I shouted the perfect words to scare him off. It was just the delivery (and only the delivery) that made me sound like a twelve-year-old girl with pee running down her leg.
I felt dirty and stupid.

The stalker, meanwhile, stepped into the road. Didn’t even check for traffic. There wasn’t any, but something told me this was lucky for traffic rather than the stalker.

Sadly, my socks are like snowflakes, no two are exactly alike.

I'm looking into my past lives. I'm convinced some of them still owe me money.

I'm very polite by nature, even the voices in my head let each other finish their sentences.

My Zombie apocalypse plan is simple but effective; I fully intend to die in the very first wave.

Seems more logical than undergoing all kinds of hardships only to die eventually anyway (through bites/malnutrition/or terminally chapped lips)