Tea-time In Drought_A Man of Distinction_His Past_Nothing to Lose
Catalog Guide:
Tea-time In Drought
Tea-Time in DroughtAugust 2032, Stockton-on-Tees, EnglandweeeeehhhhHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYY….I race into the kitchen and grab the kettle off the hob.“Oww!”It clatters to the floor and bounces once, twice, three times. Steam hisses out. But no water. It’s empty of water. I dart out of the way, my arm outstretched, hand open.What the hell? I’ve got to get to cold water before the pain starts.I turn to the tap, but stop. Stupid. I know that the mains water supply to the house is turned off. This is the thirteen day we’ve been without tap water, eleven weeks without rain. The bowl...
A Man of Distinction
DAY 1、 Judging from his carriage and the way he dressed, he was a man of distinction. He carried that distinct air of Richard Cory about him. Perhaps he impressed us like the imperial slim Mr. Cory, a walking specimen of perfection on earth. Special, but aloof. Would Richard Cory in E. A. Robinson’s delightful study wear an Armani suit like this Cory clone? Maybe, maybe not. Everyone just knew this guy thought he was better than the average Joe. His vibes were a bit tetchy, but he worked a little too hard at narrowing the gap between himself and the ‘little people'. He reeked dough and cologne...
His Past
(This story deals with domestic squabbles - words are harsh, violent, and threatening.)The depression is cloying. Every fiber of my being aches. I wish it were last year or even the year before. Everything was better back then. Or was it? 2002 was not a glorious year. We lost everything when my hubby lost his job. The house, the furniture, and everything else. I kept telling myself that as long as we kept the family together, then none of the rest mattered. But the children grew up. She graduated in 2003 and left for the military. He gwww.onedoor.ccraduated in 2005 and couldn’t wait to leave the house. He p...
Nothing to Lose
“I quit,” Cecilia mutters. Her voice stutters and her head hangs low between her bony shoulders. She has been holding those words deep inside for some time now. Two simple words, festering in the pit of her stomach, growing into something nasty, putrid, and hateful. Cecilia knows speaking them aloud is dangerous. Finally letting them escape gives them life, makes them real.“I quit,” she says again. This time louder, firmer, allowing the words to take shape and form meaning. She reaches toward the corners of the old rickety wooden table in front of her. She squeezes those corners so tightly she...