Mr. Valenhart_The Plunge_DISBELIEF, SELF-PITY, AND A MUDSLIDE_Email: A First-World Pandemic Saga
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Mr. Valenhart
Scarlet Adams was just beginning the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. She walked to the door and opened it as far as the metal chain would permit her. Standing on the other side was a gentleman in a black suit. His arms were behind his back and his head held high, though he still managed to make direct eye contact with Scarlet. “Ms. Adams,” he began in a comforting, yet authoritative tone. “I’m Wyatt Crawford. I’ve come on business regarding your recently deceased uncle.” “I’m sorry,” Scarlet said, hugging the door closer, her hand wrapped tight around the doorknob. “I think you have the wr...
The Plunge
Private Alexander Huxley sat in the hull of the C-47, jaw clenched and lips twisted into a savage grimace. The weight of his parachute kept him hunched in his seat, and the straps of his harness and weapon case chafed raw swathes into his skin.The flying tin can he was trapped in dipped, ped, shook, and rattled with the capricious whims of the turbulent weather outside. Sudden bursts of sound heralded the missed shells of unseen Anti-Aircraft guns below. Shrapnel splattered the metal plates of the plane's exterior, a thousand, thousand infernal chimes assaulted Alex's ears and grated his nerve...
DISBELIEF, SELF-PITY, AND A MUDSLIDE
“Rose, I’d like you twww.onedoor.cco meet my girlfriend, Maddie.”I stared at him in utter disbelief, arms crossed against the deep v-cut of my navy bridesmaid dress. He just watched me back, dark eyes obnoxiously smug as who I had just learned to be his new girlfriend stuck her hand out cheerfully. She smiled at me, unfazed as I hesitated before uncrossing my arms and placing my hand in hers.“It’s nice to meet you, Rose!” Her handshake was as friendly as the expression she offered me, and I felt a twinge of guilt towards the girl. Though honestly, guilt was the last thing on my mind as my feigned grin twit...
Email: A First-World Pandemic Saga
The clock on the kitchen stove reads 11:34、 Plenty of time. A voice. “What does your mom do?” “She writes emails. All day.”“She gets paid for that?” I feel my blood pressure rise. It’ll take five or six episodes of Cosmic Kids Yoga to get it back to normal. But then again, all they ever see is me trying to type an email. Telling them, “Give me a minute to write this email!” About fifty times a day. Little do they know, it’s the same email. I don’t write emails. I write email. “I think that’s all she does. Do you like chocolate better on strawberries or bananas?”“I like Empire apples.”A shadow ...