Our Guest_Fired_We'll Always Have the Island_The Thorn with a Rose
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Our Guest
I shouldn’t have done it. No matter how little it cost me, it ended up costing me more than I could ever imagine.Me and my partner need a break. Life has been especially stressful, and we need a vacation. Work has been hard, and so has our social life. Luckily, I found this super cheap vacation spot. I know what you’re gonna say, “It’s probably run down,” or “It’s not real.” I can understand your concerns, but this is gonna be good. It has to be. Hey, I forgot to let you know when we left for vacation, I’m sorry. Anyway, we’re here now, and it seems pretty nice. We got into our room ...
Fired
“We’ll stop here,” said my companion gruffly as he set our bags down on the old wooden floor of the cabin. I sighed in relief. It wasn’t much warmer inside, but at least we were out of the wind. By my estimations, we had crossed into Canada some time ago. My guide was a man of few words (answering in monosyllables and avoiding whole sentences almost entirely), and I myself hopeless with directions, so I couldn’t be sure. I had, however, memorized the route from the last village we had stopped to this place.I took stock of my surroundings. The one-room structure – something I wasn’t thrilled w...
We'll Always Have the Island
Mr. Eric Stanley, his soon-to-be-bride Natasha, and a trusted travel agent Ms. West, sat in green velvet chairs around a glass table. They were in a downtown loft, in Chicago. Ms. West chewed a piece of nicotine gum, and tapped her pen against her pad. Her dyed, light brown, hair was in a bun. She wore a heavy off white a-line dress and heels. Mr. Stanley looked at her and began to say something but she cut him off.“You need a place for your honeymoon, no?” she asked in a thick Asian accent. “I will be honest with you. I have one place that is good enough for one like you. That is what yo...
The Thorn with a Rose
Ten -You place your hand on the door, fully aware of the fact that you can lean in if you wish to, slump in defeat, and coalesce—or deform, rather—into a ball of your own pity party. The darkness around you seems to be doing just that, making the light shine dimmer than it usually does owww.onedoor.ccn a horrid Sunday evening when the doors close and secrets open, one year ends and the other, to your utter dismay, begins. It is not necessary to step a disheartened foot inside, but the cold, the miserable cold, does not want it any other way. You cast your eyes down to the boots that have seen better days, b...