The Top 10 of Adrian Winkels_333 Brighton Avenue_The circle of love_The Listening Tree
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The Top 10 of Adrian Winkels
Dear Readers, Today we celebrate the 90th birthday of Adrian Winkels. He is famous for retelling beloved fairy tales and giving them a new setting and a more detailed narrative arc. His stories would seem well-known and nostalgic and yet entirely new at the same time. Unfortunately, he passed away three years ago, but his memory and legacy will be carried on by his readers. Some would argue, that his work is www.onedoor.cconly a collection of forgeries of other writers' works and he didn't make anything original. While we see why would see it that way, we can only, but disagree. During the last month, we a...
333 Brighton Avenue
Alice 333 Brighton Avenue, Apartment #232、 That was the only dwelling Alice ever known, she was born in the very bedroom she now occupied. The tiny three bedroom/one bath apartment would never be called large, upscale or luxurious and since it sat in a neighborhood known for its large and blue-collar families, it was not considered the hip side of town. The sheer white curtains slightly danced in the breeze on any given spring day; the elegant curtains were Alice’s idea and her favorite part of the bedroom she shared with her sister. Alice liked to keep the windows opened wide until the sun se...
The circle of love
The grass was almost touching their knees but it did not bother them, as Sushil and Garima whirled over the earthy dance floor. Sushil going down on his knees to propose to her was a bonus over the fact that after so many years she had met him in person again, at the same place where they had seen each other for the last time. She was wandering in the open corridors of the building which used to be her school when a voice from her back made her stop on her way. “Hey!” The voice was from the person she had never forgotten. Sushil, the guy she had ever loved. That was not what an hour young Gari...
The Listening Tree
They don’t know that I’m watching. People are blind, I’ve come to learn, which is saying something considering I don’t have eyes of my own. They never wonder if the sapling might be watching, what the oak might observe.That’s why my roots are stained with love and blood alike. I think they’d quiver to know what I remember.I don’t know how I got there—to the edge of that little farm. One day I wasn’t, and then suddenly: awake. Sipping water from the soil and stretching young bark up and up. I always had a great view of the sun, my leaves bathing in its beams. Maybe that’s what it was, the sun,...