Those swimming lessons hadn’t really made a difference. Smoke was more insidious and unyielding. Then again, she’d never been good at holding her breath in the water either. Somewhere between the living room and staircase, she reached out, trying to grab anything to keep her grounded as the tears clouded vision. The front door was
In her place trace waves, fumes, ether or some ethereal disturbance of one kind or another. Uncanny.
They say she started life out as an autodidact. A bit of a problem with authority, as to be expected of someone who would get off on learning a bit magic like that, but overall she liked nothing more than to know things. Didn’t matter what kind of things, but it’s clear the ones favored most were those that are useful, like mysterious exits and such.
The blistering flames were licking at the stair steps. I was trapped. Cut off. Without escape. I hoped against hope that help would arrive, but the fumes from the burning plastics upstairs were slowly filling up the room.
Running on fumes, I stopped at the convenience store for my fifth Red Bull of the day. The clerk, who sold me the other four, looked at me funny, but rang up my purchase. He couldn’t stay silent though, and said, “You’re hurting your heart if you drink too much of that stuff.”
I laughed. It wasn’t the Red Bull that was hurting my heart. It was Carol.
She coughed loudly, harshly. The fumes of the tar in the garage was overwhelming. She looked around, eyes watering, to see if she could find the source of the terrible smell. The garage had sat unoccupied and undisturbed for the past year. Had something exploded? Spilled? Were their critters? Dead or alive?
I can smell the fumes of my own momentum as I enjoy happiness and gratitude abound. I love moving at exponential speeds loving and living life to my fullest.
With each step, the burning in my shins increased in intensity, ever so slightly. I was breathing out, exhaling hot breath like a mega-factory exhales fumes. By the time I’d made it, there was a fire within my legs that did not want to be extinguished. Sitting down among colleagues, I began to, ever-so-subtly, massage my shins, hoping to quell the flames. It felt so good, but, looked so… wrong.
Fumes of scented herbs came from narrow corner of the street where all are doing their chores, but that man of big white beard entangled in workout his new medicamt which would reveal him from getting out of dissatisfied day.
As the fumes filled the air I wondered, wondered what would be next for us. We’ve made our stand taken whats ours, but when the fumes die down and the smoke clears will they let us keep it? Our freedom.
We sat on the rooftop, watching the fumes creep like silver worms into the rusty sunset sky. Our legs dangled over the edge of the parapet, and the rooftops stretched beneath us like a patchwork carpet of terracotta tiles.
The fumes curled like fog in the early morning from his cigarette. She watched, seeing images in the grey clouds. It was a habit she hated really, his breath always heavy with the scent of burnt, but the smoke gave here comfort in an odd, familiar way.
The fumes caught in my throat and I began to choke. I gasp and struggle to get out of the large tub. The woman behind me tsks me and shoves my shoulders down to make me sit. My eyes widen and I swallow. “Please, excuse my choice of posion.” She speaks softly and calmly.
dragons. blake. angry. write write write. less thinking more writing, fuck typos. blake fumes and pouts. maybe he’s part dragon? who knows
I love him thug
his pouts
and his angry hang ups
it’s never the end w him
The fumes escaped from the kitchen window. I had burnt the chicken in the over for the fourth time this week. Lord Bret will be furious with me today! Whatever can I do, we have guests coming by for supper.
Love is what they tell you when the shattered remains of your window cut into the soles of your feet, when the view outside is still a beautiful sunset, even as the carpet underneath is slowly stained a rusted red.
It’s the phone that remains untouched for days and days, the emails that sit unanswered, the way I leave the room when you enter.
As sleep crusts in the corners of my eyes I wonder if love is the way I am lulled gently into sleep, and wake seemingly immediately after, hours and hours compressed into a single instant.
Fumes all around me filling the air as I crawl along the ground trying to escape the crumbling house. I stand up and the full force of the fumes of the fire surrounds me. Then comes a woosh, I fall to the ground and collapse under the debris of the burning house. Everything goes black.
My lungs burnt with pure pain. I was gonna die. I just knew it. I was going to die. The greenish fumes were twisting their way towards my parched lips.
you hadn’t known the smell of a city burning but you know now. smoke rises up between cracks in the sidewalk and you stumble through the fog in a haze, watching as the world goes up in flames around you,
The sky was dark. The moon no where to be seen. The night was illuminated by a raging orange and red. Angry flames engulfed the house on the corner of the street. Screams, shouts, cries.
Black spewing smoke clouds gather over the city. Shapes take form and dark snow falls from the clouds. It is hard to breathe in the cold and dank air, leaves a bitter sting in the lungs. Smoke stacks keep spewing.
The fumes from the oil spill burned her eyes as she rushed to the scene. She was screaming, calling for someone. She saw a vague shadow in the distance, but she could not make out who or what it was. She sighed as she realized that it was only another firefighter–not her son.
“Have you seen a small boy?” she asked, grabbing onto the arm of the firefighter. “H-he’s blonde w-with bright green eyes a-and h-he was wearing a r-red shirt.”
The firefighter gave her a grim look and shook his head.
“I found him, but I don’t think you’re going to like the state he’s in.”
I’m running on fumes, as the saying goes. I’m not sure where it comes from, as electric cars don’t give off fumes, or need them? And I certainly don’t inhale any meds. But the saying stands. I wish I had better news to give, but I’m running on fumes. The last of my energy is always now, this time.
Duck lit the incense, and we breathed in the fumes, sitting in our separate corners, smoking dope from long, crystal pipes that lit up like fireworks at the end, all neon rainbows and shit. Nearby, Ellie was cooking something on the stove. It probably smelled better than it tasted; I could catch hints of cinnamon, some brown sugar here and there, the occasional stab of hot butter as well, before the sizzling stopped and plates were handed out to anyone who could still keep a grip on porcelain.
Fumes poured out from the car’s hood. It needed to be fixed.
A man pulled up behind the car as my dad grunted, jacking the car up. My sister looked at me with a wary eye. With the road so empty this late at night, we were hoping that the man coming up to us was friendly.
He couldn’t see clearly. The fumes rose in black gases.
fumes are bad for you. i hate fumes. do not bresthe in fumes. they can make you die. they are terable for you.
This is a great site for writer’s block.
lives attention hunger wealth purpose drunk driven loving amicable jurrasic tragic horrendous dependent independent spoken candid amicable enjoy selfish
smelly things are fumes also things that smell good can be fumes.
When i smelled the fumes,
I knew i had to run
so i ran to different rooms
it was no fun
– unknown
When I think of fumes, I think of fire or gasoline from a car dripping out of the exhaust pipe.
Those swimming lessons hadn’t really made a difference. Smoke was more insidious and unyielding. Then again, she’d never been good at holding her breath in the water either. Somewhere between the living room and staircase, she reached out, trying to grab anything to keep her grounded as the tears clouded vision. The front door was
“And now for the next act!” Her air triumphant.
In her place trace waves, fumes, ether or some ethereal disturbance of one kind or another. Uncanny.
They say she started life out as an autodidact. A bit of a problem with authority, as to be expected of someone who would get off on learning a bit magic like that, but overall she liked nothing more than to know things. Didn’t matter what kind of things, but it’s clear the ones favored most were those that are useful, like mysterious exits and such.
The blistering flames were licking at the stair steps. I was trapped. Cut off. Without escape. I hoped against hope that help would arrive, but the fumes from the burning plastics upstairs were slowly filling up the room.
I would die here.
Running on fumes, I stopped at the convenience store for my fifth Red Bull of the day. The clerk, who sold me the other four, looked at me funny, but rang up my purchase. He couldn’t stay silent though, and said, “You’re hurting your heart if you drink too much of that stuff.”
I laughed. It wasn’t the Red Bull that was hurting my heart. It was Carol.
The fumes from Tip Top are disgusting. It makes me feel sick sometimes.
She coughed loudly, harshly. The fumes of the tar in the garage was overwhelming. She looked around, eyes watering, to see if she could find the source of the terrible smell. The garage had sat unoccupied and undisturbed for the past year. Had something exploded? Spilled? Were their critters? Dead or alive?
I can smell the fumes of my own momentum as I enjoy happiness and gratitude abound. I love moving at exponential speeds loving and living life to my fullest.
Fumes are hot and stinky. Fumes can come from anywhere. Sometimes fumes smell like farts.
With each step, the burning in my shins increased in intensity, ever so slightly. I was breathing out, exhaling hot breath like a mega-factory exhales fumes. By the time I’d made it, there was a fire within my legs that did not want to be extinguished. Sitting down among colleagues, I began to, ever-so-subtly, massage my shins, hoping to quell the flames. It felt so good, but, looked so… wrong.
Fumes of scented herbs came from narrow corner of the street where all are doing their chores, but that man of big white beard entangled in workout his new medicamt which would reveal him from getting out of dissatisfied day.
billowing billowing, up to to the sky it soared, the freedom of some dust is greater than I could attain. Why is the dust so free and I so stuck?
As the fumes filled the air I wondered, wondered what would be next for us. We’ve made our stand taken whats ours, but when the fumes die down and the smoke clears will they let us keep it? Our freedom.
We sat on the rooftop, watching the fumes creep like silver worms into the rusty sunset sky. Our legs dangled over the edge of the parapet, and the rooftops stretched beneath us like a patchwork carpet of terracotta tiles.
The fumes curled like fog in the early morning from his cigarette. She watched, seeing images in the grey clouds. It was a habit she hated really, his breath always heavy with the scent of burnt, but the smoke gave here comfort in an odd, familiar way.
The fumes caught in my throat and I began to choke. I gasp and struggle to get out of the large tub. The woman behind me tsks me and shoves my shoulders down to make me sit. My eyes widen and I swallow. “Please, excuse my choice of posion.” She speaks softly and calmly.
dragons. blake. angry. write write write. less thinking more writing, fuck typos. blake fumes and pouts. maybe he’s part dragon? who knows
I love him thug
his pouts
and his angry hang ups
it’s never the end w him
The fumes escaped from the kitchen window. I had burnt the chicken in the over for the fourth time this week. Lord Bret will be furious with me today! Whatever can I do, we have guests coming by for supper.
Love is what they tell you when the shattered remains of your window cut into the soles of your feet, when the view outside is still a beautiful sunset, even as the carpet underneath is slowly stained a rusted red.
It’s the phone that remains untouched for days and days, the emails that sit unanswered, the way I leave the room when you enter.
As sleep crusts in the corners of my eyes I wonder if love is the way I am lulled gently into sleep, and wake seemingly immediately after, hours and hours compressed into a single instant.
Fumes all around me filling the air as I crawl along the ground trying to escape the crumbling house. I stand up and the full force of the fumes of the fire surrounds me. Then comes a woosh, I fall to the ground and collapse under the debris of the burning house. Everything goes black.
Oneword
only
has
one
word.
But
if
you
think
about
it,
oneword
has
multiple
words.
Such
as
on
one
word
new
and
if
you
count
ew
as
a
word.
Ew!
Fumes can kill you depending on what they are.Fumes can also be good and smell nice.
My lungs burnt with pure pain. I was gonna die. I just knew it. I was going to die. The greenish fumes were twisting their way towards my parched lips.
you hadn’t known the smell of a city burning but you know now. smoke rises up between cracks in the sidewalk and you stumble through the fog in a haze, watching as the world goes up in flames around you,
The sky was dark. The moon no where to be seen. The night was illuminated by a raging orange and red. Angry flames engulfed the house on the corner of the street. Screams, shouts, cries.
No escape
Fumes are gases that a lot of times rise, or fill an area.
Black spewing smoke clouds gather over the city. Shapes take form and dark snow falls from the clouds. It is hard to breathe in the cold and dank air, leaves a bitter sting in the lungs. Smoke stacks keep spewing.
The fumes from the oil spill burned her eyes as she rushed to the scene. She was screaming, calling for someone. She saw a vague shadow in the distance, but she could not make out who or what it was. She sighed as she realized that it was only another firefighter–not her son.
“Have you seen a small boy?” she asked, grabbing onto the arm of the firefighter. “H-he’s blonde w-with bright green eyes a-and h-he was wearing a r-red shirt.”
The firefighter gave her a grim look and shook his head.
“I found him, but I don’t think you’re going to like the state he’s in.”
i can’t see shit through the fumes and the burning in my throat and eyes is killing me. the damned professor will pay for this
I’m running on fumes, as the saying goes. I’m not sure where it comes from, as electric cars don’t give off fumes, or need them? And I certainly don’t inhale any meds. But the saying stands. I wish I had better news to give, but I’m running on fumes. The last of my energy is always now, this time.
With my last breath I know the word
Broken glass and sawdust and cracked porcelain.
The pendulum in a clock frozen mid-swing.
Pastel printed fabrics stained and tattered.
The scent of dust and ash and death cling to everything.
Duck lit the incense, and we breathed in the fumes, sitting in our separate corners, smoking dope from long, crystal pipes that lit up like fireworks at the end, all neon rainbows and shit. Nearby, Ellie was cooking something on the stove. It probably smelled better than it tasted; I could catch hints of cinnamon, some brown sugar here and there, the occasional stab of hot butter as well, before the sizzling stopped and plates were handed out to anyone who could still keep a grip on porcelain.
Fumes poured out from the car’s hood. It needed to be fixed.
A man pulled up behind the car as my dad grunted, jacking the car up. My sister looked at me with a wary eye. With the road so empty this late at night, we were hoping that the man coming up to us was friendly.