The old man sat on the weathered porch, his eyes tracing the horizon where the sun bled into the sea. Time etched lines on his face, stories carved in wrinkles. He spoke in few words, but each held the weight of a lifetime.

His boat, the "Santiago," anchored nearby, spoke of countless battles waged against the elusive marlin. Today, the old man felt a whisper in the wind, a promise of one last duel. He set out alone, the sea a vast canvas, and the sun a fading ember.

For days, the line between man and fish blurred. The marlin danced with the current, a dance of survival. The old man, weathered hands gripping the rod, fought against nature's relentless pull. Each pull and tug mirrored the ebb and flow of life.

As the struggle reached its zenith, the old man whispered to the marlin, a silent tribute to a worthy adversary. In that vast expanse, they understood each other, two warriors in the great theater of existence.

The battle ended as the sun dipped below the horizon. Exhausted, the old man lay in the boat, the marlin tethered beside him. In the quiet, he gazed at the stars, feeling the pulse of the universe in his veins.

He returned to the village, the "Santiago" a testament to his triumph. Villagers marveled at the size of the marlin, but the old man spoke not of victory but of the sea's eternal embrace. Hemmingway would have approved, for in the simplicity of the tale, the profound rhythm of life echoed, and the old man, weathered but not broken, became a legend in the fading light.

She looked like the kind of girl who would give anything for something: lips pushed forward naturally, brow raised, sitting forward in her seat. She pointed her toes and crossed her ankles beneath her chair, intertwining her arms and resting her chin on her hands.

Her resting posture was a teacher’s dream. Nothing escaped her darting eyes, and no sound fell short of her lifted ears. If she stopped for a moment and thought deeply, she could even wiggle the muscles on the side of her head so that her ears perked up visibly, thrilling the lectures and babbling brooks who loved her devoted attention.

And it wasn’t just a facade. Every now and then, her intertwined arms would unfold, and she’d raise her hand high in the air to ask a probing question.

Watching her from a seat in the back of the room, I wondered how someone could maintain such constant utter commitment to the present moment. She inhaled the now, scarcely pausing to let out her breath into the past. Did the march of time, the promise of the imminent, even concern her?

She was exactly the type of person who would give everything for anything. If I had to guess, I bet her greatest fear was the empty moments.

Thoughts of cool grass and fragrant breezes thrust at the boundaries holding them back. Memories surge to the surface, stroking pleasure from the depths. Drifting off to sleep, the memories linger, spinning into dreams of the past. Running free through the lengthy stems, feeling the harsh edges of the blades catch and release in the regular rhythm of movement, the sun shining hot and bright on his back. Air flowing fresh with snatches of scent, streaming into being like magic, awakening hungers long forgotten. Legs churn and ears twitch, as remembrance shakes the foundation of his existence. The absence of the exquisitely boundless feeling of freedom becomes unbearable, even in slumber, and the bear wakes, shaking free of the dream. Lifting his head, he sniffs the stale air coming through the bars of his cage. A single tear falls from his lash as he wearily lays his head back down.

"So, how are you feeling?"

Her piercing eyes wait patiently for me to answer. She knows I'm not too good at answering this particular question, which is why she asked it. With eyes like those she surely knows the answer. Honestly, I wish she'd just tell me instead of asking. But she won't and worse still she'll know if I lie.

At least those eyes are patient. "Right now, I'm irritated at you."

Her mouth turns upward in amusement. Her smile always relaxes me. There's safety in that smile.

"Pressure," I answer. "I'm tired of pressure. I wish it would leave me alone so I can actually accomplish something with pride."

She nods thoughtfully. "Have you been eating?"

How could that possibly be related? My eating habits, or lack of, have nothing to do with feeling pressured. I roll my eyes. "Not this again. Can we deal with life issues first? Eating is like laundry, only it comes more frequently."

I do know how strange my statement sounds. Points to her for not laughing. She looks at me seriously with those piercing eyes. "You can't live until you eat. Eat first, life second. You've expressed before how much better you feel after a good meal."

Begrudgingly I have to agree. I did say that.

"What are you waiting for? Go! Eat something tasty!"

A couple hot dogs later, I thank her. Really, I should consult myself more often. I give good advice.

unbutton, uncloak

uncover, undies

untie, undo

unclasp, unclip

unhook, unfrock

unzip, untuck

Unlikely

under-aged

undersized

unlucky

unmasked

unthinkable

Understood

I had this er... ideology in my head for a while now. I'd steal ancient artifacts for you, you'd rob cool relics for me, We'd live together in a happy-go-lucky crimin'-spree. True love, y'know; all that mushy stuff.

I thought of getting a house on a stolen yaught, maybe even hijacking one of those floaty-islandic houses and keeping the owners as pets, then you could go ransacking Atlantis or somethin'. I know how you like 'dem hard to reach places.

We coulda' had kids. I wouldn't even put you through all the pregnant-bloated stuff, I'd just bring them for your birthday, take em from one of doze orpha-....er... what-chu-call-itz? Oh right, dem misfortunages. We'd raise em to be robbin' banks by the age of five. hacking security cams by the age-o-six, fist-fighting good ol' Pop-pops by the age-er-ten. We'd be a proud couple, we would.  

But all of this! Would never happen! because you went and tricked me! You set me up! Probably planned it all along! I ain't never gonna' trust no cheatin-lyin-scum-eatin-little-"

"The remaining five minutes of Genta Jones's court session has been ommitted for viewer's discretion. However he has requested for news coverage over the criminal assailant Ms....H-Hotty McFakename... Jones states that Hotty was last seen holding a false ID and wearing a police badge. Oddily enough the woman he describes highly resembles the head of security, and Junior detective Klair Fennings. She has denied all accusations of contact with Mr. Jones. 

I wait here. I wait for water. The droplets start to come cascading down my trunk. I wait for sunlight. The rays shine against my bark. I wait for space. My roots billow through the ground and up sprout my seedlings. I wait for them. When they sprout a move my trunks for the slightest cracks on sunlight for them to grow. I wait for death. A man comes off the horse with an axe. I wait for death once again but the man just sat under me for shade. The waits I´ve waited have ceased, for what I wait for does not exists. 

We are on a riverboat of time in an ocean like odyssey

And some of our most valuable notes are sailing to private shores

Yet it seems that the pieces of time have gathered wider oceans

I cannot adequately find the words to reach your isolated island

I look for a sandman to wake you up from your sleeping dream

My tears fall into the nocturnal sea as it compassionately waves

I hear your voice calling for me from the distant sanctuary 

I make my way to you with both of my hands on the paddle wheel