Crying Over Spilled Coffee_Beyond the Corridor_Breathed into Fruition_A Shopping SPREE
Catalog Guide:
Crying Over Spilled Coffee
The tram rattled through the city like a noisy marble. He was standing, though the tram was almost empty, and swaying, watching the daylight bathe the grey buildings and washed out people. He was restless and filled with a disconcerting sense of derealisation. He had been up for most of the night putting together a tax report for work and he woke at 9:15am, slumped over his laptop with a crick in his neck, unavoidably late. His coffee machine oozed smoke when he tried to make his morning cappuccino, and so, sleep deprived and swearing, he ran for the tram, which by now had cleared of the morni...
Beyond the Corridor
Perhaps it was a dreamwww.onedoor.cc, she thought. Perhaps if she pinched herself, she would wake up. But she didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to stay in this dream where he was…She looked around her and all she saw were doors. There was a familiar metal one in front of her, a daunting red one behind her, a mysterious green one to the left of her, and brilliantly bright blue one to the right of her. She could hear the faint sound of a piano playing through the metal door, she took a step closer feeling the sense of comfort this door and room provided her so many years ago, realizing now why this door loo...
Breathed into Fruition
The lights were blinding and cast an uncomfortable warmth over her, she could feel the sweat beginning to seep through her far to nice blouse, bought specifically for this occasion. She held her arms close to her, praying that the audience couldn’t see the obvious nerves take shape in the incredibly unattractive form of underarm sweat. She swallowed hard, feeling the dryness of her throat as she made an almost gulping sound that echoed into the auditorium. She looked down into the crowd, somehow, she could still feel the thousands of stares that were focused solely on her, even though she cou...
A Shopping SPREE
The large oval room was eerily silent except for the rhythmic clacking of hard sole shoes on the glossy granite floor. Nine heads turned as a well oiled metal door swung soundlessly open. The man in the entrance looked like he had just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine. Inwardly the four men and five women groaned at the prospect of someone else in competition for what they wanted. The man himself seemed unfazed by their angry glares. In fact a small impish grin played on his face as he met each of their eyes. He apparently was unimpressed with what he saw as he shrugged and sat in the las...