Just a Cemetery of Broken thoughts_You maybe me_Rachel's Vision_Scott Moss
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Just a Cemetery of Broken thoughts
He couldn’t actually be here, not today, not after all this time. Yet, the image remained no matter how many times she attempted to blink him away. He wore a light gray button-up, a sharp contrast to her mental image of him in the black hoodies and tees that constituted the extent of his style range back then. She’d tried to get him to move into lighter colors, to compliment his skin tone, but he was set on the black. A reminder that there’s not one true black. There’www.onedoor.ccs never one true anything. She knew the truth, that this was something he made up to avoid change, but she grew to love recitin...
You maybe me
There was a spot, an invisible door, a window, where there was a bend in time and space. When she opened it, time stopped; everything fell away and disappeared. It was quite and peaceful, full of possibilities; dreams, goals, visions and fantasies. Where hope and passion stood strong and doubt and fear hid trembling beneath. Excitement swelled up in her soul, to feel alive and know what she is. She closed her eyes as the breeze swept across her face and moved through her hair, feeling the warmth of the sunshine. She smiled knowing everything is just as it should be, right now in this moment, a...
Rachel's Vision
I am standing at the top of the hill. The air is crisp, just the right weather to go on a night walk. I can see the whole village, quiet and resting. The lights from each house glow like the stars from the heavens. It was all over the place but still picturesque. I haven't been at this spot since I was a kid. I forgot how great the view is from here. I look at the clear night sky. It's been a while since I've seen the stars this bright. It is too mesmerizing, and it feels like it's saying something to me in a language I cannot understand.I jolt back to reality when a pair of arms grab me. I am...
Scott Moss
The air was cool and calm at the first light of dawn, but the blameless empty skies spoke of the oppressive heat that was to come.Scott Moss was standing in the doorway of his shearing shed. Dust was dancing in the weak light, and he surveyed the scene with watery, red eyes. There had been no shearing for two years now. Dank, rotting wool gathered in the corners and around the chutes of the once pristine shed. Floorboards, polished to a burned amber by a thousand footfalls, both man and animal, now wore a thick coat of grease. Mouse droppings littered every beam. Dear old Mol would spin in her...