126.

Her fingers could not keep up with her thoughts.

125.

Her friend asked over dinner, "How long would you like to live 'till?"

124.

She longed to run her finger along the exposed shoulder bone.

123.

Sultry, shoulders drooping, she looked at the camera with a side-way glance.

122.

Nameless people taking what they want from this blog, leaving with their own conclusions.

121.

The old red sun slowly descended into the horizon. It was the end of the day. The birds had already flown back to their nests; familes closeted in their houses over dinner. All was quiet and still as a lone bagpipe played in the distance. It was the funeral dirge for the demise of the day. She wondered how long the night would last.

120.

The planes flew into Changi in rhythm with the waves rushing to shore.

119.

Standing at the tip of the breakwater, he gyrated and waved at every plane flying in.

118.

The plant stem was black with rot.

117.

It had already happened the night before.

116.

"It's a long way between heartache and heartbreak."

115.

Catalysts to memory -- A shoelace, a phrase, a baby chihuahua, a kiss.

114.

The water diluted her tears.

113.

140205

112.

The professor obsessed about the meaning of everything. She would never be a Buddhist.

111.

She felt nervous, like something terrible was about to happen. She had gotten used to the dark.

110.

Walking past the out tray that held the perfect envelope, she grinned widely.

109.

The blue ink seeped slowly in the fibers of the brown envelope, in contrast to the "AIR MAIL" stamped in clean lines of red.

108.

The probablity of having two or more dinner appointments lined up on Saturday is the same as having none on Monday.

107.

The wind blew over the water. She watched the goosebumps on her arm.

106.

He could taste the concrete on his bloodied lips.