Solo Migration_So...you want to talk about it?_A Love Story_Stretch Out Your Hand
Catalog Guide:
Solo Migration
I felt a chill in the air. It would be time to go soon, I knew. It’d be too cold to stay outside much longer. Plus, it would be super easy for something to spot me against the white snow. Time to fly down south again. Just after I said goodbye to my mom. She always happily stayed put year-round with Jerry.I unfurled my wings and flewww.onedoor.ccw across the street. No point in getting run over if I didn’t have to. I flew over house after house, looking for Jerry’s familiar rooftop. I flew through an open window.“Hey, Mom.”“Darling! How many times have I told you not to come in this window? You know Jerry ...
So...you want to talk about it?
Dinah placed the trash cans at the curb, hoping to catch a glimpse at the new neighbor. He ducked back inside before she got the chance. “Hmm,”“Dinah!” The other neighbor’s voice asked her to come over. Joan the town gossip saw Dinah’s look of disappointment from a mile away. Dinah came over. Joan was sweet enough, a little annoying but she’s the type of lady that would fix your hair after a crying session and call you pretty. Buy you chocolate and tell you to eat the whole thing because you deserve it. “What’s the tea, Joan?” She said, knowing she would have no clue what she was saying. “Saw...
A Love Story
There is a sparse air about Dad tonight. His entire body, from head to toes, sags forward when he shakes Shonda’s hand. He appears hollow in every trudge to the bathroom and returns lethargic in a deeper sense. Mom shoots him cursory glances and cracks a few knuckles when his exhausted head bows over the table. Shonda knows about his sluggishness from my morbid stories about his health scares and near-fatal experience on the toilet but this preternatural slog is unfamiliar. “Shonda, when did you and Lamar meet?” Mom croaks in a bid to ruin the apple pie’s lattice pattern for a slice with a ma...
Stretch Out Your Hand
“By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire,” a broken voice had whispered, “We did not stand a chance.” A man had uttered those words when he had stumbled into their village, hardly able to stand. His body had been battered and torn. Ugly burns had littered his skin and the air around him was filled with the stench of burnt flesh. Storm had been a young boy at the time. He had not understood what was going on, but the image of the man was forever burnt into his mind. Just like the symbol that was burnt into the man’s flesh. A symbol that had rested above his heart. A symbol that ...