i don’t want to do this i have done this before so please stop giving me the same think as i am starting to get annoyed thankyou very much please change it & i wwill not give you my name & email adresses.
It was so dark inside the elephant that my dreams felt like lumps of coal. They flew out of my head, headed for the terrible gravity of a black hole, and the holes they left above my eyes poured jet black sand and emptiness and forever.
“The trunk. There’s no bod- bottle of alcohol in the trunk. Impossible.”
“What is that stench?”
“Alcohol, most definitely.”
“Smells like a rotting corpse.”
“It’s imported. From Sweden.”
“You drove that body here from Sweden?”
“She was a mail-order bride. Defective.”
“So there IS a body in that trunk?”
“Only the finest of specimens.”
I think of the trunk of an elephant that he sucks water into. When he wants a bath, he squirts that water onto his back. Then if he doesn’t want a bath with that water, he drinks it when he gets thirsty.
Dirty sun light filter through the bullet holes of the old Oldsmobile, giving just enough illumination to confirm all his fears. Alec was now the sole living occupant of this tiny hell. The bullets from last night may have missed their mark with him, but they hit the other mystery man dead center. Well, at least you haven’t started to stink yet Alec mumbled out-loud.
all i could think of was how beautiful the lights looked as the truck came barreling at me. euphoria and wonder. broken glass, broken bones. i was screaming, it was beautiful.
The trunk made a sound that neither driver nor passenger noticed. It was not a very loud sound; it was the soft and small and quiet sound of punches against metal. In the wing mirror he caught sight of the thick green stalks trailing from the car, dragging along the weathered road as the car sped well over the speed limit. He pulled over, and approached the vines with caution. Upon identifying their source – the trunk – he lifted the latch and pulled up the lid to be enveloped by a cloud of red and pink and white petals, and sparkling droplets of dew, and the fragrance of five hundred flowers crushed into a very small space. More vines grew out of the trunk and seemed to run off down the road, enormous rosebuds blooming further and further off in the distance. The vines grew in the opposite direction too: into the car, and around the headboards of the front seats and into the radio and around the rear-view mirror and over the bonnet and wrapping themselves around the tyres, with those beautifully impossible roses blooming all the while.
in trunk of mine..
everything is all for you,
in this trunk there are lovely thought of you
now its mine but its yours when you want to
this trunk in truthfully is full of you
no matter how i hide it will find a way to you
inside this trunk there is a lonely heart craving for you
“You have no idea where you’re going, do you?” She growled. “You’re lost. I don’t get why you just won’t ask for directions. Oh great. Now we’re going to be late!” I just looked at her and with venom in my voice spat out a tort reply. “We’re not lost so if you’ll please just shut up I can concentrate on where we’re going.” She just glared me in response.
We continued down the dark lane as a sudden thump resonated from the trunk. Then again and again. My wife looked even more pissed. “Now what the hell was that?!” Exhaserbated, I just rolled my eyes. There it was again.
it’s your back,
the thing that hides
treasures of all sorts.
gold,
groceries,
mobsters kidnapped
bodies.
it puts all your
unmentionables
in an easier to swallow
pill,
a more aesthetic package
for what the world shouldn’t see.
It was a big fat brown thing, rusty and horrible. It looked like it was about to fall apart and probably contained objects just as dissatisfying. I opened the stiff lid with a creak and that’s when a bright pink light appeared, that’s when I got sucked in..
Full of clothes, full of secret things, treasures, trash, and of course, the Croc.
I am 100 years old now, but the memories that go with that battered old pink Croc are as fresh as if I am still but six and the incident was yesterday. Lake Superior has held that Croc in its watery arms, embraced it, tried desperately not to let it go. If it weren’t for my own Nana, who coaxed that little pink shoe out of the lake two days after it had fallen in, I would have forgotten all about the Croc, all about the lake, about life back in Minnesota.
i don’t want to do this i have done this before so please stop giving me the same think as i am starting to get annoyed thankyou very much please change it & i wwill not give you my name & email adresses.
It was so dark inside the elephant that my dreams felt like lumps of coal. They flew out of my head, headed for the terrible gravity of a black hole, and the holes they left above my eyes poured jet black sand and emptiness and forever.
“The trunk. There’s no bod- bottle of alcohol in the trunk. Impossible.”
“What is that stench?”
“Alcohol, most definitely.”
“Smells like a rotting corpse.”
“It’s imported. From Sweden.”
“You drove that body here from Sweden?”
“She was a mail-order bride. Defective.”
“So there IS a body in that trunk?”
“Only the finest of specimens.”
driving in a car but youre actually getting kiddnapped
I think of the trunk of an elephant that he sucks water into. When he wants a bath, he squirts that water onto his back. Then if he doesn’t want a bath with that water, he drinks it when he gets thirsty.
the back of the car that you put things in when you go on a trip is a trunk.
Dirty sun light filter through the bullet holes of the old Oldsmobile, giving just enough illumination to confirm all his fears. Alec was now the sole living occupant of this tiny hell. The bullets from last night may have missed their mark with him, but they hit the other mystery man dead center. Well, at least you haven’t started to stink yet Alec mumbled out-loud.
all i could think of was how beautiful the lights looked as the truck came barreling at me. euphoria and wonder. broken glass, broken bones. i was screaming, it was beautiful.
Like a safe dropped into a ravine
down onto my wily head
a cartoon crises played out
on my storyboard skin
No artist could do justice
paint the scene as textured
sculpt as bright
or design as free
the free-fall of us
The trunk made a sound that neither driver nor passenger noticed. It was not a very loud sound; it was the soft and small and quiet sound of punches against metal. In the wing mirror he caught sight of the thick green stalks trailing from the car, dragging along the weathered road as the car sped well over the speed limit. He pulled over, and approached the vines with caution. Upon identifying their source – the trunk – he lifted the latch and pulled up the lid to be enveloped by a cloud of red and pink and white petals, and sparkling droplets of dew, and the fragrance of five hundred flowers crushed into a very small space. More vines grew out of the trunk and seemed to run off down the road, enormous rosebuds blooming further and further off in the distance. The vines grew in the opposite direction too: into the car, and around the headboards of the front seats and into the radio and around the rear-view mirror and over the bonnet and wrapping themselves around the tyres, with those beautifully impossible roses blooming all the while.
truck;
toys
have fun
like
in trunk of mine..
everything is all for you,
in this trunk there are lovely thought of you
now its mine but its yours when you want to
this trunk in truthfully is full of you
no matter how i hide it will find a way to you
inside this trunk there is a lonely heart craving for you
“You have no idea where you’re going, do you?” She growled. “You’re lost. I don’t get why you just won’t ask for directions. Oh great. Now we’re going to be late!” I just looked at her and with venom in my voice spat out a tort reply. “We’re not lost so if you’ll please just shut up I can concentrate on where we’re going.” She just glared me in response.
We continued down the dark lane as a sudden thump resonated from the trunk. Then again and again. My wife looked even more pissed. “Now what the hell was that?!” Exhaserbated, I just rolled my eyes. There it was again.
its the back of the car…… where u store heavy luggage and stuff u cant carry along with u in the seat..
it’s your back,
the thing that hides
treasures of all sorts.
gold,
groceries,
mobsters kidnapped
bodies.
it puts all your
unmentionables
in an easier to swallow
pill,
a more aesthetic package
for what the world shouldn’t see.
It was a big fat brown thing, rusty and horrible. It looked like it was about to fall apart and probably contained objects just as dissatisfying. I opened the stiff lid with a creak and that’s when a bright pink light appeared, that’s when I got sucked in..
Full of clothes, full of secret things, treasures, trash, and of course, the Croc.
I am 100 years old now, but the memories that go with that battered old pink Croc are as fresh as if I am still but six and the incident was yesterday. Lake Superior has held that Croc in its watery arms, embraced it, tried desperately not to let it go. If it weren’t for my own Nana, who coaxed that little pink shoe out of the lake two days after it had fallen in, I would have forgotten all about the Croc, all about the lake, about life back in Minnesota.