Can't you work hard, Catherine!_Á Mortelle Décés (A Mortal Dies)_The Humble Hero_Beats and Ston
Catalog Guide:
Can't you work hard, Catherine!
Lying on the bed looking at the night sky I wondered where it all went wrong. ………… “Catherine, where’s my coffee?” “Catherine, why haven’t you still printed copies of this section?” “Catherine, walk faster would you?” “Catherine, why did you swap the pieces from the winter collection with the spring collection?” “Don’t you have eyes, Catherine?” “Why do you keep messing things up, Catherine?www.onedoor.cc” "Can't you work hard, Catherine?" Hiding my tears, I ran around the office all day acting like what they were telling wasn’t getting into my head. It wasn’t easy but I still managed it. I think I did. May...
Á Mortelle Décés (A Mortal Dies)
Mary Martin Stewart recalls with nightmarish acuity the moment she heard the news. The phone rang differently. Didn’t it? She’s sure it did. It always does when being the harbinger of bad news. It was 7:05 pm on Wednesday, the 21st of February, 1980. She was in the bathroom washing the ash mark from her forehead from the morning’s blessing when the telephone screamed at her from its place on the wall in the kitchen of her small Wichita, Kansas apartment. Every time she played the conversation over in her head, it came to her in slow motion; bits and pieces of words interwoven with sobs and stu...
The Humble Hero
The Humble Hero I’m too old for this! I have tried to retire for ten years and you all keep pulling me back to coach or run in these races every time. I knew I couldn’t handle a whole race, please. I will always love you and the races, but I am no spring chicken anymore. I only do it to raise awareness for my charity, (S.H.E). Shelter for Help in an Emergency. I plan to pass the baton to someone else this year, and if you’re interested in winning, you’ve got to put someone faster on the anchor leg. My heyday was twenty years ago. Your new kid flash is over there playing water boy, Dustin. He’s...
Beats and Stones
Cushie Jay wasn’t a bad girl. In fact, there wasn’t a soul in Hallymey Row who could testify to the contrary. And if you kept on driving all the way behind the hill, and stopped in Polton, odds are that no one there could either. Those two small villages, separated by a hollow vast valley everyone called The Bliss, had always been passionate rivals. It has been a tradition since as long as books can remember, that once in possession of a driving license, kids would drive through The Bliss and throw a personal belonging onto the respective towns kiosks. It could be anything really — used hairbr...