There Is No Heaven Behind the Moon_Ragdoll_Changing Seasons_A perfect life
Catalog Guide:
There Is No Heaven Behind the Moon
It was back in ‘69、 My dad had me down at a bar and I was only five or six at that time. It was common back then, for kids to be in bars. The bar culture was different back then. It was just a place for people to get together, drink, shoot some pool, throw some darts, and watch sports. It wasn’t what it is today.There was a lot of cigarette smoke. It was back when you could still smoke indoors, so everybody had a smoke in their hand or their in between their lips. My dad had me in the stool in front of him pointing up to the television, black and white up in the corner behind the bar. The bart...
Ragdoll
1915 “Magda, they are going to kill me.” “Mario ssh, Agata will hear you.” Magda stopped her husband before he could stutter another word. She continued buttoning his thick gray uniform and licked the rare salty tear that had glided on her upper lip. Agata was indeed eavesdropping from the narrow and misty corridor that led downstairs. It was 1915, she was six years old and her papà was going to war. War. In the words of adults, war sounded like a tropical place, yet she knew that her dad wasn’t going faraway. Troops camped outside the village and the front was merely kilometers north. In Th...
Changing Seasons
By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire.Hues of yellows, from the soft sunlight that grazed the wheat fields to the blazing petals of the daffodils in the garden.Oranges that matched the thriving pumpkins growing next to the house; the sunrises painted behind the mountains; the flames I stoked in the fireplace every night of the past week.And reds, my favorite. Red like the apples I carve for my pies. Red like hummingbirds that stick their beaks in the sugary water of feeders hanging from trees.Red like Lewis’s favorite flannel shirt, the one I wear every night. The owww.onedoor.ccne I press ...
A perfect life
In the golden ballroom, all becomes still. I see her at the entrance, a shy smile on her lips. It’s the smile that makes me recognise her, the small bashful curl of her lips. I spent hours examining her, glancing at her furtively whenever they shared a class together. She never notices me of course; she is too busy talking to her friends or helping that hapless Trevor with his pathetic attempts at chemistry.This time, her wild untameable hair has been straightened into a smooth, stylish bun. Her body is usually hidden away by ugly baggy sweaters and tracksuits; however, her graceful neck is ...