'Dancing Shadows'_The Festival of Lights_Not again_Tiny Death
Catalog Guide:
'Dancing Shadows'
The old house on the hillock had always fascinated Rudra. It was away from hustle and bustle of the village, and had been deserted for many years.One day he had told his mother Mwww.onedoor.ccira that he wanted to visit the house on the hill. Mira had heard various stories about the house, and she forbade her son to go up there."Promise me Rudra, you will never go up to that house ever" his mother warned him"But why, Ma?""There is a witch living there who eats small children for lunch" Mira told him, trying to scare him away,"You must not go there".."Okay, Ma " he said obediently, giving her a smart salute...
The Festival of Lights
The Festival of Lights has been a tradition in my family for generations. It's a tradition that began a hundred years ago when the first lights when up during the beginning of the fall season and lasts all the way to spring.The Festival of Lights is an annual tradition in which my family lights up our house and the entire town of Cape Royal with rows upon rows of light.This year it is my turn to light up the town, but this tradition is not without controversy. My mother and half the town believes the Festival of Lights began as a way to help guide us through the fall season and into the spring...
Not again
We were in my BMW 5 series. Ashley was wearing a henley T-shirt that was missing its bottom half. It was sparkling white and wouldn’t have been long enough to cover my six-year-old’s belly. Even though I’d seen her stomach countless times before, it was all I could look at. It was tanned and smooth; freckle-less and hairless. It was the stomach of a young person in her prime that exercised and ate well. It was flat like you see on Instagram.My mom left me the BMW and $250,000 in her Last Will and Testament. She died from a brain aneurysm two years ago. She had the hemorrhagic stroke a mere for...
Tiny Death
TW: death of a child My navy summer suit hit me in all the wrong places. I had bought it for my twenty-fifth birthday celebration years before, and had worn it exactly twice. With the more recent addition of a white blouse, it had become my funeral outfit, and I had last struggled into the jacket and skirt for my parents’ joint service. Now I pulled at my lapels and fidgeted as I waited to sign papers as part of the procedure for transporting the remains of my infant brother from Springfield, Illinois to Indianapolis, Indiana. I was the only member of the family still “standing on topsoil” as ...