Marsha > Recent Status Updates

The bells celebrating the birth had only recently stopped ringing across the city. The bells in his heart were still going strong--reverberating with joy around his body. His wife and daughter were well and happy and safe. And he'd never felt so lucky. Never so grateful.

Stella felt like taking at least two hours, except years of drills and discipline overruled the petty desire to prove a point. She glanced at the treat-laden tray he'd carried to her room but her stomach was too knotted for her to attmept eating. She opened the door to the walk-in wardrobe. Tags still hung on some items and they were the right sizes. Did he know her every personal detail? Damn army records.

The next morning Tayler had breakfast with Rollin and Kevin. She even rode out to the field with Kevin to get vegetables for the day's meal. When she returned, Rollin was out working, and Rita was still at home sick, so Tayler found her lemonade pitcher and whipped up a batch herself. She hoped Rollin wouldn't mind her mesisng around in the kitchen, because she missed Rita's afternoon lemonade.

Jonas wasn't entirely sure what he wanted until he kissed his way to Tate's ear and whispered, "I want you to f**k me." Tate gasped and thrust up. "F**k yes. Roll over." He did, and Tate knelt between his legs.

He took a moment to admire the man in front of him. Lean legs with a smattering of pale hair on his thighs. White briefs outlined a thick erection, and more ashy blond hair trickled upward toward his navel. He tugged at the shirt hem. Tate whipped it up and off, and it billowed to the floor to land by Jonas's ankle. The trail of hair stopped at Tate's navel, leaving a smooth, pale stomach.

"Close your eyes," she said. She watched them obediently shut their eyes, then she did the same. Against the blackness of her eyelids, she imagined going in. There was no distance to travel, she knew, not here; distance was an illusion. Everyone had worlds inside them, deep strange places of their own, and perhaps it was a form of trespassing to go into Jonath's inner realm--but what choice did she have?

The memory of the Desert Room had parched her to the bone, and her mouth felt as dry as sun-baked rocks. Jonathan brought her water, and she held a swallow in her mouth, her eyes closed, tasting the coolness, probing her memories. It was all there, unmistakable. She'd just started working at Genius Loci, and she went into the storage room--the Desert Room--to put away some old broken tables and and she saw a door.

He shook his head. "Sorry, I'm not trying to throw a pity party. Lots of people have it harder than me. All that other stuff's just the past." "I don't know. It's hard to outlive your own history." She considered telling him about her door-opening phobia, her stint in a mental hospital--wasn't it fair to swap a confession for a confession? But she hesitated and the moment passed.

Eventually I apparently fell asleep, because I woke up in the dark, still dressed, tangled in the stuff on my bed, and saw the devil sitting languidly on my couch, waiting for me to focus. He was wearing a beautiful gray suit and a crisp white shirt, open at the collar, and looked utterly at ease. "Rough night?" he asked.

I looked around. The flat was a mess. Empty pizza boxes on the floor, bottles, cans, dirty plates. There were piles of clothes on the dining table, piles of old newspapers on an ironing board. The curtains were closed. The light was dim. I turned back to Ben. "do you want to talk about it?" "No." "If you change your mind--" "I said no, all right?"

Nancy was absent from the porch the next two nights. She was hiding in the house the same way she'd done when her husband had first brought her home as a bride. He didn't think that boded well for her acceptance of his proposal, but he wasn't about to badger her over the matter. That surely wouldn't make her any more amenable to the idea.

As it turned out, he was facing the Wicked Queen, standing before her throne. And she didn't look surprised in the least. "Your harp, Your Majesty," Jack told her, breathing heavily. "As promised." "Jack?" whispered a voice behind him. Jack turned around to find May, Phillips and Penelope all staring at him, the two girls dressed in sparkling gowns, Phillip not as much, all bound in iron chains.

"Her name is Mariella, but no one calls her that, not anymore. Not since she fell in love with the Sea King and gave up her fairyness to be with him. Now she's called the Sea Witch by the merfolk. The Sea King didn't love her in return, despite the fact that she'd turned herself into a mermaid for him." "Are you sure that's how the story goes?" May asked with a frown. "Yes, stupid girl," Pan said.

Jack turned back to the man. "I'll take your sword and then I'll have all the power or whatever." He took a step toward it, then turned to look at the Eye again. "You're just going to let me take it?" The knight's only response was a smile. Creepy.

"You must go to this address right away. Find Cade, save Sabrina; put an end to this all as fast as possible." "But what about you?" "by the time the sun is at its apex tomorrow, I will be fine. I promise." "Tomorrow?" "You must go now, my love. Please, go now."

With his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, he walked to her confident and strong. "I thought you might never return to me, Jackson." "I'm sorry I left like that." "All that matters is that you are back."

The quiet conviviality of a hotel bar at dusk, the room not yet full of patrons, the bartender liable to top off my vodka and seltzer because the night is young. Shielded by a book and low candle, near enough others to eavesdrop, far enough to not get involved. And upstairs, someone is tidying my room, smoothing the crisp pillowcases, wiping down the sink, leaving behind a fresh stack of white towels.

The barbershop Twain described at least a century ago is not too different from the one I frequent today. In fact, present-day shops appear to evoke that earlier era. First, barbershops are still largely non-franchised, individually owned, and independently operated. Barbershop decor is usually traditional, with white tile floors, mirror-lined walls, mahogany cabinets, marble shelves and throne-like swivel chairs.

I'd never been alone in my life. As in, truly alone, made to rely solely on myself for a substantial stretch of time. Obviously I was independent; independence was my generation's birthright. Yet all through my comings and goings I'd been looked after, listened to, accompanied, coddled, whether by parents or boyfriends; essentially, I'd led the life of a child.

"So at the end of my purification I rose, dressed, and ate the ceremonial dinner of locusts and honey." "Ugh!" "Locusts aren't so bad if you've been eating them since childhood." "Locusts are delicious," she said. "I've eaten them many times. It's the combination with honey that sickens me."

From the height of sixty thousand meters, he looked down on the curve of the North American continent. It was a blaze of light with, here and there, some small bands of darkness and an occasional large band. The latter would be a mountain range or body of water on which man had not yet succeeded in building residences or industries. The great city. Megalopolis.

When the internet ddraws lines, you have to stand by what you said, and disengage. I reread the post several times to ensure it said what I wanted it to say. Satisfied with that, I had to admit that there were just going to be some people who insist on misreading a piece.

Working at a marketing agency is like being a therapist. People come to you because they know something's wrong, and they want to fix it. They barrel into your office talking about how they need something from you--they just need a flyer, or a radio ad, or a new logo. Some client relationships never get past that.

'If you love me then how can you leave me?' he asked. 'Because I want to be able to look at my reflection every day and not throw darts at it.'

She had no answer for him. This was a new side to Luc, and one she found hard not to like, but they had never really talked before, she realised. She didn't even know the man who was the father of her child. She didn't know where he stood about anything, beyond being considerate towards his staff. Luc didn't know her either. As her ex-employer, he knew the bones of her life story and no more.

"Gabrielle, why are you finding reasons to push me away?" "Because," she said quietly, "I can't keep myself away. Damn it, when I saw you here, I got so excited. And I shouldn't be excited to see you across a room. It's wrong."

"God showed me that you didn't just lose your mother in this hospital...you lost your faith here also. And He's going to use me and my situation to bring it back." If anything, her aunt's situation was making her angry at God all over again. Here He was, trying to take somebody else away from her and her aunt thought that she was suddenly going to bow down and thank Him for this.

What was he doing, seducing an innocent under the duke's matchmaking nose? This was the height of madness and he ought to know. He'd been party to plenty of madness in his day. It was insanity enough to seduce Zara Titus; a virgin, a daughter of a peer, and a wealthy heiress. To do it at a party specifically designed to create marriages was a whole other level of crazy.

With a flutter of hands and parasols, the Kilmun twins headed off in the direction of the orchid house. Immediately lost in his own thoughts, Fergus took himself in the opposite direction through the heavily scented rose garden and into the maze. According to the programme, there was to be cards and conversation after dinner. He'd eschrew winning at cards and instead do his best to make conversation with Lady Verity.