Dishes. Toaster. Coffee. Napkins.
Her breakfast routine was always the same. She performs it today as she did on so many days before, and as she would on every day for the rest of her years.
She brushes the tablecloth clean, while she waits for the coffee. She quietly assembles everything: sugar, milk, scones, jam. She does not speak.
She painstakingly sets two places, attentive to every detail. Her cup of coffee would receive two spoonfuls of sugar. The far cup would receive three. Always three.
The toaster signals that breakfast is ready. She pours the coffee, lays out the...
Too saccharine. Too weepy. No dice.
me and my sister have always been fighting. scince the day we could walk we always fought untill now. we were walking looking for a perfect gift and we saw it ....... the black dress. i always loved to try and make new fashions out of things yet my sister always followed the rules. if your dress was a millimeter too short she would tell. i had decided already that i was going to get the dress and make a new one but my sister would not let that happen . she wanted it for my mother, my mother was...
A breeze is a current of air
A portent that hasn't a care
For the cold that it causes
...
..
Please forgive me these pauses
The author was killed by a bear
I shot my butler. I never really wanted to though, He was a kind man. It was a week ago, and since then I've been away from home. I've honestly never been past the garden walls, but I guess I deserve this punishment.
It was a bright morning, and the sun was shining graciously. I was hunting the sparrows that land to eat the seeds that were just planted.
Something went wrong. Horribly wrong.
I ran as soon as he died. I had nowhere to go, no money, and was very confused.
Right now I'm on a boxcar train, and...
If you ever pass this house on 23 silverdores street, your sight will be mesmerized. A red checkered pattern clock hangs on a thin piece of string that stretches across the front yard from one end to the other. It just hangs there, every day, every night, every year, it just hangs like the last item to be sold at a shop. The owner never seems to give any attention to it, walks by without any acknowledgement that it's even there, the cloak is treated it is invisible. If the cloak seem to have a mind of its own, has...
He was standing on the sidewalk below, jumping up and down. A passer-by might think he was crazy, but she knew better. He always did things with good reason. She smiled at him as she walked by and murmured, "Hi." He looked around like a startled deer caught in a floodlight, but she was gone. She had dissolved into the doorway.
Maybe he's really happy, she thought, as she walked softly up the stairs, careful not to wake the sleeping house. Sometimes, when she was happy, she felt like doing that. And she felt like never, ever, ever stopping. Maybe...
The room was white, that much was certain. Its brightness was intoxicating. Two men stood over a small table, they were draped in white lab coats and held brown clipboards. Their arthritic hands jotted and scrawled down various notes and blurbs, and they occasionally looked up from their clipboard to observe what was on the table. The table was round, and it had three legs that were in contact with the white floor. At the center of the table was a small white mouse, belly up, red eyes staring into oblivion. The creature was dead. It had been dead for...
Framed by white-washed plaster walls, she was a sharp contrast to the beige and grey of the street surrounding her. She reached up and brushed a stray lock of black hair from her forehead, looking over her right shoulder down the street. She was waiting, and her eyes scanned the oncoming traffic carefully, searching.
The young man across the street had stopped walking when he noticed her, a sudden burst of brilliant red against the subdued building. She never looked over at him, never stopped looking down the street at the oncoming mass of bicycles, cars, carts, trucks, and people...
It was the leaded glass crystal, fluted sides, a stem as delicate as a lily. She filled it halfway, she didn't want to be greedy.
"Is that all you're having?" Her mother had just poured her glass up to the rim and was now walking awkwardly across the room, trying not to spill it.
"I like the way it looks in the glass."
Her mother sat down on the couch and slurped. "That's why I like these glasses. They look good no matter what you put in them."
She paused behind the couch, behind her mother, and took a sip....