxury we can no longer afford."
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From my current Valentine Day submission;

Anyway, we sort of moseyed out all nonchalant like and I think we would of made it out of there okay if Lenny hadn’t started puking. He never could hold his booze, but this time it cost us.
 
Nope, I was so fucking gone I’d already left.

From "Screw Your Roses, Asshole."

I just kind of love that line.
 
Been writing some lately, this is from an older story I work on when I get the whim to. Not my usual romantic drivel.
"I hate when you act like a baby," I hear him say.
I hate when you rape me I want to say. Especially in the ass.

And I wrote this last night. It's from my suicide letter, wait note not letter, me and my friend decided you never write a suicide letter, it's a note, but it's long so it seems more like a letter to me.
And yeah I know people will wonder, why are you writing that, but I'm fucking suicidal all the time so I figured the day I actually do it I may not be in a good state of mind and be able to write it, so I went ahead and wrote it.
Anyway here it is and I find it hilarious!
Browos Houger.
Okay I know it won't make sense to anyone here but me, but it makes me giggle.
#1 I am a huge Sims fan and have played all of them. My profile picture is of some of my current Sims.
#2 my youngest is a sloppy writer and a bad speller. She was writing a grocery list and one thing we needed was brown sugar. She wrote it on the list. Later when one of my older daughters was reading the list back to me she couldn't read what it said and pronounced it at Browos Houger, and we decided it sounded like Sim talk and sounded like them saying Good Bye in Simlish.
So I figured it fitting to end my suicide letter with that.

Damn I ramble.
 
This is from my most recent.

"I want to be the woman who makes you happy, and I want you to be the man who makes me whole."
 
"What's the matter, Jack?" Nicole smirked. "How come you're not out there dancing?"

Jack glanced down to where his jeans were pinned over the knee of his truncated leg.

"You're a real cunt, aren't you, Nikki?"
 
lovecraft68 said:
"What's the matter, Jack?" Nicole smirked. "How come you're not out there dancing?"

Jack glanced down to where his jeans were pinned over the knee of his truncated leg.

"You're a real cunt, aren't you, Nikki?"
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Oooooooh, bitchy. I like that one.
 
"I'll be back soon," Abigail spoke over her shoulder. "Try not to sniff my sheets while I'm gone."

"I'm not that bad," Lydia muttered to her back as she left. "Now your toys on the other hand."
 
From a story I'm planning to post at Literotica in the near future:

The butterflies in my stomach had become deranged bats by the time I reached the door, threatening to force everything I had eaten that morning to spew from my mouth.
 
This is going somewhere. I just have no idea where.

Along with adding more pain to her already viciously aching head, her panicked movements only validated her greatest fear.

She was trapped.

"Ah. You've come to."

The vaguely familiar voice stilled all movement instantly.
 
From the short car chase in "Her Bodyguard."

Afternoon was turning to evening and street lights were blinking on overhead. Headlights glared, horns blared, and Colin’s heart pounded in his ears.
 
“If this were some sappy script I’d tell you she shouldn’t have done that.” Lydia fixed her gaze on Jasmines. “But the reality is you deserved that beating.”
 
Anyone who calls themselves a hundred percent submissive is basically a hundred percent selfish. So I keep my real-life demands reasonable.
 
“Oh, this is fucking killing me!” Abigail exclaimed. “This is the Black Flame, not fucking Melrose Place!”

“You watched Melrose Place?” Lydia asked. “Seriously?”
 
Soon, his wild creature begins to buck, buck like a pre-historic bronco fighting against extinction.
 
“Hey, can I get the key to your bathroom?” She asked, approaching the counter.
“Look at you.” The man grinned. “All dressed up and probably just got messed up.’ He pointed to her bag. “Gotta change before you go home to the old man?”
“Whatever. Key, please.”
“Hey we have douches if you need one.” He leered at her.
“I know, I’m talking to one.” Nicole put her hand out. “Key.”
 
Something moved in the trees beyond the fence that bordered the property, something pale. There was a thud of sound, like hooves against dirt, as whatever it was moved off, and then a weird scream. The sound was unnerving, but it didn't shock me. It wouldn't have surprised me if all Australian wildlife screamed. Even the spiders. Especially the spiders.
 
The character of Mary in my series Mary and Alvin is pretty closely based on Mary Elizabeth Winstead. Fans of Fargo might appreciate Alvin's line, as he helps her install an air conditioner in her apartment.


“I don’t suppose you’ve got much in the way of tools, so I brought mine just in case.”

“We need tools? I thought it just sat in the window.”

“Well, if you plan on dropping it on somebody’s head, that will do. But it’s meant to have a bracket.”
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“Kid, you that stupid?” Parsons rolled his eyes. “She wasn’t a damn FBI agent. She probably bought that badge on line.”
“Hey chill out pops, you just mad you’re just a plain ole Chicago dick and she’s big time.”
 
"You traveled back in time to get your ass eaten by Abraham Lincoln? Drake, will you ever stop cheating on me?! First it was that taco truck guy, then it was a Steve Buschemi impersonator, then it was my dad in the back of my car. And that's only the ones I know about," Jeremy yelled.
 
I am doing a last pre-submission read through of the next chapter of Mary and Alvin, and read over this passage.


Alvin finally broke the silence. “Oh, I have something for you.” He fished in his pocket and held up a gold chain. Mary took it from him and lifted it to her face. Attached to the chain was a glittering green gem.

“Oh my. Alvin, what…”

“It’s your sea glass. From down Lincolnville.”

She gazed at it in wonder. It was just a piece of glass. A shard of an old soda bottle or pickle jar. How could something so ordinary be so beautiful?
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And I realized that, in one line, I had touched the essence of the entire narrative, of any story of two people finding love amidst the joy and sorrow of everyday life.

How could something so ordinary be so beautiful?
 
But, whether she was off in the jungles being gangbanged by a tribe of aborigines or off in the ocean milking sperm whales, she was gone and I was alone once more and determined that this time I'd learned my lesson and was going to sow some of those oats I'd heard people talk about before I tried sticking that dinky little ring, once more back in what was looking like its permanent home in my sock drawer, on yet a third woman's finger.
 
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