"Laughing Out Loud in Your Sleep"_Text Me The Next Job_Divine Bloodline_The Killer Behind
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"Laughing Out Loud in Your Sleep"
Since the passing of my friend Freda Ray..it always perplexed me that she went to her Mother's house. Laid on the living room floor. Went to sleep and never woke up. She and her Mom had never been on the best of terms all through her childhood. As a mattewww.onedoor.ccr of a fact she had gotten emancipated from her Mother's custody when she was 15、 So at her repass I got a chance to meet all of her fathers daughters. It had never came to my mind that there were so many version of Freda Ray walking this earth. All of her sisters looked like her in different versions...So as I drifted off to sleep that evenin...
Text Me The Next Job
Chapter 1:You up?noCome on. but whyYou know why.can't we skip a day for onceNo. Now get your ass up and come on. of course you wouldn't let me sleep in for just one dayIf you're not careful, I'll throw a rock at your window. you hereYeah. Now come on.i'm coming i'm comingChapter 2:How far away are you now?dunno a few blocksOkay, do you see me?yeahWatch for my signal. okChapter 3:You have it?yeahGood. Take it to Jesse. hold onWhat? Hey!Hello?Hello?copsWhat did they want?dunnoWhere are they?dunnoDamn it! I told you not to! whyWhat do you mean, why?why do you care so muchhelloI'm done. what do yo...
Divine Bloodline
Divine Bloodline“How can you tell the Tree is a girl, Gran?” The shea butter applied to my scalp in neat little rows slid onto my forehead and mixed with beads of sweat as I sat on the front porch between my grandmother’s knees. Every Sunday, we took my braids down and washed my hair. Then Gran braided it right back up again, greasing my scalp as she went. I can’t imagine a Sunday that we didn’t spend together, managing the mane that fell past my waist. It took all day, but the best part was sittin’ on that porch, listening to her tell stories about our family and the land that provided for ...
The Killer Behind the Door
The sweet smell of morning dew rushes into my lungs as I gather a deep breath of the cool air surrounding me. Conner’s friends live here, I think to myself. Conner lives here. As I perch on the top step of his front porch, my legs ache from pumping on the pedals of my bike, the sounds of his mother’s cooking filling my head. Behind me, the screen door creaks open, and Conner joins me on the porch. He does nothing for a while, nothing but stare up into the cloudless sky, crouching with his arms resting on his slightly grass-stained knees. His eyes fall to meet mine, inclining his head toward t...