Comments | unburiable: Kelly Kensey, of Fairclough, in 1987.

unburiable

Kelly Kensey, of Fairclough, in 1987.

Jan 29, 2003 03:13

It took lighting to finally break Grant’s concentrated stare out over the moors. Rain hadn’t started falling yet but already the lightning was out, which meant all the parents up and down the block were probably outside wrestling to get their children inside. Last week a bolt had split the evergreen across the ravine entirely in two, a life- ( Read more... )

Comments 11

richbully January 29 2003, 07:59:30 UTC

that was a creepy story. well written, but creepy.

archaeological digs. foreignpetals January 29 2003, 11:36:22 UTC

The tombs lay silent as I paced through the dark corridor. I didn't hear so much as a twig snap when this nine-foot circular saw came flying at me. I didn't have much time to duck, but the shiny blade was coming right at my neck. Without hesitation, I dropped to a somersault and sprang back up to my feet and kept running, keeping my eyes straight ahead so as to making my peripheral vision the most effective.

By this time, light was shining through the hieroglyphics on the walls which read, "There is no gold ahead, only the Angel of Death."

My torch fell from my hands and sizzled in the ankle deep water as I stood gazing into the spectacle which crowded the horizon ahead. The women's choir began singing major chords as I stood in amazement, being within reach of the whimsical records kept by a friend, long dead now. The words "Written by Kyle Rappaport" adorned the tightly bound scriptures. It was truly golden.

I KNEW THE BRIDE WHEN SHE USE TO ROCK N ROLL bradleo January 29 2003, 19:45:24 UTC

1987... that was a long time ago for little Kelly. She talks about it everyday and it might be the reason why I decided to marry her. I remember how we meet on a cold and whimsical day, right outside of Bellevue Mental Hospital. She was booked, shortly after that terrible night in late 1987. She became my patient and we hit it off wonderfully. I remember the first time we made love, right on top of my desk, shortly after her mental evaluation. They said that she was clearly crazy but all I knew was that we were both crazy for each other ( ... )

Poke all the fun you want. I'm not listening. unburiable January 30 2003, 22:24:23 UTC

I couldn’t find time to save everything in my life. It all happened so long ago that I don’t really even remember just how old I’d been when the worst of it came. I mean, I could have said something, to anyone. Especially to Kelly. I should have told her what I saw, but you have to appreciate that I was completely shaken; I had no clue what was real anymore or what I was only dreaming. It’s not like our father was there to make things any clearer, and mom-well all she was good for was a packed lunch for school and a big meal for dinner that I never could quite finish a single plate of anyway. What happened the last year we lived there seems more like a nightmare to me than anything, because the details are foggy and occasionally details of the story find themselves shifted about. I miss the town we lived in. Mostly the moors and the heavy storms with their infrequent rains. Nature had a way of holding me in her arms back then that I don’t have the comfort of anymore.

Grant Kensey, 1994.

Mr. Kensey someatheiryoung January 29 2003, 20:31:41 UTC

Millers are always crooks. Often drunks, but always crooks. Good call.

Our facts are getting lost in the day's work, isn't that so? Liar? unburiable May 12 2003, 00:26:39 UTC

You voted the consierge dead. Why?

Rotting corpse leaves bad taste in one's mouth...unimpressed w/ remains. kittiefae February 9 2003, 18:09:05 UTC

I realize that you're suposedly a friend of a friend of a friend...but seriously, could you be anymore put-offish and dick-like? It is rather unnecessary...why bother...but whatever makes you feel better about yourself...jackass.

You have a way about you that throws me off. unburiable February 10 2003, 17:34:00 UTC

I am a friend of a friend of a friend, and do not take this lineage lightly. Perhaps that night when we met at the haberdashery I’d been somewhat garish. I must admit, I’d been spending more than my fair share of hours performing nothing at all before the box of cartoons, and after so long it’s not too unlikely that I may have presumed you were poking fun at the subtle lisp I use when flirting with cashiers. Please be assured that I would never employ the use of misleading colloquial speech unless the end quotient arrived with me getting something extra out of the whole ordeal. Back when I was in gradeschool, the headmaster would often berate me for classroom trickery during the jacks-n-pegs games. “But,” I would tell him only moments before being whipped like a saddlehorse, “I got stuff that otherwise I might not have if given the chance to be truthful ( ... )