The Golden Tile_Forward, And Sideways, Too_The White Room_HOPEFUL NEW YEAR
Catalog Guide:
The Golden Tile
Old Station North - 1940 The delicate song of piano keys rung out through the hall of the station as he began playing. The ceiling was gold-tiled, exquisite and undoubtedly gilded, as was the city. Grand ornate arches kept the roof up while the sleek marble floors never dried up and were constantly polished. The harmonics proved by the great curved ceiling made the notes of the piano bounce off down to ears of the crowds below who all gathered to watch him. He and his band’s train had been delayed; and so, what else was there to do but play?Barlow Merrington was none too serious about the affa...
Forward, And Sideways, Too
Trigger Warning: War.Dear Casey,White and gray, this winter day, I’m beggin the sun to come out to play. Should I take up poetry? Okay, not one of my strengths. BUT, I have sewn enough scarves to stock my (ever stagnant) Etsy shop and also provide warmth for a third world country. Which is why I sent a whole box of them to a village in Afghanistan! I would have sent them to you and the guys, but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate the lovely shades of rose, violet, and turquoise. I read about their cold snap in 2019 and how they didn’t have winter clothes to protect them, so I just did it on a w...
The White Room
I was only ever allowed in two rooms: the clean white room and the tiny bathroom attached. White walls, white ceiling, white floor, white everything. It was too bright; nothing was keeping the brightness out. I was exposed everywhere. It was as if the white room made me the center of attention. There was nowhere www.onedoor.ccto hide in that room. The bed was just a simple mattress on the floor, no blanket, no pillow. Nothing to hide with. The only way to keep track of the days was if the lights went on or off. When the lights turned off it was night and when they came back on it was day. Pretty simple. By ...
HOPEFUL NEW YEAR
Trigger warning: suicide ideationChilling wind mercilessly cut through his skin as he stood on the rusted metal railing of conovan bridge. The river beneath was rolling in anger splashing it’s icy cold water. The barren sky showed broken pieces of his life. Tears were burning his eyes. This was it. A hurricane of emotions was blowing inside him. The broken pieces inside him could no longer be held together. Scars of a wounded heart covered his face. Chocking on his own breath, he looked down at the angry river. History was going to repeat itself. He remembered the promises he made to his mothe...