Mystery Man within 8'x5' fixed glass_Styx and Stones_A Tete-a-Tete With A Librarian_The Pois
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Mystery Man within 8'x5' fixed glass
Twinkling stars were playing hide and seek, covered by the moving clouds in the night so meek. It was half past one, thoughts of being lonely had just begun. Beside that window she kept herself stand, wonderinwww.onedoor.ccg for the end would be so grand. She waited for an year to meet the man; the man of her dreams, the man of her life, to the world she proudly tell herself to be his wife. That was the night she was waiting for so long, as the day next had to take her to where she actually belong. It seemed the fast moving hand of the clock got tired, it was stopping as if it had been fired. Just like her ...
Styx and Stones
A cold thick fog enveloped the muddy banks of the River Styx, chilling Persephone’s ankles. Demeter pulled Persephone’s coarsely woven robes tightly around her—robes of finely combed linen made from flax soaked in olive oil. When dried in the balmy Grecian sun, Persephone’s clothing smelled of newborn lambs and gentle sunbeams and fresh mown grass, but her dark destination had none of those sensations—nothing to smell, nothing to taste, nothing to feel. Demeter kissed her daughter’s forehead.“I do not want to go back,” Persephone cried out. Demeter gathered her only child into her arms, drawin...
A Tete-a-Tete With A Librarian
A series of hanging lights lit the library. The hall was otherwise silent, except for the occasional tapping of a keyboard or the whirring of a printer. A faint murmur could be heard. "Shhh," said the librarian and the silence was restored. A young man donning a cap that covered almost half of his face entered the library. He walked to the corner table and saw that it was occupied. With fumes emanating from his nose and ears, he walked to the librarian and demanded, "The corner table is occupied. It's mine. Ask that woman to leave."The librarian lifted her head that was buried in a book. She a...
The Poison Tree
Trees are wondrous things, from their strong trunks to their delicate leaves. They feed from the sun and feel its warm rays far longer than we humans do, pausing under their broad branches, perhaps to shelter from the rain; perhaps to listen to the rustling of the leaves, another language, just as expressive as our own. Sometimes we try to capture what the tree means to us in words; such things as from little acorns, great oaks grow, perhaps your dad has told you that; or let your roots grow deep so your leaves can dance in the sun is a favourite of your mum’s. Enchanting words, plucked from t...