It's The Middle Ages, Sire_Bearing the unbearable_The city of firsts_A Storm of Ivy
Catalog Guide:
It's The Middle Ages, Sire
“Who is responsible for this mess?” roars Jack Tomlinson, editor-in-chief of The New York Times, chomping on his unlit cigarette so hard that it nearly splits in two. He slaps down the April 1st issue of the paper onto his desk. “That would be our Section Editor Ted Periwinkle,” says Bureau Chief Norman Atchinson. “He’s our best!” Norman turns and leaves. “Perrywinkle, hmm,” Jack grumbles. He depresses his intercom and growls “Ted, this is Jack. I want you in my office now.” “I am kind of tied up now, boss,” squeaks a voice. “How about after lunch?” “Now!” roars Jack. S...
Bearing the unbearable
I felt my eyelids fluttering. It was heavy, cold, lonely. I felt drained and that I had lost all my limbs. Then I had realized, I was already awake. I found myself lying inside the hospital bed. The room was warm and comfy, the lights went blur when I had opened my eyes. I couldn’t remember who I was, what I did, did I get married, or did I have kids. Not a single memory had popped out of me. I even forgot that I’m a human. Thankfully, I saw a billboard outside the window with a man endorsing a new product. It had a caption—be a human. Well yeah, I immediately thought that I’m a human. But was...
The city of firsts
That is the thing about this city… I hate it so much, yet I can’t leave. Of course, I could if I wanted to, but no matter how much I try, I just cannot do so. There is a lot I would be leaving behind and I don’t think that’s fair. No, I’ve got no kids, no job, no family here but I have memories and I think that’s important enough. This city- let’s call it C- was the first I ever explored when I came to this country. Was it 5 or 6 years ago now? I fail to remember. I had come for holidays and had instantly fallen in love, thinking at the time that it had everything I never knew I wanted. The ca...
A Storm of Ivy
The ivy wraps around me. Trapped. Trapped trapped trapped. I stifle a scream. It is a slowly warming summer day. Mother is sick, again, and I am looking after my little sister and my not so little little sister. Hannah, the older of the two, is sitting in the shade, her light hair pulled back into a relentless braid. Her focus is unbreakable as she stares at her book, turning the pages swiftly yet delicately. Ella is more cheery. Bright and quick and carelwww.onedoor.ccess, but very sweet. She darts around me with a watering can, spraying me more than the seedling. Her short brown hair is wet from the wate...