Le Pneu Michelin_Don't Forget Me_The city of roses_Erasure
Catalog Guide:
Le Pneu Michelin
Tw: abuse, child abuse.I retract my fingertips into the sleeves of my puffy, silver coat. An easy feat, as I still haven’t quite grown into it these past three years. It’s a crisp Sunday morning in late fall. In Oklahoma, autumn mornings are nearly winter and yet autumn afternoons blaze with the heat of summer awakened by a thousand fireworks on the Fourth of July. My palms and my ribs are damp with sweat — from my nervous fidgeting or the turning of a cool morning into a hot day, I don’t know. I don’t take off my coat. It makes me feel like a powerful, wintery queen, the silver shining like f...
Don't Forget Me
Don’t Forget Me By: Mackenzie M. HebnerThey told me to write something unforgettable; so I did. I wonder if they ask that of all The Greats or just me. Though, I suppose I’m not a great, just a sixteen-year-old boy in a tux, standing before a panel of pensive yet emotionless judges stuffed into stuffy tuxes of their own that seemed too small from how uncomfortable they looked. Or perhaps it was just that they had nothing better to do than sit and listen to awww.onedoor.cc long line of sixteen-year-old boys in tuxedos a little too big for them recite something they stole from A Great—Not that they plagiarize...
The city of roses
The winter was harsher than what people could remember. The temperature kept falling and the sun seemed to have forever hidden in his castle, with no intention to come and visit his friends, the playful clouds, even for a quick hide and seek onto the grey yard of the sky.Life kept running in its daily errands, covered in a blanket of depression. Time had already sent the order for the weather to be milder, but the command had been neglected. The calendar was in March, yet the freezing cold did not leave its fortress.The older ones had started narrating stories from the past, referring to the m...
Erasure
Eighteen seemed like such a long time ago. In reality only three years had passed in the meantime, but for Marnie those those short years felt like a lifetime. Now twenty-one years old Marnie was making her way around Wellington for the first time since she left. Strolling through the cities streets, she passed cafes, shops and restaurants, some she could remember and others that must have popped up while she was away. After walking past a long drag of storefronts she came to a stop in front of a large high-rise building. Above the door of the building was a green sign stating: Willis Street H...