The boy walked down the street in a carefree way, playing without notice of what was about him.

He didn't hear the sound of the car as his ball careened into the road. He took a step toward it, and
in doing so sealed his fate.

Many people say that life isn't like a bed of roses. I beg to differ. I think that life is quite like a bed
of roses. Just like life, a bed of roses looks pretty on the outside, but when you're in it, you find
that it is nothing but thorns and pain. I myself have been pricked quite badly.

There were only two ways to get out of this mess if they all worked together. The problem was that
neither was all that appealing. One would likely cause everyone a huge amount of physical pain
while the other would likely end up with everyone in jail. In Sam's mind, there was only one thing
to do. He threw everyone else under the bus and he secretly sprinted away leaving the others to
take the fall without him.

The robot clicked disapprovingly, gurgled briefly inside its cubical interior and extruded a pony
glass of brownish liquid. "Sir, you will undoubtedly end up in a drunkard's grave, dead of hepatic
cirrhosis," it informed me virtuously as it returned my ID card. I glared as I pushed the glass across
the table.

She sat in the darkened room waiting. It was now a standoff. He had the power to put her in the
room, but not the power to make her repent. It wasn't fair and no matter how long she had to
endure the darkness, she wouldn't change her attitude. At three years old, Sandy's stubborn
personality had already bloomed into full view.

She nervously peered over the edge. She understood in her mind that the view was supposed to
be beautiful, but all she felt was fear. There had always been something about heights that
disturbed her, and now she could feel the full force of this unease. She reluctantly crept a little
closer with the encouragement of her friends as the fear continued to build. She couldn't help but
feel that something horrible was about to happen.

I'm so confused by your ridiculous meltdown that I must insist on some sort of explanation for
your behavior towards me. It just doesn't make any sense. There's no way that I deserved the
treatment you gave me without an explanation or an apology for how out of line you have been.

Sometimes there isn't a good answer. No matter how you try to rationalize the outcome, it doesn't
make sense. And instead of an answer, you are simply left with a question. Why?

Brock would have never dared to do it on his own he thought to himself. That is why Kenneth and
he had become such good friends. Kenneth forced Brock out of his comfort zone and made him try
new things he'd never imagine doing otherwise. Up to this point, this had been a good thing. It had
expanded Brock's experiences and given him a new appreciation for life. Now that both of them
were in the back of a police car, all Brock could think was that he would have never dared do it
except for the influence of Kenneth.

The light was out on the front porch of the house. This was strange. Judy couldn't remember a
time when she had ever seen it out. She hopped out of her car and walked to the door. It was
slightly ajar and she knew this meant something terrible. She gently pushed the door open and
hall her fears were realized. "Surprise! Happy Birthday!" everyone shouted.

Balloons are pretty and come in different colors, different shapes, different sizes, and they can
even adjust sizes as needed. But don't make them too big or they might just pop, and then bye-bye
balloon. It'll be gone and lost for the rest of mankind. They can serve a variety of purposes, from
decorating to water balloon wars. You just have to use your head to think a little bit about what to
do with them.

"What is the best way to get what you want?" she asked. He looked down at the ground knowing
that she wouldn't like his answer. He hesitated, knowing that the truth would only hurt. How was
he going to tell her that the best way for him to get what he wanted was to leave her?

It probably seemed trivial to most people, but it mattered to Tracey. She wasn't sure why it
mattered so much to her, but she understood deep within her being that it mattered to her. So for
the 365th day in a row, Tracey sat down to eat pancakes for breakfast.

She had a terrible habit o comparing her life to others. She realized that their life experiences were
completely different than her own and that she saw only what they wanted her to see, but that
didn't matter. She still compared herself and yearned for what she thought they had and she
didn't.

Debbie had taken George for granted for more than fifteen years now. He wasn't sure what exactly
had made him choose this time and place to address the issue, but he decided that now was the
time. He looked straight into her eyes and just as she was about to speak, turned away and walked
out the door.

Indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness,
filled her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her
soul's summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a mood. She did not sit there inwardly
upbraiding her husband, lamenting at Fate, which had directed her footsteps to the path which
they had taken. She was just having a good cry all to herself. The mosquitoes made merry over her,
biting her firm, round arms and nipping at her bare insteps.

The wave roared towards them with speed and violence they had not anticipated. They both
turned to run but by that time it was too late. The wave crashed into their legs sweeping both of
them off of their feet. They now found themselves in a washing machine of saltwater, getting
tumbled and not know what was up or down. Both were scared, not knowing how this was going
to end, but it was by far the best time of the trip thus far.

The cab arrived late. The inside was in as bad of shape as the outside which was concerning, and it
didn't appear that it had been cleaned in months. The green tree air-freshener hanging from the
rearview mirror was either exhausted of its scent or not strong enough to overcome the other
odors emitting from the cab. The correct decision, in this case, was to get the hell out of it and to
call another cab, but she was late and didn't have a choice.

There were little things that she simply could not stand. The sound of someone tapping their nails
on the table. A person chewing with their mouth open. Another human imposing themselves into
her space. She couldn't stand any of these things, but none of them compared to the number one
thing she couldn't stand which topped all of them combined.

Twenty seconds were all that was left and Richard could hear each one tick by. Fifteen seconds
now remained and the panic began to fully set in. Ten seconds and he wasn't sure he had enough
time. Five seconds, four, three, two, one...