iZorey

"Stop touching those. It's like. A five dollar pair of socks!", I yelled at Roum, who was adorning his hands with a pair of pink, polka-dotted socks. I loved those socks. I walked out of the room. "Buuuut… They're soft.", his reply was weak, and giddy. "Think I care? I love those socks." "Not as much as you love meeeee!" "ARGGG… Don't make me come in thar." "I dare you.", his voice changed to a deep, threatening tone. The pads of my bare feet pushed on the ground as I made my way toward his room. He was putting on all my clothes, and making himself look like a skunk- much like myself. He had painted his white wing black, to match the t

Sunday morning, only two days after I dumped him. He stopped calling yesterday, his last message. Wait. Hold on. Let me play it. The message rang for a moment- then his voice came up. "Chic, I'm not gonna go and fight for you like you want me to. I need your help, though. I'm in jail. No time to explain as to why. But I'll tell you this- it has to do with a banana, some lady's door, and a bag full of crap." Click. He hung up. How juvenile of him to put a flaming bag of crap on a poor womans door. Can you imagine how horrified so would have been?.. I thought constantly. Should I bail him out?.. Or should I forget that he even called. I'll

Nip/Tuck, addictive little show, ain't it?.. I fell through the cushions of my couch as I dreaded the final scene. The scene in which The Carver, the only person anyone talked about anymore, would be reveiled. My heart was racing, I could feel the blood drippling down off my fingers from too much pressure. Perhaps the nails pushed backward, but I didn't feel any pain. Well, I did. But it wasn't in my fingers. I was too into the show, the intent scene. The carver had just slashed somone. We looked through the victims eyes. Shit. Why am I on the floor?.. Why am I... bleeding?.. Is this.. no.. That can't be.. he's fictional!... The carver, bello