I still washed his shirt. There was only his plaid shirt, because it was what he'd worn. But I still washed it. My son disappeared a few years ago. They found his body by the lake. He was wearing that old plaid shirt. The rest of his clothes I gave to my nephew, about his size. But that plaid short...I'd never give that to anyone. It was his, it was all I had left. The plaid shirt. His room was in perfect condition, but it didn't seem right. But his shirt in my soft-from-washing-so-many-dishes hands. It felt like everything was...
The green clad man fought the rain off and finally got his tan. YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYy:)
When the father arrived home to his squalid, Lower East Side tenement building, he was exhausted. He paused at the door to pose for a Jacob Riis photo, and then trudged though the entryway. The grit of coal from the furnace in the oil refinery still covered his face. This, despite the fact that we worked on the docks hauling fish. His apartment was in the rear of the building: a cramped, filthy space overlooking a pile of rubbish that the realtor had described as a “quaint fixer-upper with a partial city view.” He approached the door, removed a rat...
the colours were too bright and he couldn't make out what the picture was. Joe liked to go the the gallery on a Thursday night because they opened late and he could visit there after finishing his stint as a bike courier.He squinted at the painting in the modern art section and wondered if his bid to seem interesting by going to an art gallery would ever pay off. He spotted a sad- looking girl standing by the darkened window and debated what his opening gambit should be, most of the things he had tried on his previous visits had...
since the days have past, a girl of a young of her time has to run away as if she ever knew what was going on. She had always had a taste for running away from others yet she didn't know what to come, after a few years the girl came when i said her name but she would always want to be alone by herself in a dark cold room of the night. After a day or so had passed she began to come when she was told even tho she didn't know why, she thought that she had...
This morning I woke up from the loud screeching of my alarm, I woke up my grandson Tom and in my energised voice said "come on Tom let's go out to the cafe". Tom and I got ready within 5 minutes, we left the house and were walking through the loud streets of Vietnam. Tom stops suddenly in front of me and points to a toy store that he wanted to go in. Tom lead me into the toy store grasping tightly onto my hand pulling me into the store. He was jumping up and down and his heart was...
One rainy street was much like another, it turned out. It didn't matter where in the world you were, whether it was city or town - it was the same.
People acted the same. They hustled and bustled, tugging coats around them, hoping that collars could be turned up and their necks could be saved from uncomfortable raindrops. Some - prepared ones - had umbrellas, using them as a more sophisticated method (supposedly). They wore smug smirks - until they bumped into one another.
Nobody had perfected walking down a street of multiple umbrellas.
They all rushed, eager to escape...
The viel of morning haze parted and she could see clearly now their large felt wings beating against the breeze. Pressing a hand to the headphone to try to pick up a sound, however faint. Quiet now, her breath held tightly. "Damn wont the wind stop just for a second." Finally, and she was not sure if it was even being picked up by the recorder, no time to check. Might miss my chance if I fiddle with it, I just hope its on. The sound was so soft it might be imagined. A voice, then a response. So small...
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....
I lost my grip on the wheel. It had happened before, but it wasn't nearly as embarrassing as now. I had just left P.E. with a friend of mine, rolling up the steep hill from the gym toward the vocational building. As usual, I made my slow way up that hill, my forearms and biceps flexing as I pushed my wheelchair, struggling but too proud to ask for help.
Then, again as usual, I approached the next decline, a cement hill with a white awning over it. With a grin, I pushed down and let go. As usual. But, then...