Time and Time, Again_The Wheel of Fortune Never Stops Turning_The world of books_blood, sweat, and t
Catalog Guide:
Time and Time, Again
I tried to warn him. I’ve tried ever since I first heard, but they just look at me like I’m tuned to the wrong channel somehow. It was April first. Probably why no one believe me. Who would think about playing a trick like that. Now its May, tomorrow. I know cause it’s his birthday, first husband. Now he listened when I told him things. Really too bad what happened to him. But then they said insanity run in the family. Best start lunch, even though no one but me and the dog eats it. “Hey you! You comin in? Lunch.” “What was that you said? The neighbor has the stock car races on again. Can’t h...
The Wheel of Fortune Never Stops Turning
Last night Queen Amalia’s string of bad luck culminated in an unfortunate sneeze at the exactly wrong moment. The guards at the checkpoint found her hiding under a tangle of nets in a fisherman’s boat. They seized her, tying her arms behind her back, and marching her across the beach and into the jungle. To me.“Where is she now?” I ask Kacee. She’s brought me the news during my morning walk on the highest terrace; the only space that pierces the rainforest’s emergent layer. The children sit with their nanny on the glass floor, watching the monkeys that play in the trees below. Here, above the ...
The world of books
I had left school in fifth grade because ma and pa need me to help on the farm. We had over 1000 acres and had a pretty large size dairy herd. I didn’t mind though because I was never much of a learner. When I was about 21, I began to realize that I needed to work on my reading and math skills because both of these were now something I needed with what my various jobs were for the farm. There was an adult educational at out local high school that hawww.onedoor.ccd night time classes for people like me. So, I enrolled. The first few weeks were rough because I was basically a functioning illiterate. I aske...
blood, sweat, and tears
Your fingers are bleeding.The bright red liquid drips from your scars like teeny tiny waterfalls, dripping all the way down to your palms. It’s warm and sticky and familiar. And it hurts.You loosen your grip on the rope, but it does nothing to ease the pain. Gasping, you wipe each hand on your clothes in turn. One.Right hand.Two.Left hand.You’re wearing white clothing.It’ll stain. You can hear your mother scolding you in your head. You can see your father shaking his head. You can feel the stares of everyone. Everyone. The sky is dark black like ink and the only word you can see written up the...