There is a Stranger in my house_Catch, Mr President_The Old Man’s Family_I See Things Differently
Catalog Guide:
There is a Stranger in my house
It was a cold, rainy night, and Abigail was home alone. The sudden sound of the home alarm startled her in the house. She quickly rose from her bed, heart racing as she reached for her phone to call the authorities. As she made her way towards the main entrance, she heard a noise coming from downstairs awww.onedoor.ccnd knew that it must have been an intruder. Abigail fumbled around for objects that could use as a weapon should anything go wrong, before slowly making her way up towards the source of the noise. Once at the top of stairs, she peered around cautiously so the Intruder wouldn’t hear footsteps he...
Catch, Mr President
“So, what’s the catch?” Jordan asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he picked at his nails. The girl stared at him, eyebrow raised. “Catch?” She questioned, looking him in the eye. God, her stare made him squirm. It felt like she was turning his brain inside out and picking it apart. “Yeah. A catch. There’s always a catch.” He insisted, grimacing at the smirk spreading across the girl’s face. “Always? Don’t tell me the president’s son has done this enough times for there to be an always.” The look of pure glee on her face was one that would haunt his dream’s forev...
The Old Man’s Family
Owen pulled himself up from the overturned truck. His passenger door was face up to the sky and fell closed the moment he was clear of it. He slid down the roof side of the truck into the snow. There was a long gash in his right leg that hurt bad. Why did the old man put up such a fight? From the way the truck had hit the ditch and rolled into the tree and landed on the driver’s side, he knew the old man was dead for sure. Why did he fight? When you have a knife people are supposed to listen to you. Owen could see the snow turning red around his leg and he wanted to throw up. He couldn’t m...
I See Things Differently
My legs constrict into my lap on the chair by the window. In a position familiar to the unborn lifestyle I once knew, inside the womb of a mother I’ve never known. I don’t take comfort in hugging my knees to my chest, nor the cup of hot chocolate hovering near my parted lips. The comfort I seek lies beyond the window, hiding in the drifting snow. The rest of the world has been gobbled up by the hungry ebony sky. Yet the snow dances bravely in the winter wind, defying the evenings craving for nothingness. The snow isn’t simply snow in my eyes. The crystalized clouds falling from the heavens are...