Breaking_Who is at Fault_The Eatin' Table_Alison and Shannon
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Breakinwww.onedoor.ccg
Hazel burst through the doorway of her Communications 101 classroom, shivering from the biting mid-autumn wind. She was only five minutes late, but the professor was already deep into a lecture on crisis communications. A few of the other students glanced up at her as she squeezed past them and dropped into in an empty seat, but most seemed as though they hadn’t even noticed the interruption.“You didn’t miss much,” the girl to Hazel’s left whispered. She was slender and long-legged, with warm brown skin and a bundle of curls piled atop her head. “We have a presentation due next Friday.”“Thanks...
Who is at Fault
Who is at Fault?Boris poured himself a stiff scotch. Been long day, with more than usual legal argument. He needed to unwind. If he took this bribe what would be the outcome. The courts were stressful, even in the office he always felt everyone was trying to score more brownie points, beat him to the pot of gold, everything he did included a look over his shoulder to make sure someone hadn’t already beaten him to the punch. “You’ve got a good team, don’t worry.” Empty, non-therapeutic words from outsiders. Pick your excuse but he just wanted a drink. Everyone else was waiting for glasses of w...
The Eatin' Table
She had never had a dining room or for that matter, never been in a dining room. A dining room would never have suited Louise in the first place. Her people were common people, but each one precious in Louise’s eyes.Her large-footed, dark-stained, oak table sat in the middle of her kitchen. A store bought, brass, light fixture suspended from the ceiling, draped her table in light. Tall, ladder back, wooden chairs strong enough to hold a grown man, but gentle enough for a child to climb into, girded her table. The table, Louise’s table, so fondly referred to by her people as the "Eatin' Table;...
Alison and Shannon
Warning: Contains mentions of suicide or self-harm“I quit!” Alison mutters to herself, it was the first time she had seen the ghosted face in months. Memories of empty avoidance and shallow conversation seep into the crevices of her mind. It simultaneously pains and angers her.If there was one thing she hated, it was wishy-washy people, people who disappear out of cowardice, despite sometimes falling into that category herself. Her skin would crawl under the response of platitudes that would accompany a difficult situation going unaddressed. She often found herself drawn to the opposite; stron...