A Strange Encounter_The money_Mythes_The Tale of Hamathy
Catalog Guide:
A Strange Encounter
A grimace spreads across his face as he glances down at his watch. It's half past six, and he meant to meet Cecelia thirty minutes ago. Harold's eyes dart out of the window and then back to his wrist. He hopes if he stares at the watch long enough, the hands on the clock might start moving backward.The number six bus skates downtown. Harold closes his eyes and sighs as he bumps along."This bus never runs late," Harold thinks, opening one eye to glance outside again.The street lights flicker on and give the brisk autumn dusk a warm hue. He purses his lips and sees a single raindrop hit the bus ...
The money
He drove that Brinks truck, like he was the super, proud owner, and earner, of every dollar in the back of it."Bye daddy" the cute little brunette, with the soulful dark eyes, squeaked, to her own close personal hero. I love you, was what he said to her, making a heart out of his two hands and fingers together. Smiling at her beauty, the beauty, only a six year old that loved you, could make you believe.Get on the ground m@#$$$ f#$%^%". "Sack of poop, he just told you to get outta the truck and get ona ground" said the second stupid, uneducated man. Seeming like the second man was the brawn in...
Mythes
Everything assumes such an immense quality when you are a child. You are a seed amongst the trees - waiting, waiting, waiting - for the soil and the sun to open you up, to release you from the feeling of smallness. And in that smallness rests another seed, one of fear or something like it - a lack of agency and hopelessness. My parents were trees. Especially my father. Every morning as he would get ready to head into www.onedoor.ccthe confiserie, I would sit on the edge of the tub and watch him shave. To this day, I cannot feel cold without the sour, soapy smell of shaving cream filling my lungs, an associa...
The Tale of Hamathy
Once, when I was very young, my mother told me the story of a place called Hamathy. Now, Hamathy was a small town, more of a village, really, nestled deep in a faraway mountain range where the snow shone pure as starlight and sharp white peaks stood stark against the blinding blue of the sky. Hamathy's few streets were lined with fine wood houses, and though their windows sparkled with frost, inside each fireplace flames burned hot and high, and the people of the town were warm and safe and in the company of those that they loved. One day, though no one knows what caused it, an avalanche began...