“The orders were clear, we have to take them out tonight.”
I sniffed in disapproval, but there wasn’t much I could do. Orders were orders. “Very well,” I said, “Tell the men.” He turned to leave. “And Jenkins?”
“Yes sir?”
“Be careful out there. That’s an order.”
“I will sir.”
He didn’t say it out loud, but his eyes told me he loved me.
They came in too fast. He wanted coffee, black, and she wanted more butter for her rolls. Orders were commands. She was not a soldier. When could she finally be the general? Tell me a story – the theater of operations, waht’s happening there? I want to know.
The chief always gives me orders. “Chop those logs. Brush my hair. Eat the slugs.” I’m tired of orders. One day I will run away. Far, far away. Away from this cruel encampment.
orders were pouring in faster than she could even read them. There they sat dropped out of the printing machine falling all the way down into a pile on the floor. Working the line was not what she had expected. Taking in a big gulp of hot greasy air, she ripped a few tickets off and started to try to organize herself, desperately trying to ignore the fact that she was failing miserably at her first day of work.
It’s not my style to take orders; never has been. Sure, I do when I HAVE to, but I prefer not to, and I’ve always tried to avoid them. I like working as a freelancer because I hate taking orders. I can take on a project, I can listen to the terms and scope, but I do NOT want my day dictated to the tee by someone else. I am confident that I can set orders for myself – there is no one that needs to do that for me, especially in a business environment. The word itself makes me shudder!
He’s cultivated an uncanny ability to separate himself from his duties. That is, there was no moral twinge in his heart when he was shutting somebody down and declining to hear their cries for help. After all, he was just following orders.
there was so many things to do and the orders were just flowing in to my inbox. i tried to sort them out but my mom kept screaming that it was time for me to eat, so i just gave up.
She bustled around, jotting down notes for larger groups, keeping small orders in a list at the top of her mind. The burning smell of coffee and the sticky floors were no match for the hyper-intensive concentration of her brain. She was a star waitress. If that was a profession in the Olympics, she would be unstoppable.
“You have your orders, now go!” The captain commanded.
He looked at the cliff wall with dread. “How the hell am I supposed to get up there with them shooting at me?” he thought. Yet without a moment’s hesitation, he ran to the wall.
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it,” she said, “you just have to do it.
I shook my head. “It isn’t right.”
It doesn’t matter whether it’s right!” she growled. “Those are our orders!”
“Well maybe,” said I, “I’m tired of following orders.”
It was a series of orders and neither of them seemed good. It wasn’t moral. Simply, it wasn’t moral. But orders, orders were the job. The job was to carry out orders and thats all that it specified. These moral dilemmas were not in the job criteria.
Perhaps it is a September thing when the sky decides to still let the rain pelt the ground even if it’s too late. But there’s no such thing as too late or too early in love. Except for food, where are our damn orders? It’s been half an hour already.
My mom orders me to do something, and I obey. But what is it with teenagers? They don’t want to be ordered around; they think they know it all. Why? What happens after you turn 13?
ACTED
Ah woman! You are letting yourself forget all the best bits. The bits where you hiked up the Inca Trail chasing a cute boy from Boston. The bits where you acted like a loon in the middle of London, busking in Leicester Square and breaking hearts at the Lion’s Head afterwards. And what about the bit where stood at the helm of the boat in the middle of Sydney Harbour, champagne in hand, the rain pouring down on your pretty head, your heart filled with knowing that you could be anything? What about the boy with devastatingly beautiful lips that trailed them down the length of your body before taking you to heaven? He wasn’t the only one mind you. And that’s just the beginning. Woman, before you bitch and moan about another morning feeding the dog and emptying the dishwasher, remember your bits. You are the sum of greater parts. An enormous complex whole. Not just this morning.
Or are you? Perhaps they are only stories. Perhaps who you are is only ever the thing breathing and knowing she is breathing in this precise moment.
Shit. I don’t know.
i would like to order some burgers, fries, onion rings. Make the burger an uber deluxe with bacon, cheese, pickles, tomato, lettuce, carrot, chicken wings, beet patty, chicken patty, the lot. Dont forget the olives and salami please! Oh and the anchoviessss!
YOUNGER
It was lost to her now, that elusive feeling she had when she was younger. The effortless joy in being anywhere, everywhere, absolute optimism, enthusiasm. She used to literally vibrate with happiness. She had read about enlightenment and thought that it sounded very much like the way she used to feel back then. How she longed for that feeling. The delicious lightness of it. But she had regressed, taken a painful path, succumbed to fear when life took turns she hadn’t prepared for. And those fears bred new fears, and so and so on until one day she realised she was forty and full of hate. It was a long road back.
Lygon Street. Once the thumping heart of gritty industrial town. Now it just made Gigi feel like regurgitating. Somewhere along the line Melbourne had decided that coffee could replace culture and now the strip rattled with the relentless clatter of spoons in latte glasses. She could barely think. The overpowering aromas of roasting arabica beans made her dizzy. She reluctantly pulled up the last available pew outside The French Baker. It didn’t take long for Geordie to appear. He was working tables, taking orders and turning heads with his unbearably good looks.
He tripped over a designer dog on the way to Gigi’s table but made an impeccable recovery. He offered his greeting, upright and gorgeous, his smile dazzling. ‘Ah Devil Child, you made it. Have you come to take my soul?’
I was so very confused by the piles and piles of cardboard boxes crowding my living room. “Let’s see… Lemonades for… Kira… no, wait… caramel delights? No, wait… I don’t even know!” Girl scout cookie sales were a very busy, somewhat overwhelming time of the year.
Your lips are round around the scarlet orb hovering in your mouth. A muffled groan of frustration comes from your limp form.
“Stay there,” I say, harshly. Your thighs press together in anticipation, emphasizing your bruises. “You don’t like it?”
Another, more frustrated thump and muffle. I laugh. “Baby,” I said. “You’re drooling.”
what is the next order going to be? i stand like a waitress uncertain of my fate, waiting for the next order. what is it going to be? who wants to be to be where and for what cost?
Once up on a time, there was a girl. Her name was Sally. Sally loved hamburgers. She would love to go to Macshdonailds, and eat hamburgers there. One day she ordered a hamburger. The hamburger she ordered was massive. It was so massive that it clogged all of her arteries, and she died.
“Why would you give me those orders?”
He spun around, furious at my response.
“Because you are a soldier, and soldiers are willing to risk their lives!”
How dare he accuse me of not following orders? I was willing to do anything to save my country.
Orders are not something I particularly like to follow. Why, you ask? Because they restrict who I am, what I do, and how I do it. I’m not the rebellious teen that everyone thinks I am (because I don’t follow my orders), I just think differently.
Spread the ashes of the colors over this heart of mine. Forgive, forgive,forgive. Touch each other. Do not commit adultery. Take out the garbage. Eulogize me. Cremate me. Spread my ashes over the sea.
The phone rings.
The phone rings.
The table vibrates.
He orders her to answer it.
She doesn’t.
She can still feel the sting of his hand on her cheek.
He hates her.
He hates that she finally had the courage to tell someone.
Mostly, he hates the feeling of cold metal around his wrists.
She stands at the counter — looking at the flapping pile of receipts skewered on the shiny holder, the refuse of the day’s orders. Now to go through them, match the handwritten scribbles to the cash on hand, pray there are no discrepancies.
orders come and they go, and sometimes they’re late!
I make orders online, like just about everyone does these days. I rarely make orders in restaurants since I hardly eat out, though. But most of all I make orders to the people around me, since I’m just that kind of annoying person, you know the type. Well that’s me.
Can’t get out of bed. Doctor’s orders. I’m expected to just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to make some cinematic adventure out of the cracks and divots in the plaster above my head. Mom’s come by a couple of times and fallen asleep in the chair next to me. She snores so loudly. I want to tell her to go away so I can sleep, but I’m too sick to talk, and I’d just feel bad if I blew her off.
Josh wants to come visit me soon, but he hasn’t shown up. Figures. The boy never knew how to actually be a reliable friend, but I can’t blame him too much.
“The orders were clear, we have to take them out tonight.”
I sniffed in disapproval, but there wasn’t much I could do. Orders were orders. “Very well,” I said, “Tell the men.” He turned to leave. “And Jenkins?”
“Yes sir?”
“Be careful out there. That’s an order.”
“I will sir.”
He didn’t say it out loud, but his eyes told me he loved me.
They came in too fast. He wanted coffee, black, and she wanted more butter for her rolls. Orders were commands. She was not a soldier. When could she finally be the general? Tell me a story – the theater of operations, waht’s happening there? I want to know.
The chief always gives me orders. “Chop those logs. Brush my hair. Eat the slugs.” I’m tired of orders. One day I will run away. Far, far away. Away from this cruel encampment.
We were given orders to advance at dawn.
It was a restless night with little sleep.
I woke at 3am with a knot in my stomach.
I threw up violently.
orders were pouring in faster than she could even read them. There they sat dropped out of the printing machine falling all the way down into a pile on the floor. Working the line was not what she had expected. Taking in a big gulp of hot greasy air, she ripped a few tickets off and started to try to organize herself, desperately trying to ignore the fact that she was failing miserably at her first day of work.
It’s not my style to take orders; never has been. Sure, I do when I HAVE to, but I prefer not to, and I’ve always tried to avoid them. I like working as a freelancer because I hate taking orders. I can take on a project, I can listen to the terms and scope, but I do NOT want my day dictated to the tee by someone else. I am confident that I can set orders for myself – there is no one that needs to do that for me, especially in a business environment. The word itself makes me shudder!
He’s cultivated an uncanny ability to separate himself from his duties. That is, there was no moral twinge in his heart when he was shutting somebody down and declining to hear their cries for help. After all, he was just following orders.
there was so many things to do and the orders were just flowing in to my inbox. i tried to sort them out but my mom kept screaming that it was time for me to eat, so i just gave up.
She bustled around, jotting down notes for larger groups, keeping small orders in a list at the top of her mind. The burning smell of coffee and the sticky floors were no match for the hyper-intensive concentration of her brain. She was a star waitress. If that was a profession in the Olympics, she would be unstoppable.
“You have your orders, now go!” The captain commanded.
He looked at the cliff wall with dread. “How the hell am I supposed to get up there with them shooting at me?” he thought. Yet without a moment’s hesitation, he ran to the wall.
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it,” she said, “you just have to do it.
I shook my head. “It isn’t right.”
It doesn’t matter whether it’s right!” she growled. “Those are our orders!”
“Well maybe,” said I, “I’m tired of following orders.”
It was a series of orders and neither of them seemed good. It wasn’t moral. Simply, it wasn’t moral. But orders, orders were the job. The job was to carry out orders and thats all that it specified. These moral dilemmas were not in the job criteria.
He would choose the third.
Perhaps it is a September thing when the sky decides to still let the rain pelt the ground even if it’s too late. But there’s no such thing as too late or too early in love. Except for food, where are our damn orders? It’s been half an hour already.
My mom orders me to do something, and I obey. But what is it with teenagers? They don’t want to be ordered around; they think they know it all. Why? What happens after you turn 13?
I used to take orders from everyone. Now I take orders only from myself. Go me!! Five orders of girl power!
Go do your homework.
Study hard, or else you’ll never get through the entrance exam.
Be an engineer, be a doctor.
Society wants us to be ourselves but orders us to be someone else.
ACTED
Ah woman! You are letting yourself forget all the best bits. The bits where you hiked up the Inca Trail chasing a cute boy from Boston. The bits where you acted like a loon in the middle of London, busking in Leicester Square and breaking hearts at the Lion’s Head afterwards. And what about the bit where stood at the helm of the boat in the middle of Sydney Harbour, champagne in hand, the rain pouring down on your pretty head, your heart filled with knowing that you could be anything? What about the boy with devastatingly beautiful lips that trailed them down the length of your body before taking you to heaven? He wasn’t the only one mind you. And that’s just the beginning. Woman, before you bitch and moan about another morning feeding the dog and emptying the dishwasher, remember your bits. You are the sum of greater parts. An enormous complex whole. Not just this morning.
Or are you? Perhaps they are only stories. Perhaps who you are is only ever the thing breathing and knowing she is breathing in this precise moment.
Shit. I don’t know.
i would like to order some burgers, fries, onion rings. Make the burger an uber deluxe with bacon, cheese, pickles, tomato, lettuce, carrot, chicken wings, beet patty, chicken patty, the lot. Dont forget the olives and salami please! Oh and the anchoviessss!
YOUNGER
It was lost to her now, that elusive feeling she had when she was younger. The effortless joy in being anywhere, everywhere, absolute optimism, enthusiasm. She used to literally vibrate with happiness. She had read about enlightenment and thought that it sounded very much like the way she used to feel back then. How she longed for that feeling. The delicious lightness of it. But she had regressed, taken a painful path, succumbed to fear when life took turns she hadn’t prepared for. And those fears bred new fears, and so and so on until one day she realised she was forty and full of hate. It was a long road back.
Lygon Street. Once the thumping heart of gritty industrial town. Now it just made Gigi feel like regurgitating. Somewhere along the line Melbourne had decided that coffee could replace culture and now the strip rattled with the relentless clatter of spoons in latte glasses. She could barely think. The overpowering aromas of roasting arabica beans made her dizzy. She reluctantly pulled up the last available pew outside The French Baker. It didn’t take long for Geordie to appear. He was working tables, taking orders and turning heads with his unbearably good looks.
He tripped over a designer dog on the way to Gigi’s table but made an impeccable recovery. He offered his greeting, upright and gorgeous, his smile dazzling. ‘Ah Devil Child, you made it. Have you come to take my soul?’
I was so very confused by the piles and piles of cardboard boxes crowding my living room. “Let’s see… Lemonades for… Kira… no, wait… caramel delights? No, wait… I don’t even know!” Girl scout cookie sales were a very busy, somewhat overwhelming time of the year.
Your lips are round around the scarlet orb hovering in your mouth. A muffled groan of frustration comes from your limp form.
“Stay there,” I say, harshly. Your thighs press together in anticipation, emphasizing your bruises. “You don’t like it?”
Another, more frustrated thump and muffle. I laugh. “Baby,” I said. “You’re drooling.”
what is the next order going to be? i stand like a waitress uncertain of my fate, waiting for the next order. what is it going to be? who wants to be to be where and for what cost?
Once up on a time, there was a girl. Her name was Sally. Sally loved hamburgers. She would love to go to Macshdonailds, and eat hamburgers there. One day she ordered a hamburger. The hamburger she ordered was massive. It was so massive that it clogged all of her arteries, and she died.
The End.
I don’t know where I was going with this, honestly.
“Why would you give me those orders?”
He spun around, furious at my response.
“Because you are a soldier, and soldiers are willing to risk their lives!”
How dare he accuse me of not following orders? I was willing to do anything to save my country.
Orders are not something I particularly like to follow. Why, you ask? Because they restrict who I am, what I do, and how I do it. I’m not the rebellious teen that everyone thinks I am (because I don’t follow my orders), I just think differently.
That’s just the way I work.
Spread the ashes of the colors over this heart of mine. Forgive, forgive,forgive. Touch each other. Do not commit adultery. Take out the garbage. Eulogize me. Cremate me. Spread my ashes over the sea.
The phone rings.
The phone rings.
The table vibrates.
He orders her to answer it.
She doesn’t.
She can still feel the sting of his hand on her cheek.
He hates her.
He hates that she finally had the courage to tell someone.
Mostly, he hates the feeling of cold metal around his wrists.
She stands at the counter — looking at the flapping pile of receipts skewered on the shiny holder, the refuse of the day’s orders. Now to go through them, match the handwritten scribbles to the cash on hand, pray there are no discrepancies.
I love waiting for orders to arrive. It’s like Christmas. One arrived for me today. Two in fact. I was very happy.
orders come and they go, and sometimes they’re late!
I make orders online, like just about everyone does these days. I rarely make orders in restaurants since I hardly eat out, though. But most of all I make orders to the people around me, since I’m just that kind of annoying person, you know the type. Well that’s me.
Can’t get out of bed. Doctor’s orders. I’m expected to just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to make some cinematic adventure out of the cracks and divots in the plaster above my head. Mom’s come by a couple of times and fallen asleep in the chair next to me. She snores so loudly. I want to tell her to go away so I can sleep, but I’m too sick to talk, and I’d just feel bad if I blew her off.
Josh wants to come visit me soon, but he hasn’t shown up. Figures. The boy never knew how to actually be a reliable friend, but I can’t blame him too much.