Tomorrow_Talia Gibbons_Snow Path Crossings_A Wayward Ship, Reborn
Catalog Guide:
Tomorrow
Gut reaching, heart dropping crash. It could be heard for miles. Smoke filled the air, turning it black. Vision was cut to only one foot in front of us. But the smell, the smell is something I could never forget nor get out of my nose. That day will forever be with me.*Ring Ring* "Hello, Yes sir okay.Yes sir, I understand okay good bye..Honey, I'm sorry but we gonna have to reschedule dinner. I have to work a double tonight. I'm sorry honey, I'll make it up.As the sun be begun to creep up into the sky, the birds started chipping and the air was fresh. Only one more hour to go and I couldn't w...
Talia Gibbons
Tall, fit, muscular. The silhouette of a man stands outside the glass door. He places his hand on the handle and pauses – wagering. The clock ticks on as he wastes his precious time on the decision that has already been made for him. Jingling, the door opens. Still not recognizing the impending doom upon him, he shuffles in.White light glimpse onto his face as he takes his baseball cap off, revealing a mop of disheveled hair. A round face that hasn’t broken out of baby fat glances around at the untouched, foreign, almost alien parts. He runs his hand through his hair; this is obviously not his...
Snow Path Crossings
The doorbell rings. I walk over to the door, peep through the peephole, and open the door.“Ms. Chaise?” he says looking down at a piece of paper, “delivery for you from Cuddly Confections.”I know that, your uniform has given you away, I think.“Yes.”I pay the man and go back inside. The box is white cardboard with red lettering and patterns of flowww.onedoor.ccwers, hearts, and stars on it, characteristic decorations. It has been secured with clear tape. I put the box in the fridge. The digital clock beside the kitchen sink shows 2:53 pm, and the afternoon is chilly, and silent and still, blessings of the we...
A Wayward Ship, Reborn
His face held the bitter stoutness of a man whose tears were spent, whose throat was dry from screaming into the night, and whose days were numbered. He sat, perfectly still, on the patio of his small home, watching the brilliant orange sunset over fields of yellowed grass. Its beauty would have blinded any other man, but he had seen the ferocity of a thousand suns light up the night sky. In his left hand, he held a glass of ice cold lemonade, untouched. Every evening, his servant would bring him one, though he never asked for it. His right hand touched the nameplate on his left breast pocket ...