Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Look at that by - (read ebook pdf .txt) 📖
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A few minutes earlier, it had occupied the middle seat next to him and accidentally sat on one of the two of his seat belt straps, something that Babis only real-ised when he unsuccessfully attempted to fasten his.
- Enough already with the backsides.
- Why, what’s wrong with backsides? Have they peed in someone’s cheerios? Never mind the fact that they have something to do with the plot.
Now, whether the rump ends in the legs or the legs in the rump is a matter on which science cannot offer any help.
- It’s as though you are implying that based on someone’s pelvis, you can also assert her descent.
- If not on a country level, of a geographical basin, certainly.
+ let alone practices.
Simos Panopoulos - Look at that
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It was the first thing he made sure he did every time he boarded a plane ever since the deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs lost his life in the infamous crash with the ministerial Falcon exactly because he had neglected to do so. The proof that the nerve endings of her glute muscles had recorded his imperceptible movements to extract the strap and (had) pertinent-ly informed her brain’s operational centre was that, lifting her right butt-cheek, she freed it at once (not before she turned apologetically to look at him). The, in the first instance taken, decision to start chatting her up became final when the thing he had secretly been wishing, almost praying for all this time, in other words for her face (which he had hitherto only man-aged to catch a quick glimpse of) to rise up to the full height of the expectations that the view of her behind had nourished, turned into reality. Seconds later, the first phrase that came to mind was leaving his lips. It took, according to the rules of the game, the form of a question that encourages, almost forces, its receiver to take a position as well as its sender to reply. Where, however, it trampled over them was that, unlike the archetypal example of a guy in a Clock Tower square asking a woman passing by for the time, his interest in her answer was actually genuine.
- Don’t tell me the butt-cheek bothers you too?
- I’m used to it.
Idea: “distinct evidence that she was one of those experienced passengers who, in order to fly by plane, didn’t wait on the advent of low-cost companies.”
Or rather he wished it never happened. Because, at this point he’s got much more urgent things to
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