The Old Dog And The New Dog_Crystal Clear_What's Mine is Mine_Firewood
Catalog Guide:
The Old Dog And The New Dog
1、 Confrontation The mere thought of going to an unknown territory excited the new dog to such an extend that his tail wagged as fast as the hand of a grandma with a folded newspaper on a hot summer afternoon of New Delhi when power's shut. His ears straightened like grandma's body on bed when power is finally back. Down the stairs and they were about to head outside, but the new dog stumbled to a door with a funny smell. The smell of an older dog! This made the new dog's tail wag faster than grandma's hand on the hottest day. But, his human companion pulled the leech to signal that he needs t...
Crystal Clear
Bells rang overhead as the magenta door popped open to an incense-fused waiting room. Behind the counter, Tessa flipped on the open sign and parted the barrier beads to get to the “behind-the-scenes” door she and her coworkers had titled. Inside, the break room glared a sterile white color and droned like an elementary school cafeteria. “Yo,” Tessa said to her red-lipped boss. Her lips cracked open into a smile, “Good morning, Mystique.” Tessa groaned, “Come on, you know I hate that. I thought we agreed we could be called by our real names back here, Omniscious.” Omniscious, aka Marge, rolled ...
What's Mine is Mine
Although I don’t recognize my hands, I certainly recognize the things they were putting on the counter at the thrift store. I watch as chipped nails, originally a clean sky blue, slowly lay out my past in front of me.The first was the holey band t-shirt. It was clearly once black, but faded with washes, sunlight, and age. My father had given it to me when his beer belly could no longer be contained by its cotton midsection. There were holes in the shoulders and faded stains under the armpits and when I wear it and work up a sweat, dad’s smell works its way out of the fabric; the smell of aged ...
Firewood
Chop.The wood splits evenly, and to my satisfaction. Each swing results in a log fit for a king’s hearth.Chop.Which is a silly thought. It isn’t like a king cares about what logs go into his fireplace, only that it burns.Chop.But if he did, he’d be pretty damned pleased with my work.Chop.And if he isn’t then I have a whole forest to get more from.Chop.“Screw that king, anyway,” I mutter. “Who says my wood isn’t good enough? Has he ever chopped wood, anyway? What does he know?”Chop.That’s enough.I set the axe down and gather up the freshly cut wood into neat piles, placing some underneath a tar...