Tale, not a very tall one. If written correctly could be a decent title to a story. It would have to be a romantic comedy of some sort, but who doesn’t love a good romantic comedy?
His words were fantasy, myth, fiction. My mind was absorbed, transfixed, and hypnotized by his tale.
“I love you. I’m never going to hurt you, so please, come upstairs.”
My brain said no.
My mouth said yes.
tall tales are bad. but they’re better than completely not talking about the truth. i would rather a lie than not knowing something, cuz then you can yell at the person for lying instead of for not telling you…
There is nothing better than a big tale, told well. No easy fete. A believable beginning to rope the listener in. An exciting mid section with many twists and turns. And tie it all up in a bow with a big pay off! Oh, how I love to write!!
He leant towards her, perfectly prepared to tell a lie. He’d never tasted truth upon his lips. And they parted to speak, words which filled him with shock.
“I was born in a new england village.” The start of his life story, of his actual honest-to-goodness hometown. Well, there was still time to turn back now.
It was a tale as old as time. I wondered sometimes, while watching the old Disney movies, whether real life has the potential to be anything like that.
a tale of two cities is a wonderful book. it was written by mark twain (i think) and he is a pretty freaking sweet dude. this tale should not be confused with tail. or teal, the color. mostly, a tale is a little story about something miraculous. bye.
The tale of my murder is one that I have yet to tell. It is one of tragic confrontations and terrible truths that are found in all people and yet ignored by most. I have little to say about it except that to tell the whole truth would only increase your pain as well as mine.
Fairytale. Love. I am in love. Life will be a fairytale, is a fairytale sometimes, if you make it so. You make it so. You are my prince, I have no idea how I deserve you. I love you. We’ll be a tale.
I wanted to write a tale about two people who once loved each other but forgot how too. But it hurt too much because it was too much like my life. I wanted to turn the tale into something nicer, how two people loved each other and kept doing it. But I hate when people end up together.g
Tell me a tale of joy and woe, a tale some long years gone
I went to a place for love to soe, and to see a yellow hazed dawn.
He was there with his heart and his bow, and I was his hunted fawn.
I only knew love was his heart and foe, and I was a long fiendish song.
a fairy tale; something with princesses, and love.
but no one ever gets a fucking happy ending; were all locked in a reality of lonliness and heartbreak.
here is the tale of all that is good. it’s long lake and four girls side by side. its the same swing but add a few more loved ones. it’s all of us, reining together as family. it’s the neverending tale of happiness and growth.
tale me a tall tale please,i really do love them.
I love stories,I see the world so much clearer after I hear one.
Tell me whatever you want and I will listen.
My lifes a disaster.
It’s getting harder to breathe…
There was a story in that day, if only she could find someone to tell it to. Martha was always going off about how the extraordinary was there to foil the dreams of the ordinary, but in this case, she was perfectly willing to be somewhat of a buzzkill.
Her life was far from a fairy tale. Her boyfriend broke up with her, her best friend was starting rumours behind her back, and her brother was in a crazy institution. She slid the blade further into her skin, and watched as her tears mixed with the blood.
It was tall. It was sad. It had kinks and twists. It went on for miles, and hours, and miles. It was not epic, per se, but it wanted to be. It had all the elements of an epic, but it wasn’t there yet, only on a journey to epic.
A fairy tale isn’t necessarily the prince saving the princess and a happily ever after where they get married and have children and everything becomes right with the world because of their holy union. A fairy tale can be tragic, I mean, just look at Shakespeare.
tale of all tales. the story of all stories. true of false? fiction or non?
who cares!
tell me a story tell me a tale that boggles my mind and takes me to a new place. i’d love to go there and see a new world with you.
The tales he told in the front seat of the station wagon in the dark with just the light from the shoe store window glowing like the eye that couldn’t close down the wonder and suspense and the awe of the creatures that crept out of his tale.
Once upon a time there was a guy. This is a tale about that guy. He was fat and tall. For some reason everyone loved him. They thought he was very funny, even though he was huge.
Fairy tales do not exist. They are a figment of our imagination. Every young girl wishes to have this special fairy tale come true by the end of her life but it never will.
The fairy tale lulled her to sleep. By the time those velvet words slipped off the paper, she was far away in a world where nothing could hurt her for once. and he would have given the world to have followed.
She looked out of the light house, down onto the crisp ocean water. Salt in the water, salt in her tears. Her vale was touching the ground, the tattered white gown damp from the moist air. She thought back to the months leading up to this moment. The man she loves is gone, and she can only hope that this light will lead him home.
She wove a tale of sorrow and battles for the young vampire. he listened intently as she gestured widely with her pale hands, her red eyes shimmering with blood-tinged tears. She had lost so much to this battle.
It was a form of Russian Roulette. Every day he would post a word, and she would spin a short tale from it. If he didn’t like the story, he would kill her.
Everything went well enough until one day her tale revealed the truth and AAARGGHH…………
It was a tall tale that she told everytime someone approached her with the idea. She wasn’t in love, hardly. He was her best friend and nothing more. She’d tell the tale over and over again until it would finally become a reality, and no longer just something she’d tell herself over and over to fool the people around her.
“I have quite a tale to tell.” He leans back in the chair, his eyes obscured by his hat. “I have many, actually.” His voice rises up with the cigarette smoke floating around the small dark room. “So many, I have trouble keeping them in. But this tale… is my favorite.” It is low, his voice, and smooth and mysterious. “So. Listen carefully.” He looks up, and for just a moment, his eyes are visible, a spark of light in the murk. A smile curves his sensual lips, melts into his words. “You don’t want to miss one… single… thing.”
I heard a beautiful tale of a logger and his axe. He was very attached to his axe. the logger and his axe had the best friendship anyone could want with an inanimate object.
He lived to tell the tale, isn’t that the whole delightful purpose to having tragedy hit you in your softest most protected spaces. The story is long, evocative, and brilliant, and is basically all he has left.
Tale, not a very tall one. If written correctly could be a decent title to a story. It would have to be a romantic comedy of some sort, but who doesn’t love a good romantic comedy?
His words were fantasy, myth, fiction. My mind was absorbed, transfixed, and hypnotized by his tale.
“I love you. I’m never going to hurt you, so please, come upstairs.”
My brain said no.
My mouth said yes.
tall tales are bad. but they’re better than completely not talking about the truth. i would rather a lie than not knowing something, cuz then you can yell at the person for lying instead of for not telling you…
i just often wonder
the story to ponder
its true or its stale
i never doubted
a brisk of a commandment
a snort can be your bail
There is nothing better than a big tale, told well. No easy fete. A believable beginning to rope the listener in. An exciting mid section with many twists and turns. And tie it all up in a bow with a big pay off! Oh, how I love to write!!
He leant towards her, perfectly prepared to tell a lie. He’d never tasted truth upon his lips. And they parted to speak, words which filled him with shock.
“I was born in a new england village.” The start of his life story, of his actual honest-to-goodness hometown. Well, there was still time to turn back now.
It was a tale as old as time. I wondered sometimes, while watching the old Disney movies, whether real life has the potential to be anything like that.
a tale of two cities is a wonderful book. it was written by mark twain (i think) and he is a pretty freaking sweet dude. this tale should not be confused with tail. or teal, the color. mostly, a tale is a little story about something miraculous. bye.
The tale of my murder is one that I have yet to tell. It is one of tragic confrontations and terrible truths that are found in all people and yet ignored by most. I have little to say about it except that to tell the whole truth would only increase your pain as well as mine.
I told her the fairytale my mother used to read to us. The one about the stapler, who grew wings and attached himself to papers, bricks, and clothing.
Fairytale. Love. I am in love. Life will be a fairytale, is a fairytale sometimes, if you make it so. You make it so. You are my prince, I have no idea how I deserve you. I love you. We’ll be a tale.
Was it the tale I told that made you leave? Of dragons and gargoyles?
Well, if that was all, come back right here and let me give you moles.
WHAT?
fair
bear
care
mar
fairy
diary
dairy
money
tummy
sleep
eating
danm
I wanted to write a tale about two people who once loved each other but forgot how too. But it hurt too much because it was too much like my life. I wanted to turn the tale into something nicer, how two people loved each other and kept doing it. But I hate when people end up together.g
Tell me a tale of joy and woe, a tale some long years gone
I went to a place for love to soe, and to see a yellow hazed dawn.
He was there with his heart and his bow, and I was his hunted fawn.
I only knew love was his heart and foe, and I was a long fiendish song.
a fairy tale; something with princesses, and love.
but no one ever gets a fucking happy ending; were all locked in a reality of lonliness and heartbreak.
here is the tale of all that is good. it’s long lake and four girls side by side. its the same swing but add a few more loved ones. it’s all of us, reining together as family. it’s the neverending tale of happiness and growth.
tale me a tall tale please,i really do love them.
I love stories,I see the world so much clearer after I hear one.
Tell me whatever you want and I will listen.
My lifes a disaster.
It’s getting harder to breathe…
There was a story in that day, if only she could find someone to tell it to. Martha was always going off about how the extraordinary was there to foil the dreams of the ordinary, but in this case, she was perfectly willing to be somewhat of a buzzkill.
Her life was far from a fairy tale. Her boyfriend broke up with her, her best friend was starting rumours behind her back, and her brother was in a crazy institution. She slid the blade further into her skin, and watched as her tears mixed with the blood.
It was tall. It was sad. It had kinks and twists. It went on for miles, and hours, and miles. It was not epic, per se, but it wanted to be. It had all the elements of an epic, but it wasn’t there yet, only on a journey to epic.
i tell too many tall tales, it feels. i have big fish syndrome. something to work one, i suppose.
A fairy tale isn’t necessarily the prince saving the princess and a happily ever after where they get married and have children and everything becomes right with the world because of their holy union. A fairy tale can be tragic, I mean, just look at Shakespeare.
tale of all tales. the story of all stories. true of false? fiction or non?
who cares!
tell me a story tell me a tale that boggles my mind and takes me to a new place. i’d love to go there and see a new world with you.
I’ve already had this word. Maybe it is a mistake. Or maybe it is just part of this tale known as my life. Repeat, repeat, redo, review.
The tales he told in the front seat of the station wagon in the dark with just the light from the shoe store window glowing like the eye that couldn’t close down the wonder and suspense and the awe of the creatures that crept out of his tale.
If I could weave a tale like those of the great storytellers, I would be immortalized like them.
Once upon a time there was a guy. This is a tale about that guy. He was fat and tall. For some reason everyone loved him. They thought he was very funny, even though he was huge.
Fairy tales do not exist. They are a figment of our imagination. Every young girl wishes to have this special fairy tale come true by the end of her life but it never will.
The fairy tale lulled her to sleep. By the time those velvet words slipped off the paper, she was far away in a world where nothing could hurt her for once. and he would have given the world to have followed.
She looked out of the light house, down onto the crisp ocean water. Salt in the water, salt in her tears. Her vale was touching the ground, the tattered white gown damp from the moist air. She thought back to the months leading up to this moment. The man she loves is gone, and she can only hope that this light will lead him home.
She wove a tale of sorrow and battles for the young vampire. he listened intently as she gestured widely with her pale hands, her red eyes shimmering with blood-tinged tears. She had lost so much to this battle.
It was a form of Russian Roulette. Every day he would post a word, and she would spin a short tale from it. If he didn’t like the story, he would kill her.
Everything went well enough until one day her tale revealed the truth and AAARGGHH…………
It was a tall tale that she told everytime someone approached her with the idea. She wasn’t in love, hardly. He was her best friend and nothing more. She’d tell the tale over and over again until it would finally become a reality, and no longer just something she’d tell herself over and over to fool the people around her.
“I have quite a tale to tell.” He leans back in the chair, his eyes obscured by his hat. “I have many, actually.” His voice rises up with the cigarette smoke floating around the small dark room. “So many, I have trouble keeping them in. But this tale… is my favorite.” It is low, his voice, and smooth and mysterious. “So. Listen carefully.” He looks up, and for just a moment, his eyes are visible, a spark of light in the murk. A smile curves his sensual lips, melts into his words. “You don’t want to miss one… single… thing.”
I heard a beautiful tale of a logger and his axe. He was very attached to his axe. the logger and his axe had the best friendship anyone could want with an inanimate object.
He lived to tell the tale, isn’t that the whole delightful purpose to having tragedy hit you in your softest most protected spaces. The story is long, evocative, and brilliant, and is basically all he has left.
a tale. my tale. what’s there to say?
“Read me a story, mommy, read me a story!”
“Okay, what kind of tale do you want?”
“How many can I have?”
“It’s late so just one.”
“Ummmmmm….. how about a…………. kitty tail.”
life is a beautiful thing. a tale is no more than something to help show us that. like religion.