Turned Up to Turned Down_The Birthday Party_Gram Lenn's Cornbread_The Road Trip Trope
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Turned Up to Turned Down
It all started with a brother and sister named Paul and Katie. Rich kids that can do whatever they want to. Saturday night and their parents are away on vacation for about a week. Paul and Katie were at home, bored with nothing to do. Katie walked around thinking about what they can do, and she came up with something great.She ran upstairs to tell her brother what great idea that she came up with. Katie comes running through Paul’s room door and said, Since mom and dad on vacation for a week, Paul replied, Yeah. Katie jumped up and down, saying we should throw the biggest party in history. Pau...
The Birthday Party
The birthday partyTwelve-year-old Alice Wainwright sat, fuming, in her mother’s car. “I don’t want to go to this party, mother.” Alice’s mother sighed. “Alice, dear, Bobby Jones’s mother is my biggest client, and she asked for you to attend. I think Bobby likes you.” “He’s a dork, mum. I don’t understand half the things he says.” “Well, be nice to him. At least until she signs the contract.” Alice gave a loud, vocal, exasperated sigh, got out the car, slammed the door and yelled, “I hate you,www.onedoor.cc mum.” To which Alice’s mum yelled, “Enjoy yourself,” and drove off.Alice headed towards the door wi...
Gram Lenn's Cornbread
There are various times throughout a woman’s life when she gets nostalgic. Like around the holidays or at the birth of a new baby or with the passing of a loved one. She can’t help it. She’s just wired that way. (I should know, I’m a Neurosurgeon). For me, the nostalgia is strongest when I smell cornbread. The savory-sweet perfume carries me home. Back to Savannah-- to nights at Gram Lenn’s house, sweet tea on the wrap-around porch, cousins laughing and racing around the yard, and her famous cornbread in the oven. I spent most of my childhood at Gram Lenn’s house. Mama wasn’t ready to have a k...
The Road Trip Trope
"Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!" Oliver Winkett was a twenty-nine-year-old office worker notoriously bad at using his vacation days. He was also an anxious puddle of a person. This was especially true when he woke up at ten-thirty am to find his alarm clock had died sometime in the middle of the night, leaving him an hour and twenty-five minutes behind schedule. He flung his charcoal-colored covers back and dashed to the bathroom, praying Iossa hadn't left yet. He checked his phone often as he powered through his morning routine, dressed, grabbed his bag, and fled his tiny apartment. There were n...