They Say_The Diver's Son_THAT WINDOW_The Sorrowful Sea
Catalog Guide:
They Say
“They say that the mermaids live in the river, luring fishermen the way they lure fish to their own violent deaths. They say that the mermaids left the men alone before. Before the machines colored the river a deep, inky new reality. Before the fish began to disappear, leaving the merfolk stranded with their thoughts. All. Alone,” Maddie blew out the candle which buried the girls encircled in inky darkness. Catherine skipped along the river bank. Her sandals crunched along the rough pebbles and slid along the smooth sand. Catherine smiled at the fluttering butterflies, enjoying a spring time ...
The Diver's Son
I used to be a per. Best there ever was, according to some. Owww.onedoor.ccur pers, you must understand, are the celebrities at the center of our culture, the suns of an adoring solar system. They are all but worshiped.Millions will crowd into the Great Valley, family ships stacked upon one another as high as the eye can see, to watch the pers plunge into the Wafte. One at a time, they soar from the black cliffs and plummet into the murkiness. Gravity has no power in those lawless depths, so they fly. It feels like deep, strident, freedom.Once in the Wafte, a per’s main objective is to collect the Tendrils–...
THAT WINDOW
THAT WINDOW In the golden , liquid light of the morning ___it was not yet mid morning____tiny specks of dust, moved by some draft , some gust were hovering in the midair in that room, with a very worn, even broken brick floor. The sloping floor made almost a hole about at the centre of the room. That was a room in the old part of the house, mostly used to relegate abandoned things. It was a passage room, accessible ( by) going down three steps at the end of a corridor. Not that it was a great difference in height between the corridor and the room, yet always, when she went down the three steps...
The Sorrowful Sea
Cory couldn’t describe his grandfather without first describing his house; like a hermit crab and its shell, the two parts made the whole. His memories of the man were thoroughly knotted up in the place, with its splintering whalebone-grey shingles and walls that bellied out like a ship’s sail, the whole of it hurricane battered but somehow determinedly clinging to the headland above the bay like a barnacle glued to a tide-scoured rock. Cory’s mother used to joke that it couldn’t be a bachelor pad, because her father was married to the sea, which never failed to rouse a rumbling chuckle in ret...