The illusory Sellout_Paint Something_More than a cookie_What Myer Wetherbee Was Not Willing To Do Fo
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The illusory Sellout
Around six that evening, when the doorbell rang, Eshan was busy getting things ready for the evening's party. Wondering who had turned up so early, he grumpily went to the door. It was Nathan. "I'm here to help you," he said with a smile. "How much can you possibly do all by yourself." Holding forward a single rose that had a long, slender stalk, he bowed “ I wanted to be the first to congratulate you and here is a rose for my thorny Eshan for his new assignment” Eshan knew that the emphatic 'all by yourself' was hardly intentional, but it bothered him.He knew this crafty fox was referring to ...
Paint Something
She wanted to ask why the dipping sauce was a brownish grey color, but she didn’t want to insult her mother-in-law who she had just met for the first time. Maybe it was a cultural thing. She had never eaten authentic Indian food before and take-out from Bengal Tiger hardly counted. “This is delicious, Mrs. Patel,” Katie spoke with her hand covering her partially full mouth. Truthfully, she didn’t really have an adventurous food palette. She always tried to like Dev’s food from his home country but it just wasn’t her cup of sweet tea, cuisine-wise. But the death stares she received from Dev’s ...
More than a cookie
“Mr. Film, mind if I ask what's the special occasion for baking cookies?” I asked him, the smell of vanilla wavered in the air as I breathed the sweet scent in. “How many times do I tell you Mia, call me Chris and do I need a reason to bake cookies?” He mockingly questioned. “I suppose not… Mr. F- I mean Chris,” I corrected, walking out from the warmth of the house, Mr. Film followed me outside. The air was rich mixed with just a hint of winter jasmine touch as cold sensation grew even colder. I shivered in unison with the wind rippling through the deserted streets. “Cold?” Mr. Film asked. “A ...
What Myer Wetherbee Was Not Willing To Do For Money
I *do* believe in spooks, I *do* believe in spooks. I do, I do, I do, I *do* believe in spooks, I *do* believe in spooks, I do, I do, I do, I *do*! That’s what Myer Wetherbee whispered under his breath after reading a letter that informed him that he would be inheriting $3,900,000 from an nasty mean spirited Great Uncle Raphael G. Wetherbee in which he never knew existed. The only conditions to collect the money was that Myer had to stay one night in the 3 haunted places his Uncle specifically chose. Everyone in the small town of Bangor, Maine, knew two things for sure. One Stephen King’s Hou...