Chyrsantamum's Tale_Fabrications_One day you will shine, sugar_man 'hat' tan dreams
Catalog Guide:
Chyrsantamum's Tale
The library, the home of many musty smelling books and squeaky carts full of books waiting to be put back in their rightful places. Even with my “nose stuck in a book” I could hear things pretty good. To the right far side of the room, downstairs, you could hear students being scolded. By none other than Mr Balanger, a grumpy librarian who is in dire need of a change of scenery. He was known for his scolding, turned lectures. He wasn't always the quietest man, and it seemed like he was comwww.onedoor.ccplaining about students running in the library. Downstairs, forty-five degrees to my right sat Ms Attby,...
Fabrications
Thunder roared through sky, tearing through the clouds. The wind howled, deafeningly, proclaiming its fury. Alan sat alone at his desk. Typing away at his typewriter. Struggling for ideas. Pacing back and forth through his office, whilst mumbling to himself like a madman. Alan consistently failed to meet deadlines - if his work wasn’t perfect, it would not exist, if it wasn’t confronted with showers of praise, and compliments, it would not exist, and if it didn’t flow like a poem, it did not exist. He was a rigorous perfectionist, with thick hopes and tangible desires.Alan needed inspiration. ...
One day you will shine, sugar
as soon as Mistress opened the door, I was greeted by a man. he was quite plump and chubby, his tie pinching the overlapping skin of this neck. Mistress jumped, her eyes darting from side to side. she obviously looked exasperated. the man standing beside her was too. a reel of sweat climbing down his forehead. mistress swallowed, giving me a fraudulent smile. "Ah, Amanda! you're early" she stammered, her pupils dodging around the room. my dark eyes were fixated on the man. "Who is this?" I mumbled, quite sharply, eyeing the man up and down. For once, Mistress looked tongue-tied and alarmed. “...
man 'hat' tan dreams
Yet another dreary night. The humdrum life had become so repetitive, she started to accept it as normal. Among the bustling crowds of the city stood the silhouette of a girl. Head hung low, she inhaled the traces of perfume and tobacco, mixing together to become a homogeneous substance to smoke second hand. It was...enjoyable, though no different from the night before. Her hair was not nicely combed or braided or gelled like the women walking by her. She had no furs or heels to her name. No sickly sweet voice. No hat. Was she still a lady? She giggled. Still a female at least.If one were to ac...