The Robins_Not a lot is going on here_room in my heart, room without a trace_Don't Talk
Catalog Guide:
The Robins
“You told me it would be warm Reggie.” said Ryla with a shiver. “It is warm, stop complaining.” Two robins were standing on a frosted fence in an unassuming back yard, on the Tuesday of March sixth. Two weeks too early for spring.The silence between the two siblings was getting to Reggie He cocked his head toward his sister Ryla and chirped, “Do you know when it’s spring Ryla?”She said nothing.“Old Ronnie gave me a list. He said we can call it spring when the temperatures warm up, the flowers bloom, and when our family shows up.” Ryla; unimpressed with this answer, and whirled around to face ...
Not a lot is going on here
This Sunday heat presses a reckless thumb against the bodies of wealthy and impoverished alike. Kids wrench open fire hydrants to prevent them from melting into the sidewalk like their defenseless popsicles and cones and sundaes. And parents and cousins and siblings and aunts and uncles, necks craned beneath the unity of an officer's bent knee perspiring through the uniform and the sizzling asphalt boiling their skin. Their cries melt into the sidewalk too and the streets, thinner and more fragile as the pressure compresses them into a flesh-toned silence. First the crackle of the bones, then ...
room in my heart, room without a trace
Drip.Drip.Drip.The sky is grey. It blends against the trees in the distance, wraps around the earth like a woolly coat or jumper. Drip.Drip.Drip.I pull my blanket tighter over my shoulders. It’s soft. Warm. A stark contrast to my insides, that are cold, cold, cold. A stark contrast to the outside, that is cold, cold, cold. The wind gusts, breezing through the leaves. My guts swirl, eating me up from within. I’ve always loved my house. The rooms aren’t big, all cozy and filled to the brim, and the garden is a quaint thing, too. All is squished together. All but one. The garden room, a glass-w...
Don't Talk
I give Richard an evil stare mouthing the words “You will pay for this!” He gave me a look saying “You started it!” Then we both look at the librarianwww.onedoor.cc, Mrs Mcdonald. And together we start to shake all over. This could not be. I wish this was all a dream but the pain in my head is still throbbing of what happened to my poor face. Pain does not happen in dreams. Not even nightmares. Mrs Mcdonald’s eyes start to go all red, as if she's wanting to shoot her laser eyes at us. I did not believe those legends that maybe this librarian was a witch. But then I realised those red eyes do not shoot lase...