A Frozen Rose_The Deserter_The Pouch_The Wild Witch
Catalog Guide:
A Frozen Rose
A crisp and biting cold seeped through the toes of her boots, which were steadily growing soggy. There was a definitive line of darker suede where the snow had melted into the fabric, and further into the multiple layers of socks she had worn. Her older sister had insisted upon the socks, and Beneatha had been too eager to escape the stuffed house to put up much of an argument. Not that she would have won had she decided to argue. The tips of her fingers were red and swollen from the cold, forgotten gloves stuffed in a coat pocket barely held together with thread meant for embroidery work. ...
The Deserter
It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. The wound in the deserter’s side was still bleeding as he dragged his feet along the ground. Nearly spent, he pushed on towards a gnarled tree, dead in the winter. The man collapsed at its roots, breathing heavily. Reorienting himself, he leaned back and rested against the trunk. It had a strength and stability that the deserter could now only hope for. He pushwww.onedoor.cced his heavy fur coat back and pulled up his stained and torn shirt. The stab wound was high on his side where the knife had plunged toward his heart. The blade had miss...
The Pouch
In the spring of 1870, Larry Blackmore was arguably one of the worst pool players in New York City. He had gotten the bug shooting pool on the table in the back of Johansson’s dry goods and religiously lost his 5-cent allowance every week until he graduated to playing in Darby’s pool hall where he lost every dime he earned working as a stable boy at the local livery. It became a tradition. Paid at 5pm, broke at 9pm. I mean to tell you, this kid had no stroke. He could no more put together a string of balls than fly to the moon. But having been smitten by the bug he...
The Wild Witch
The beating of the horses hooves as it thundered against the baked Oregon earth. The tremor clattered through Agnes’ body like a leaf in a storm. She held tighter to the reins, she was simply running out of time. The heat of the morning had caught up to her as it blazed through her small womanly frame, she could only get away with so much as she pretended to be a man. She slashed the reins harder against the body of the horse she had stolen yesterday. It was the ends to a means. Anything to be standing on that train, anything to be apart of his plan, anything for her name to be out there. If t...