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Mortal DangerMy face blistered against the scarlet stovetop. A bead of sweat rolled across my brow, down my bronzed cheek, and clung to my clinched jaw. It hung for a moment, too stubborn to let go. It fell and crackled as it splashed against the coils.
The large hand, which prevented my escape, belonged to the same beast of a man I encountered at the planetarium. His face, pocked with scars, was adorned with a brick jaw that looked more akin to Lou Ferrigno’s than the former Louise Parsons’s. His gnawed fingernails tore into my scalp as he wrestled my face ever closer to having a spiraled scar and one less ear.
My fiery eyes stared back at me in the reflection from the freezer chrome, decorated with the giant dopey-looking mastiff and a younger, less brutal version of the retired lineman.
Large veins wound up my forehead from the bridge of my nose. My teeth grinded and my cheek swelled. The first thing that would go would be my left ear, shriveling into my skull like a melted candle, l
L.A. Fisher - One Last LookChapter 24
The sand between my toes made my whole journey worth it. It made life worth it and all of the struggles that led to this point worth it. My life will be thought of as a fictitious tale; imagined by some jackass – possibly Frankie.
Kendra said humility is a part of heroism.
I’ve got humility in spades.
I think I do, anyway.
I walked across the beach with my feet just at the water’s edge. The wakes of jet skis and speedboats splashed into my ankles and receded. The air and the water were both cold, but not deceivingly. It wasn’t one of those sunny clear blue days that looked like a scorcher but felt like an icebox. Overcast skies and a subtle movement in the trees warned of the oncoming storm. Days like this were better for me… more honest. My life had been filled with ubiquitous bad weather. Calamity road on the coat tails of calmness. I grew to loath calmness.
I also learned to
L.A. Fisher - It Was Pretty GoodChapter 22
There isn’t a Hell.
We all live through our lives trying to do what’s right; so that we can feel good; so that we can get something in return; so that God forgives us and we can go to Heaven and rejoice and eat turkey, or whatever. The truth is there isn’t a Hell. There’s only a Heaven, and the guy that runs it stopped paying attention to our little planet a couple thousand years ago when we decided to torture and murder his son. Now, he’s a pretty cool guy, don’t get me wrong, he just got tired of dealing with our shit.
Why wouldn’t he?
He sends us salvation and we maim it and hang it out to dry. But God said that he sent his only son to die for us all, and apparently he meant it. So we’re all winners.
Lucky too, otherwise I don’t think I would have made the cut. God sees the world as hell enough, all the pain and suffering, the torture and death, the rape and pillaging.
Extenuating CircumstancesChapter 20
Fat Frankie bounded into Mäni’s thirty minutes after I told him to be there. He pushed his way into the diner and slid the little chair out from under the table. Every sitting experience must have felt like a colonoscopy to the man. He dropped onto the chair and hung over either side of it.
Frankie’s shirt was soaked with sweat; around the collar, under his armpits. Just walking from the bus into the bakery and he looked like he ran the Boston Marathon. He smelled like a day old urine cake. I don’t know if it was his pores that reeked of shit or if he had actual bladder control problems. I regretted meeting the guy instead of talking to him over the phone, but at least this way we got some free cake.
Kendra was a doll and didn’t gag on the obese man’s body odor. She had never made a big deal of my self-created malformation and she didn’t make a big deal of the portly man’s r
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More