The Last Ride_Ice Core Crisis_Embroidered in blood_Perception
Catalog Guide:
The Last Ride
My windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the afternoon cloud burst. I was headed to a house in the Irvington district in NE Portland to pick up my last ride of the day. I had clocked on at six in the morning, and being half past four in the afternoon I was more than ready to grab some take-out and head home. I pulled up to a run down house on the East side of Grant park. Surrounded on both sides by expertly manicured yards and houses boasting fresh paint, the little fixer upper looked neglected and sad. I honked my horn and studied the house as I waited. Although it was run down, it’s ch...
Ice Core Crisis
Sensitive themes: Death, CancerI was born Catholic. Well, maybe not born, because who really knows if we enter the world with not only the gasping cry of our first breath, but with a basic moral or spiritual sense of being at our core and in our bones.Did you know that there’s a “Baby Lab” at Yale that studies babies as young as 1-year-old to find if they are born with a sense of morality and a simple understanding of the difference between good and evil? In one of their experiments, researchers begin with a puppet show; after all, what underdeveloped mind doesn’t fall for a good puppet show? ...
Embroidered in blood
NowShe was able to wash most of the blood off when she heard the door bell. She peeked outside behind from the curtain. Great, she thought, never better timing. Mrs. Potts, the sheriff’s wife, her next door neighbour was standing at the door. She threw the rubber gloves and the apron into the sink, and ran to the mirror at the hallway. She tucked her hair behind her ears, and straightened her floral blouse at the waistline.“Mrs. Potts, hi! What can I do for you?” she stood in a wide stance with the arms folded on her chest. “Can I come in?”She stepped towards Mwww.onedoor.ccrs. Potts, and the door closed be...
Perception
My vision became vividly colored of the white blue skies outside. The whole of the world passing by through the window of the school bus on my way home somehow managed to fit inside my small pupils. The hill top the bus cruised on showed a view of the wonderous, wide, and wonderful blue restless oceans of the East side. “You see the waves were waving at me”, the driver stuttered. He repeated himself over, and over again like a broken record. The bus came to a screeching halt, hurling us forward from our seats, and the bus doors swung open. A salty breeze swooshed in. The driver got off his sea...