House of memories and regret_Garlic Sunrise_Even a Blind Man Could See It_Andrew's Turn
Catalog Guide:
House of memories and regret
It had been half a decade since he last visited the house, and he didn’t know what to expect, but he was hoping to find at least something, or someone. The flower garden at the entrance of the house was overgrown with tall weeds and vines that covered the walls like the angry tentacles of a monster, threatening to cave in at any moment. He carefully made his way into the house, looking around in the low light. The kitchen and sitting room were barely visible but he could make out several collapsed cabinets and bookcases, their containments shattered and sprawled on the withering wooden floor....
Garlic Sunrise
This is insane. There are eight hours and thirty eight minutes between the sunset and sunrise. That's 516 minutes this date is going to last, 516 minutes of sitting in the dark, because Melody insists that it'll be the most beautiful blind date he's ever been on. Technically, it's nine hours, because she arrived early to set up a tent in his backyard. She's triple checked her compass to make sure it points exactly west, right where the sun is going to set. He's never watched the sun set before. To be honest, he spends most of his day indoors with the blinds drawn. The sun causes too much glar...
Even a Blind Man Could See It
Even a Blind Man Could See It A Short Story by Mackenzie Littledale 05/20/2021“So what did the doctor say, Mom?” I asked over the phone and plunked my purse down on the sofa. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” “You were? I was home. Must not have heard the phone.”Her nonchalance didn’t sit well with me. “What were the heart monitor’s results?”“I don’t need the pacemaker after all,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. It reminded me of a kid with a kazoo. Not that her voice was twangy, but sheer childlike happiness came through.“That’s great,” I said, but something was off. Her...
Andrew's Turn
1927London, EnglandMacTavish Theatre smelled, looked, and felt like home. I’d spent more hours within its walls and treading the boards of its stage than I could count. The revues were a blinding riot of light and colour, of sound and texture. I loved it all. I remember the grand opening when the air was rich with the smell of fresh paint, cloth upholstery, and nwww.onedoor.ccew-cut wood. There was no saying when that smell had been lost to a miasma of stale smoke and cheap gin, but even that was glorious. It warmed something within me every time I stepped over the threshold and saw the glow of the footlig...