“Don’t hate me, I’m just the messenger,” he muttered, shuffling his feet.
Exasperated, she huffed and turned to face him.
“Fine, I know, and you are right- it isn’t your fault.”
It was the messenger who had run the bell and asked for me, handing me an envelope and leaving after I came out and said I was she and leaving as swiftly and anonymously as he arrived.
I don’t think he even looked at my face as it handed it over, but then again, I didn’t see his face shielded in his helmet. He was exhausted as he grasped the handlebars: it was as if the bike was holding him up as if they were permanently welded together. The trailer appended behind was burdened to head height with other packages and bags and the company logo heralded who he worked for. The smell of sweat and cold watery air came into the open front of the building with him and he stood shivering in the warmth that blew out as the doors opened and closed in front of him, as he waited for me.
it happened for me a periode!! i was using the social network; the most usful was messenger
waitting the ring of that one!! because i have an idea about the personne who i really wait to reply and sometimes guess what i know what i will read… but in the end like is it now my phone is always silence beucause i don’t have something to wait…
sometimes i say that messenger was a big problem; but i find that i learned many thing just because i have its rings!!!
unfrotunetly every one has a bad story with messenger!! but it’s okay we learn ;)
I used to use Instant Messenger a child non-stop. The mainstay for every kid growing in the 90s was IM. If you had it, you were in the know. My parents would attempt to put a time limit on my use of IM however I would always wait for them to call asleep so as to prolong my time.
The messenger shifted from foot to foot in my doorway. He wasn’t carrying a package, or a subpeona, or a pizza, nothing like that. He had a sharp butcher knife in his hand. Fortunately I had a pistol in mine.
the messenger stood in the doorway, exhausted, breathless and reluctant to let go of what was in his hand; even he knew the pain those simple words scrawled on paper might bring.
stuck here with a stick light for selfie
self centered unending
a message to messengers
show me to the world
impress me
undepress me
for i am selfless
in my selfish
anxiety
She stood floored, could not believe it. “You are lying,” she screamed at the poor police man in front of her. “You just want to hurt me or make a cruel joke and think I let you fool me!”
Messengers come in many forms, as do the messages they carry. For example, that person you just happened to run into from your past, may not have just been ‘in the neighborhood’ at all. That’s one example.
Jack sat at the bar in his usual spot, his typical Thursday night line up of whiskey and draft beer already being served up by his favorite bartender. His drinking habits may have started as a means to cope with the memories, but over the years it just became part of his personality. He figured it must have worked since he couldn’t remember why he started hitting the sauce so hard in the first place.
He was on his third set when he heard somebody hop onto the stool next to him. The person spoke with cold and flat voice “I have come with a message for you.” Jack didn’t look over, he wasn’t about to give a complete stranger the idea that his attention was so easily diverted.
“A message?” he asked, eyes still locked on the TV over the bar.
“Yes” the man answered.
“What sort of message?” Jack asked.
“I’m afraid it is the kind of message most people do not enjoy receiving.” he answered. A long pause ensued.
he spoke again “It’s nothing personal, but I’m here to kill you.”
Jack shot back off his stool before the final word was muttered, but he was already impaired by the booze. The messenger caught him straight in the chest with a knife. The force of the attack was so great that it sent him flying backward into a bar table and onto the floor.
He tried to sit back up, but the knife lodged in his chest made movement near impossible. He yelled for the bartender to help him. “Sal! Help me! Kill that son-of-a-bitch!” but Sal just kept wiping down the bar with his towel, completely unphased by what happened.
He responded without looking up. “I’m sorry Jack, but I know better than to shoot the messenger.”
Don’t shoot the messenger.
I’m not gonna shoot you, but I might slap you.
I didn’t do anything.
Didn’t you?
Come on, Britt.
No, don’t touch me, let me think.
Okay, okay…
Don’t shoot it.
But, do use it.
Delete the Facebook app.
Doing so will unequivocally make your life better.
The good news is: You can keep the Messenger app.
Facebook lets you do that now.
Improve your life.
Delete Facebook off your phone.
Use Messenger.
It wasn’t a job I chose. I didn’t even apply for it. Someone approached me the other day, asked if I could get across town in less than 45 minutes (I guess my reputation had preceeded me). I bragged a bit and said ‘hell yes.’ Now, here I am. Gun to my head, nerfherder rummaging through my bag, my feet standing in a sickly sticky pile of I don’t even want to know what. I’m quitting tomorrow.
She had no other choice – no Devil’s Advocate, no St. Peter, not even a god-damn representation of a bat-winged, red-tipped cartoon devil to egg her either which way of what might be the worst mistake of her life, or one that would set her free, finally.
there is one word that should describe any concept that you would like to have to influence a group of people. For instance you should or could say Suffering and then begin to show how suffering is not simply a negative thing but a strenf=gth bolding experience. It releases a mystery of accessing hidden strength within you that you didn’t know you had. This comes by going through the suffering without resistance or anger but with an acceptance that knows that it will pass. You become strengthened to then be there for others in their sug=ffeing.
There was a time in my life where the person I am today would solely feel like a messenger constantly moving from one place to the next without thinking, without the repercussions and without feeling that I am mistaken. I wish I could change the narrative I wish I wasn’t who this description of a person truly embodies.
They say you shouldn’t shoot the messenger, yet here I am: bleeding profusely on the king’s carpet, mixing red with red, though the red from me will turn to brown in just a few hours as the oxygen in the air has its way with it. The king holsters his gun, and I am left to cling to what little life I have now as the monarch’s steward stares at me.
“Your Majesty,” he says, “do you think, perhaps, you may have overreacted a bit to the news?”
“Don’t hate me, I’m just the messenger,” he muttered, shuffling his feet.
Exasperated, she huffed and turned to face him.
“Fine, I know, and you are right- it isn’t your fault.”
It was the messenger who had run the bell and asked for me, handing me an envelope and leaving after I came out and said I was she and leaving as swiftly and anonymously as he arrived.
I don’t think he even looked at my face as it handed it over, but then again, I didn’t see his face shielded in his helmet. He was exhausted as he grasped the handlebars: it was as if the bike was holding him up as if they were permanently welded together. The trailer appended behind was burdened to head height with other packages and bags and the company logo heralded who he worked for. The smell of sweat and cold watery air came into the open front of the building with him and he stood shivering in the warmth that blew out as the doors opened and closed in front of him, as he waited for me.
it happened for me a periode!! i was using the social network; the most usful was messenger
waitting the ring of that one!! because i have an idea about the personne who i really wait to reply and sometimes guess what i know what i will read… but in the end like is it now my phone is always silence beucause i don’t have something to wait…
sometimes i say that messenger was a big problem; but i find that i learned many thing just because i have its rings!!!
unfrotunetly every one has a bad story with messenger!! but it’s okay we learn ;)
I used to use Instant Messenger a child non-stop. The mainstay for every kid growing in the 90s was IM. If you had it, you were in the know. My parents would attempt to put a time limit on my use of IM however I would always wait for them to call asleep so as to prolong my time.
The messenger shifted from foot to foot in my doorway. He wasn’t carrying a package, or a subpeona, or a pizza, nothing like that. He had a sharp butcher knife in his hand. Fortunately I had a pistol in mine.
the messenger stood in the doorway, exhausted, breathless and reluctant to let go of what was in his hand; even he knew the pain those simple words scrawled on paper might bring.
stuck here with a stick light for selfie
self centered unending
a message to messengers
show me to the world
impress me
undepress me
for i am selfless
in my selfish
anxiety
She stood floored, could not believe it. “You are lying,” she screamed at the poor police man in front of her. “You just want to hurt me or make a cruel joke and think I let you fool me!”
Messengers come in many forms, as do the messages they carry. For example, that person you just happened to run into from your past, may not have just been ‘in the neighborhood’ at all. That’s one example.
Messengers have something to say, but that doesn’t mean it is accurate or important.
Jack sat at the bar in his usual spot, his typical Thursday night line up of whiskey and draft beer already being served up by his favorite bartender. His drinking habits may have started as a means to cope with the memories, but over the years it just became part of his personality. He figured it must have worked since he couldn’t remember why he started hitting the sauce so hard in the first place.
He was on his third set when he heard somebody hop onto the stool next to him. The person spoke with cold and flat voice “I have come with a message for you.” Jack didn’t look over, he wasn’t about to give a complete stranger the idea that his attention was so easily diverted.
“A message?” he asked, eyes still locked on the TV over the bar.
“Yes” the man answered.
“What sort of message?” Jack asked.
“I’m afraid it is the kind of message most people do not enjoy receiving.” he answered. A long pause ensued.
he spoke again “It’s nothing personal, but I’m here to kill you.”
Jack shot back off his stool before the final word was muttered, but he was already impaired by the booze. The messenger caught him straight in the chest with a knife. The force of the attack was so great that it sent him flying backward into a bar table and onto the floor.
He tried to sit back up, but the knife lodged in his chest made movement near impossible. He yelled for the bartender to help him. “Sal! Help me! Kill that son-of-a-bitch!” but Sal just kept wiping down the bar with his towel, completely unphased by what happened.
He responded without looking up. “I’m sorry Jack, but I know better than to shoot the messenger.”
Don’t shoot the messenger.
I’m not gonna shoot you, but I might slap you.
I didn’t do anything.
Didn’t you?
Come on, Britt.
No, don’t touch me, let me think.
Okay, okay…
words that messed up his life.
words that drove everything away.
everything and everyone.
all that he had loved.
that was the night.
he lost.
to the faithful messenger,
of death.
Don’t shoot it.
But, do use it.
Delete the Facebook app.
Doing so will unequivocally make your life better.
The good news is: You can keep the Messenger app.
Facebook lets you do that now.
Improve your life.
Delete Facebook off your phone.
Use Messenger.
It wasn’t a job I chose. I didn’t even apply for it. Someone approached me the other day, asked if I could get across town in less than 45 minutes (I guess my reputation had preceeded me). I bragged a bit and said ‘hell yes.’ Now, here I am. Gun to my head, nerfherder rummaging through my bag, my feet standing in a sickly sticky pile of I don’t even want to know what. I’m quitting tomorrow.
Hello!
She had no other choice – no Devil’s Advocate, no St. Peter, not even a god-damn representation of a bat-winged, red-tipped cartoon devil to egg her either which way of what might be the worst mistake of her life, or one that would set her free, finally.
there is one word that should describe any concept that you would like to have to influence a group of people. For instance you should or could say Suffering and then begin to show how suffering is not simply a negative thing but a strenf=gth bolding experience. It releases a mystery of accessing hidden strength within you that you didn’t know you had. This comes by going through the suffering without resistance or anger but with an acceptance that knows that it will pass. You become strengthened to then be there for others in their sug=ffeing.
There was a time in my life where the person I am today would solely feel like a messenger constantly moving from one place to the next without thinking, without the repercussions and without feeling that I am mistaken. I wish I could change the narrative I wish I wasn’t who this description of a person truly embodies.
They say you shouldn’t shoot the messenger, yet here I am: bleeding profusely on the king’s carpet, mixing red with red, though the red from me will turn to brown in just a few hours as the oxygen in the air has its way with it. The king holsters his gun, and I am left to cling to what little life I have now as the monarch’s steward stares at me.
“Your Majesty,” he says, “do you think, perhaps, you may have overreacted a bit to the news?”