The Blizzard Night_Mr. Ragtag_The 32nd of December_A Picture to Burn
Catalog Guide:
The Blizzard Night
The fiwww.onedoor.ccre sizzled and cracked in combat with the cold air. My wife, Skyler, and I were bundled up in our thickest coats and huddled with our dog, Echo, in front of the fire. Word in the town is that it was supposed to be a record cold night as it is early January. A glance out the window confirmed that the snow was already coming down in sheets. The plan was to stay in for a few days. We were stocked up with wood, food, and water. The sun was barely showing in the sky, but I knew the night was nearing. I made sure to pull extra blankets from the closet that night as we changed into our warm PJs...
Mr. Ragtag
5:27 PM "Now remember.. Jessica is allergic to pollen, so don't let her outside today. It's awful this time of year. Her bedtime is around eight o'clock. Do not give her any sugar past 7:30. I've made that mistake before and I can assure you that you do not want to make it as well. After she has gone to bed, feel free to help yourself to anything in the fridge that is not specifically marked other wise. If you need absolutely anything, feel free to call me." "Sure thing, Ms. Thompson." "Whatever you do, don't let her go into the basement." "But wh- Of course Ms. Thompson. Basement is off lim...
The 32nd of December
It was the 32nd of December and another tally mark had been entered on her prison wall. New Years never came anymore. It wasnt allowed. No large crowds in Times Square or anywhere due to the great Plague. Soon keeping track of new days, weeks, months, and years had all stopped. No more birthdays, holidays or anniversaries. Gathering together was prohibited. Memories and Memory were erased. The great apocalypse had slowly begun. Some say it was predicted by the ancient prophet Nostrodamus ages ago. “The year of the great seventh number accomplished, it will appear at the time of the games ...
A Picture to Burn
Ellen’s hands trembled as she tried to flatten the creases on the old white lace tablecloth her mom had gifted her. Apparently, it was a family heirloom, which she had only used once previously and it was already stained with little red splatters, presumably tomato sauce. Her mother should know better than to trust her with anything of value. But tonight was a special occasion, so once again she risked pulling it out, in hopes of making her apartment a little classier than it was on a normal day. A pot of curry boiled on the stove, the smell of ginger and saffron wafting through the air and s...