U haul

author unknown

Finally, Mary could just sit with her usual exhaustion in silence. The girls had quieted. Outside, evening traffic slowed and accelerated at a stop sign one floor down. She glanced around the barren room – no memories there. It wasn't always this way, she remembered: A young new wife/an ambitious enlisted man – an evening on the couch meant passion not loneliness. That had died long ago. But the marriage lingered until one day he just didn't return - leaving her and their 3 girls displaced from family, friends and belongings in this god–forsaken dump. Today, just an hour’s drive up the hill, the storage bin filled with her family’s possessions had been auctioned off. Some lucky buyer could sell her diamond and gold band. She would have sold them, too. The girls needed exams – more expensive glasses. She’d hold out. Her vision was practically worthless anyway.

The Quick Way

by an unknown author

Billy walked into the house, slammed the door, kicked the table, and threw his coat on the floor in disgust. In the pocket was the prescription from the optometrist, and it was just -0.25 more than his last examination, a whole year ago. He'd worked so hard trying to become more myopic and it just wasn't working. Was he just too damn old?

It was 3 years ago when he first started doing this. He didn't know why at the time and still didn't. Many a time he'd tried unsuccessfully to explain it to himself. Telling others about his little.....hobby....wasn't an option. Most people would think he was deranged to try and make his eyesight worse. There were a few people on the Internet he spoke to, but they all seemed to have much more success than him, and he felt like a failure. "Results vary" was always the disclaimer in this illicit pursuit as in any health-related issue. For Billy, results were pathetic. In three years he had succeeded in creating just over one diopter of myopia. When he'd mentioned this in an e-mail to one of his mentors it was suggested that he began too late, that younger people had the greatest success at induced myopia. Billy was 31.

The Crosseyed Story

Another micro story I have dug up from my archive. This time it is about crossed eyes.

By Anonymous

This story is fictional but based on someone I was acquainted with.

For as long as I could remember, I was fascinated and turned on by crossed eyes. Both in other people and myself. At the age of 10 I discovered how to cross my eyes and did it whenever I was alone. I soon was able to cross them and hold for an hour at a time, usually with them turned all the way in.

When I was 12 I was prescribed my first glasses for nearsightedness. My folks were not too receptive to me wearing glasses so after my eye exam at the age of 11 when they were told that I needed glasses, they ignored the advice and by the time I was 12 I was a -2.50.

Late One Night

by an unknown author

If I could have had those ten or so years over again I'd have done things very differently. First of all, I'd have never taken a chance on second-best. Listen to me, don't do it. What you see is what you get, no more no less. People don't change, other than getting older. When you choose a partner, and mean it to be for life, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, just make sure you get it right. I drew one good card, I got richer. He helped me achieve that. But being the ungrateful bitch that I am, that wasn't enough. Our relationship disintegrated, and there I was, a business owner, and effectively, emotionally, alone.So every day, I would leave my beautiful home, climb into my fantastic car, drive to my dreamy little store, and sell delightful bits and pieces to a wide range of interesting people. I bought lovely clothes, ate delicious food, and went to fascinating places.
And it was all so wonderful that every night I'd slip between the silk sheets of my deeply luxurious bed, and cry myself to sleep.
Yes, that's right. I married him for his money, his status, and his charm. He was, to everyone who knew me, a Good Catch. Handsome, suave, and generous. We honeymooned in Bali.

A Learning Curve

by an unknown author

The car pulled into the drive and George yawned and got out. It had been a long week, and he was looking forward to some serious downtime over the weekend, maybe even a spot of hockey. Certainly a night out with his buddies, it had been a while and they'd had to remind him they still existed.

"Hey man," the call had been from Mike "You fallen off the planet? We still meet every saturday night at Bassey's place."

George had tentatively agreed to make the effort, pleading hard work, and yet another 3 weeks had gone by. But THIS weekend he'd promised himself he'd be there.

Opening the door the cat greeted him with demands for food. He threw the mail on the table, threw his coat over a chair and just fell into a chair. The money was great in this job, but there was never any time to spend it. The stressfactor was high, every night it seemed he came home with his head throbbing, and the only cure was sleep. Not that this was difficult to acheive, within half an hour he was out cold on the couch and the next he knew it was saturday morning.

Melted Sand

by an unknown author

Nathan was just a regular guy who needed a job after college, and being smart enough and fit enough he'd found himself working in security. They trained him, sent him to various jobs, and it was always straightforward enough. He chased a few jerks, threatened one or two, even raised his gun once, but it was just a job, just a slightly more exciting one than most people have. When his work day was over he went home, cooked supper, and watched TV. Just like everyone else. He had a life, of sorts. But that was then.

Somehow he was singled out by his superiors as above-average. So when they were approached by a anonymous customer to find him a bodyguard Nathan was their first choice. He was offered a much higher salary, and plenty of other perks - he just saw it as a promotion, heck it boosted his ego. His love-life at that point was in a lull, so whatever, he took the job.

Lolita's story

by an unknown author

Posted to Eye Scene in July 1999 
My name is not, of course, really LOLITA but my mom started calling me that when I was 15 and it kind of stuck. So here I am, Lolita, if you please. And here is my story.
I am not the brightest girl you ever met, I'm ready to admit. I managed to get through high school but never seriously considered college. What for? All I wanted was to find a nice looking dude with a bit of money, marry him and enjoy myself for the rest of my life. What else is there to life? So I went to secretarial school and found a pretty good job with a large privately owned company. The personnel manager didn't check my credentials too closely because he was concentrating on my boobs and legs. I worked in the export department, probably because I spoke Spanish (my mom is Mexican). The boss of the department happened to be the son of the owner, a hellova handsome guy of about 25 who wore $3000 suits, had a gold Rolex watch, drove a Porsche sports car and wanted to do the least possible work at the office. Just the kind of guy I was looking for! His name was Jim and we, at the office, called him 'Jimmy Boy’. So I did my best to draw his attention, wore the shortest of skirts, tightest of tops, the highest heels, dyed my hair the oddest colors, had my nose and ears pierced for lots of rings. When I walked where he could see me a moved my hips and ass in the sexiest way I knew how. What else can a nice girl do to draw attention? Nothing worked! He paid no attention.