Storygram #130
I heard of a place called the Striking Tree, where lightning from a mysterious storm cloud strikes the tree every hour. They said that’s where I had to go, if I wanted to find my worth.
Storygram #129
She tossed dirt onto the embers of her campfire and took in the mountain view from her bluff. Such beauty could only reside in the vast landscapes she often hunted through. The human heart was too small to contain beautiful things.
Storygram #128
A cold breeze swept across the lake, slicing through her, effortlessly. She was too small and frail to present a challenge to anything like the wind, which made her an easy target to everyone she met.
Storygram #127
A layer of snow is covering everything, concealing the ugliness of the shivering earth underneath. It all seems too beautiful, too perfect. I brace myself for the onslaught of ridicule from her, covering my heart with a layer of contentment as fleeting as the snow.
Storygram #126
She cursed at having to park several houses down the street. They were supposed to keep everyone out until she got there. Now, half the nation’s news media was contaminating her scene.
Storygram #125
There are some spaces that you just remember. Your experience within them was so intense that you can recall the smells, sounds, and every detail you saw, right down to a misplaced string of fabric in the seat where you were sitting.
Storygram #124
As Mike was lining up for his next shot, two government officers walked into the bar. They wore helmets with black tinted visors where only their chins and mouths remained visible. Mike froze.
Storygram #123
Slave. That’s what I am now. No one calls us that, of course. Even the lowest scum of humanity hesitate to say they own slaves. So, we are prisoners, or the more proper term to use would be “Essentials.”
Storygram #122
The river floated along its course in silence, oblivious to the panic its emptiness was filling her with. The bridge offered her the best vantage point for viewing the deck of any passing vessel. But as far out as she could see, nothing disturbed the water—not even the ship she hoped would appear around the bend.
Storygram #121
Dyrin held the bag in his hand, thinking about the horse he had seen at the stables the other day. His mind made up, he clenched the bag and shoved it into his pocket. The iron gate to the tunnel creaked and scraped on its hinges, as he opened it.
Storygram #120
He let the ringing of a chord and the vibrato of his voice carry the last fading sounds of his melody. When he opened his eyes, everyone was at their dinner tables talking with each other and eating. No one had noticed that his song ended.
Storygram #119
She stomped down the path from the science building. Her ideas were good, and she knew it. Their laughter still echoed in her mind. If she was a man, they would have listened to everything.
Storygram #118
The moon wasn’t out that night. It had been the Earth’s companion for so long that it couldn’t bear to watch us suffer, so it turned its face away. We may never see our friend again.
Storygram #117
A man with a half shaved head and no shirt removes my handcuffs. He slaps into my hand a metal tube that comes to a needle turned at a right angle at the end. There is only one button.
Storygram #116
She was envious of the life here. It would be so easy for her to accept an invitation to become part of this location, part of this peace. She would be happy as one of the trees or even just a flower by the river’s edge, but it would never be.
Storygram #115
The catacombs could not be reached, except through a door in the inner room that only the priest could unlock. And he wasn’t exactly the priest’s favorite person. He let the palm of his hand graze the top of each pew as he walked down the side aisle.
Storygram #114
A peppy guide on the train tells us every detail we never wanted to know as we pass certain landmarks of the war or the rebuild program. I was too young to remember much of the war, but I remember my parents dying in it and the same explosion scarring my face.
Storygram #113
He had performed every diagnostic imaginable on the system. Any conceivable scenario where a malfunction could cause catastrophic failure or death had been meticulously eradicated from the programming.
Storygram #112
To some, they had a boring life full of predictability and mundane activity, but they didn’t see it that way. To them, every day was an adventure into the heart of the other, an exploration into a sea of the infinite responses of love.
Storygram #111
They turn a blind eye to convictions. They devour each other. Without the wars, we would’ve just continued lying to one another. In my opinion the chemicals just revealed our true nature.