“Holy cow!” My watch became lost in the cow’s anus. “Help! My watch is lost.” Mimicking what might have to be done, I practiced by gently easing my arms into air cow. “This isn’t going to work!” I look to my little brother for ideas. I notice how slight his hands and body are. Such a small boy. Before I can even verbalise my request, impulse has me catch hold of him. I lift him up. There was no time to process the events, before he knew it he was up to his laces in cow’s ass hole. “Don’t worry”, I say, “I’m holding your feet”. “Can you see the watch?”. No reply…
The difference was only slight, but I easily noticed. The woman on the left had a rounder face than the left girl’s longer version of their otherwise identical visage. Their hair was arranged in the same style, a tight ponytail. So tight it almost gave them a sort of facelift that stretched their forehead back and smoothed any wrinkles they may have had. Both wore the same clothes; bright orange dungarees with a large pocket on the chest and brass coloured buckles to hold them up. Their shirts were a graphite shade of grey which were tucked neatly into the trouser portion of their dungarees and each had their number tattooed on their left palm.
I thought I had this word before. Slight. Why does everything have to be so slight in my life? There is a slight chance I will keep my scholarship. There is a slight chance that I can stay at this beautiful college that understands me. There is a slight chance that you will love me, at some point…
They’re returning home from a crime scene, where Lestrade has been unusually obstinate, and Sherlock has stolen his handcuffs as payment. The brooding detective tosses them onto the seat of the taxi, between himself and John. The doctor chuckles softly and lifts them to inspect before handing them back to Sherlock, where they become a plaything, spinning around one long finger.
“It’s funny, you know,” John muses softly at Sherlock, who is surely going over the evidence and clues, fresh in his mind.
“Hrm? What is?” The pale, focused gaze out the window at the passing scenery doesn’t shift, the conversation not even a distraction from his thoughts.
“You. For someone who solves crimes for a living, you’ve got the stickiest fingers of anyone I know.” He considers for a moment before adding, “How DO you do that, anyway?”
Sherlock glances over at him as the street lights flash over his face. “The pickpocketing? It’s only a slight of hand. I could teach you if you’d like.”
John grins and agrees, and the two practice together once they reach the flat. After an hour or so, John can successfully filch Sherlock’s magnifying glass from his pocket. Sherlock assures him that on any other target, his efforts would go unnoticed.
John only realizes as he goes to bed that the lesson may have been a monumental waste of time. As Sherlock has no qualms about taking what he wants from others, John knows he would feel far too guilty to steal even an inconsequential trinket from anyone.
Next week, as John is just finishing up the shopping, a beady-eyed little asian woman cuts in front of the doctor and snatches up the last jar of his favorite jam before he could reach it. Her abraisive glare only adds to the insult, and John finally finds himself in a position to vindicate a slight against his good will.
It is with no small sense of satisfaction that John places the last jar of brambleberry jam on the conveyer belt with his order, the offending shopper none the wiser.
A slight tweak of his hand and the coin disappeared, as though into thin air. the children looked on in rapture, and suddenly the magician pulled the coin out of another child’s ear, dropped it into his hand, and flourished his cloak in a bow.
As I use the slight movement of my hand, the knife hits the animal, hard. I stutter, and start sprinting, faster and faster. I can’t stop killing, I thought. It’s my blood, it’s my genuine. Something is happening.
What is it?
slight hesitation. that’s all it takes to realize something isn’t right. Your gut instinct is always your strongest, so when you feel that slight indifference or slight uneasiness, you know that you need to go the other way. Not slightly! 100% the other way.
im going to see slightly stoopid this summer with 311. Lawn seats are pretty cheap and it should be a good concert.
ITs not nice to slight someone. Im a big fan of eye for an eye but nature has a way of doing that for you with what goes around comes around.
The movement is quiet, not quite noticed. This is weird, how I feel. Oops, sorry. Don’t be sneaky, I caught you once again. Yea, I know how you feel. Just because you wore socks, I almost didn’t catch you.
it was a slightly warm day at the beginning of the week. No one cared that the windows were wide open, letting fresh country air sweep away last night’s dust and cobwebs, leaving a fresh brand new morning in its wake.
I tried to make my movements slight. Move slightly to the front, to the back. I always move too quickly, and Nathaniel always comments that ‘the compound is still in me’. So I’m trying to take smaller steps, to make slower lunges when I feel danger coming. I know that my movements are usually faster than they should be, but I was taught to always anticipate danger. To move like a dancer, to have the grace that doesn’t come with the luxury of thinking about my moves. Quick action over slight action.
something slightly frightening happens when i feel finally okay. is that an irony of life, or have i done something wrong? well, whining gets me nowhere, after all–i just sometimes feel tired of this slight indication that i’m not good enough.
She was slight in frame. He never respected her like he should have, because of it. She was sick of being pushed around and picked on as result of this. Anger brewed inside her. She would have her revenge.
i am the small thing that haunts your corners. i have slipped through the cracks. waiting up all night with the words barely off my tongue and you say you can’t hear me, nobody hears me. it doesn’t hurt, much.
Everyone else looked on, unperturbed by what he said to him. Few knew it’s implication,as in life, few saw the subtext. On the surface it may have sounded positive, but we know him. He is negative inward and outward and the initiated knew it as a slight; like a delicious looking donut filled with poison. More and more, his impolite affectations seem a metaphor for the way he treats himself. He’d rather vent than circumvent his negativity.
There has been a slight difference of opinion among some of my friends. I will refuse to say that the HCV virus will be “cured” by treatment. A SVR does indicate that the virus is under control but I do not think that is a cure. Some will disagree with me.
of hand magic making things vanish in to nothingness like super models by slighting you, i make you less with my words. i reduce your worth, reduce your visibility- why do we wish to be slight?
I am slightly unhappy today because it is a Friday. One would normally think that you would be happy on a Friday but I am a teacher so I will miss my class over the weekend.
With the slightest push, he tips me over the edge. My fury, my frustration, boils over. What patience I have wears thin, and his hurtful words and cruel disposition make me want to scream. But then, the slightest touch, slightest touch of care, pulls me back again. Because in the end, we’re just cats fighting for dominance, but will snuggle together at night to withstand the furies of the world and the weight of responsibility
I was having dinner the other night when my friend’s brother reached into his pocket and pulled out a scarf. “Watch this”, he said. He put the scarf into his fist and made it disappear. I still don’t know how he managed did this slight of hand trick.
Her build was slight. Her slender frame was more agile than any cat’s and the grace with which she sprung through the treetops was astounding. She made no noise and was hard to spot, what with her auburn hair camouflaged in the autumn leaves.
There was a slight chance of showers today, but that meant nothing to him. For the rain didn’t bother him at all. In fact, he enjoyed the wet weather. There was no way he could pass up on this opportunity to go for a leisurely stroll.
There was a slight difference between the mother and the queen, but only as far as caring went. One could hold you as you wept, the other was the cause of the tears.
I never understood the spanking fetish. A tilt of the ass and that look of mock naughtiness. It’s meant to serve as symbolic gesture of giving up something, only for the life of me I can’t figure out what. It just looks like this ridculous and ritualistic dance between submission and dominance, as of offering up one’s back side is a perfectl form of penance for some real or imagined slight.
I woke up with a slight disturbance lying next to me in bed this morning. I made it coffee but not breakfast, and then I asked it to leave. It would not. It is now sitting opposite me at my kitchen table, smiling benevolently. I want to smash that slight disturbance in the face. But I know I won’t get rid of this one through force. More coffee?
The thought slightly crossed my mind, more as an unanswered question than a wish or dream, as I knew that it would never be a reality nor would I dwell upon it like it was. But why must the silence continue after all that caused it has been resolved? It baffled me as much as the whole thing did, and probably ever will, as passive the situation was to my negativity.
There is this slight breeze that always hits me on my way out the front door. its almost like my house is telling me goodbye. I almost feel like my house knows I will comeback, and it almost waits for me.
His hands trembled slightly. He leaned over, fought against his conscience, and finally picked up the diary. It lay limp and fragile and dusty in his hands. A chronicle of someone else’s life: a privacy that he was never supposed to intrude. Yet here he was…
He turned to the first page, whispered the words to himself like a long-forgotten lullaby.
“April 21st, 1973. How can it be so hard?” A deep breath. “All I ever wanted, was to be happy.”
He hasn’t the slightest idea. Sometimes, she wonders if he’s just dense, or if he’s really faking it. He’ll never know, she supposes, how attractive she finds those dark dark lashes of his. Or the way he scats a random melody; the do’s and mi’s and la’s that strike his tenor voice. He’ll never know, and maybe it’s better that way. The beautiful ones are more special when they’re unaware.
Would it be considered a slight to claims someone’S LIGHT for your own? It’s a homonym for the word that also means a kind of great, subtle hand trick. As much as I’ve always wanted to be a magician or illusionist, or at all grateful, I’m totally incapable of performing a slight of hand.
Slight then flight, the fight had gone with the wind, the rain, and all the thunder he could muster.
This opponent would always win. She didn’t like it any more than he, but it was the way it had to be. If there ever was a someday, then maybe she would give in. But as her next of kin, I doubt she’ll ever break. Through trials, hardships, and borderline masochistic heartache, I can safely say her own idealism is the only type of need she’ll ever slake.
And therein lies the problem for those who are less than ideal : the less than perfect man.
To be fair, John didn’t think much of his gambling addiction. Yet, somehow he made a slight miscalculation with the amount of time he devoted to card playing.
He wasn’t being hasty, but he needed to work a little more quickly since he would lose if he wasn’t careful. He moved his glove slightly to the left and waiting for the ball to arrive.
she was a slight sort. Long blonde hair and green eyes. She walked with a strange gait that caused her right hip to jut forward just a bit. She walked often though. She enjoyed it. She would often think of things in her life that weren’t exactly the way she wanted them to be. Being able to walk, even with a limp, was a gift to her. It was the gift that helped her understand her life.
“Holy cow!” My watch became lost in the cow’s anus. “Help! My watch is lost.” Mimicking what might have to be done, I practiced by gently easing my arms into air cow. “This isn’t going to work!” I look to my little brother for ideas. I notice how slight his hands and body are. Such a small boy. Before I can even verbalise my request, impulse has me catch hold of him. I lift him up. There was no time to process the events, before he knew it he was up to his laces in cow’s ass hole. “Don’t worry”, I say, “I’m holding your feet”. “Can you see the watch?”. No reply…
The difference was only slight, but I easily noticed. The woman on the left had a rounder face than the left girl’s longer version of their otherwise identical visage. Their hair was arranged in the same style, a tight ponytail. So tight it almost gave them a sort of facelift that stretched their forehead back and smoothed any wrinkles they may have had. Both wore the same clothes; bright orange dungarees with a large pocket on the chest and brass coloured buckles to hold them up. Their shirts were a graphite shade of grey which were tucked neatly into the trouser portion of their dungarees and each had their number tattooed on their left palm.
I thought I had this word before. Slight. Why does everything have to be so slight in my life? There is a slight chance I will keep my scholarship. There is a slight chance that I can stay at this beautiful college that understands me. There is a slight chance that you will love me, at some point…
They’re returning home from a crime scene, where Lestrade has been unusually obstinate, and Sherlock has stolen his handcuffs as payment. The brooding detective tosses them onto the seat of the taxi, between himself and John. The doctor chuckles softly and lifts them to inspect before handing them back to Sherlock, where they become a plaything, spinning around one long finger.
“It’s funny, you know,” John muses softly at Sherlock, who is surely going over the evidence and clues, fresh in his mind.
“Hrm? What is?” The pale, focused gaze out the window at the passing scenery doesn’t shift, the conversation not even a distraction from his thoughts.
“You. For someone who solves crimes for a living, you’ve got the stickiest fingers of anyone I know.” He considers for a moment before adding, “How DO you do that, anyway?”
Sherlock glances over at him as the street lights flash over his face. “The pickpocketing? It’s only a slight of hand. I could teach you if you’d like.”
John grins and agrees, and the two practice together once they reach the flat. After an hour or so, John can successfully filch Sherlock’s magnifying glass from his pocket. Sherlock assures him that on any other target, his efforts would go unnoticed.
John only realizes as he goes to bed that the lesson may have been a monumental waste of time. As Sherlock has no qualms about taking what he wants from others, John knows he would feel far too guilty to steal even an inconsequential trinket from anyone.
Next week, as John is just finishing up the shopping, a beady-eyed little asian woman cuts in front of the doctor and snatches up the last jar of his favorite jam before he could reach it. Her abraisive glare only adds to the insult, and John finally finds himself in a position to vindicate a slight against his good will.
It is with no small sense of satisfaction that John places the last jar of brambleberry jam on the conveyer belt with his order, the offending shopper none the wiser.
A slight tweak of his hand and the coin disappeared, as though into thin air. the children looked on in rapture, and suddenly the magician pulled the coin out of another child’s ear, dropped it into his hand, and flourished his cloak in a bow.
As I use the slight movement of my hand, the knife hits the animal, hard. I stutter, and start sprinting, faster and faster. I can’t stop killing, I thought. It’s my blood, it’s my genuine. Something is happening.
What is it?
slight hesitation. that’s all it takes to realize something isn’t right. Your gut instinct is always your strongest, so when you feel that slight indifference or slight uneasiness, you know that you need to go the other way. Not slightly! 100% the other way.
im going to see slightly stoopid this summer with 311. Lawn seats are pretty cheap and it should be a good concert.
ITs not nice to slight someone. Im a big fan of eye for an eye but nature has a way of doing that for you with what goes around comes around.
The movement is quiet, not quite noticed. This is weird, how I feel. Oops, sorry. Don’t be sneaky, I caught you once again. Yea, I know how you feel. Just because you wore socks, I almost didn’t catch you.
it was a slightly warm day at the beginning of the week. No one cared that the windows were wide open, letting fresh country air sweep away last night’s dust and cobwebs, leaving a fresh brand new morning in its wake.
slight, I had a slight fever this morning, lol just kidding but thats all I can think about when I think of slight:D
I tried to make my movements slight. Move slightly to the front, to the back. I always move too quickly, and Nathaniel always comments that ‘the compound is still in me’. So I’m trying to take smaller steps, to make slower lunges when I feel danger coming. I know that my movements are usually faster than they should be, but I was taught to always anticipate danger. To move like a dancer, to have the grace that doesn’t come with the luxury of thinking about my moves. Quick action over slight action.
something slightly frightening happens when i feel finally okay. is that an irony of life, or have i done something wrong? well, whining gets me nowhere, after all–i just sometimes feel tired of this slight indication that i’m not good enough.
She was slight in frame. He never respected her like he should have, because of it. She was sick of being pushed around and picked on as result of this. Anger brewed inside her. She would have her revenge.
i am the small thing that haunts your corners. i have slipped through the cracks. waiting up all night with the words barely off my tongue and you say you can’t hear me, nobody hears me. it doesn’t hurt, much.
Everyone else looked on, unperturbed by what he said to him. Few knew it’s implication,as in life, few saw the subtext. On the surface it may have sounded positive, but we know him. He is negative inward and outward and the initiated knew it as a slight; like a delicious looking donut filled with poison. More and more, his impolite affectations seem a metaphor for the way he treats himself. He’d rather vent than circumvent his negativity.
There has been a slight difference of opinion among some of my friends. I will refuse to say that the HCV virus will be “cured” by treatment. A SVR does indicate that the virus is under control but I do not think that is a cure. Some will disagree with me.
i have a slight headache
of hand magic making things vanish in to nothingness like super models by slighting you, i make you less with my words. i reduce your worth, reduce your visibility- why do we wish to be slight?
I have a pounding headache and a slight pain in my stomach… is that enough to ask for a sick day? Where should we draw the line?
I am slightly unhappy today because it is a Friday. One would normally think that you would be happy on a Friday but I am a teacher so I will miss my class over the weekend.
With the slightest push, he tips me over the edge. My fury, my frustration, boils over. What patience I have wears thin, and his hurtful words and cruel disposition make me want to scream. But then, the slightest touch, slightest touch of care, pulls me back again. Because in the end, we’re just cats fighting for dominance, but will snuggle together at night to withstand the furies of the world and the weight of responsibility
I don’t know what slight means in general but all I can say is today was slightly better than other days which is good.
I was having dinner the other night when my friend’s brother reached into his pocket and pulled out a scarf. “Watch this”, he said. He put the scarf into his fist and made it disappear. I still don’t know how he managed did this slight of hand trick.
Her build was slight. Her slender frame was more agile than any cat’s and the grace with which she sprung through the treetops was astounding. She made no noise and was hard to spot, what with her auburn hair camouflaged in the autumn leaves.
want to get everything in life
There was a slight chance of showers today, but that meant nothing to him. For the rain didn’t bother him at all. In fact, he enjoyed the wet weather. There was no way he could pass up on this opportunity to go for a leisurely stroll.
There was a slight difference between the mother and the queen, but only as far as caring went. One could hold you as you wept, the other was the cause of the tears.
I never understood the spanking fetish. A tilt of the ass and that look of mock naughtiness. It’s meant to serve as symbolic gesture of giving up something, only for the life of me I can’t figure out what. It just looks like this ridculous and ritualistic dance between submission and dominance, as of offering up one’s back side is a perfectl form of penance for some real or imagined slight.
I woke up with a slight disturbance lying next to me in bed this morning. I made it coffee but not breakfast, and then I asked it to leave. It would not. It is now sitting opposite me at my kitchen table, smiling benevolently. I want to smash that slight disturbance in the face. But I know I won’t get rid of this one through force. More coffee?
The thought slightly crossed my mind, more as an unanswered question than a wish or dream, as I knew that it would never be a reality nor would I dwell upon it like it was. But why must the silence continue after all that caused it has been resolved? It baffled me as much as the whole thing did, and probably ever will, as passive the situation was to my negativity.
There is this slight breeze that always hits me on my way out the front door. its almost like my house is telling me goodbye. I almost feel like my house knows I will comeback, and it almost waits for me.
He used a slight of hand to win the game.
there was a slight pause.
A trick.
A small something or space of time not long enough to be a second.
almost.
His hands trembled slightly. He leaned over, fought against his conscience, and finally picked up the diary. It lay limp and fragile and dusty in his hands. A chronicle of someone else’s life: a privacy that he was never supposed to intrude. Yet here he was…
He turned to the first page, whispered the words to himself like a long-forgotten lullaby.
“April 21st, 1973. How can it be so hard?” A deep breath. “All I ever wanted, was to be happy.”
He hasn’t the slightest idea. Sometimes, she wonders if he’s just dense, or if he’s really faking it. He’ll never know, she supposes, how attractive she finds those dark dark lashes of his. Or the way he scats a random melody; the do’s and mi’s and la’s that strike his tenor voice. He’ll never know, and maybe it’s better that way. The beautiful ones are more special when they’re unaware.
Would it be considered a slight to claims someone’S LIGHT for your own? It’s a homonym for the word that also means a kind of great, subtle hand trick. As much as I’ve always wanted to be a magician or illusionist, or at all grateful, I’m totally incapable of performing a slight of hand.
Slight then flight, the fight had gone with the wind, the rain, and all the thunder he could muster.
This opponent would always win. She didn’t like it any more than he, but it was the way it had to be. If there ever was a someday, then maybe she would give in. But as her next of kin, I doubt she’ll ever break. Through trials, hardships, and borderline masochistic heartache, I can safely say her own idealism is the only type of need she’ll ever slake.
And therein lies the problem for those who are less than ideal : the less than perfect man.
To be fair, John didn’t think much of his gambling addiction. Yet, somehow he made a slight miscalculation with the amount of time he devoted to card playing.
His family will never forgive him for it.
He wasn’t being hasty, but he needed to work a little more quickly since he would lose if he wasn’t careful. He moved his glove slightly to the left and waiting for the ball to arrive.
she was a slight sort. Long blonde hair and green eyes. She walked with a strange gait that caused her right hip to jut forward just a bit. She walked often though. She enjoyed it. She would often think of things in her life that weren’t exactly the way she wanted them to be. Being able to walk, even with a limp, was a gift to her. It was the gift that helped her understand her life.