She Hate Running._The Hue of Betrayl_ONLY CLEMENTINA IS MISSING_Hobby Hoarder
Catalog Guide:
She Hate Running.
“I wish to become really, REALLY good at one thing by the time I’m an adult,” 14 year-old Janice said to herself, blowing out her 14th birthday candle. She was nearsighted and had developedwww.onedoor.cc a hundred-yard stare at a young age. Blobs of fuzzy shapes would help to sort thoughts of why her sister, Denise, was gifted at just about everything while she, the older sister, had been left in the shadow of her limelight. “What did you wish for?” 7 year-old Denise asked.“You wouldn’t understand,” Janice replied.“Do you want to run?” Denise asked again. Janice rolled her eyes. I hate running… I hate runni...
The Hue of Betrayl
He gleefully squealed with laughter as he dodged away from the wave which launched his way. Cars continued to rip through puddles alongside the pavement paying no attention to the furrowed brows of passer-by’s. The swastikas flying high were impolitely ruffled as vehicles sped past them. Together, two boys charged through the scornful streets. They raced with such vigour that their afflictions seemed to dwindle behind, unable to keep pace with such proud autonomy. One raced ahead of the other, carving a path of vivacity through the fast greying air. A little trooper. The other trailed behind ...
ONLY CLEMENTINA IS MISSING
ONLY CLEMENTINA IS MISSING The light of the evening enters the room through the wide window, like a gray veil which spreads over everything. Yet a short time has passed since from the same window she could see the burning sky of the sunset. Anne is sitting near the window, as if she wanted to be enveloped by the evening which is falling, by the light more and more gray, increasingly darkening , and as she wanted be wrapped by the play of the shadows , which slip on the walls of the room, on the pieces of the furniture, on the floor. It is evening and soon it will be night. Then she will stan...
Hobby Hoarder
Vacuuming around the circular model train set left there from two Christmases ago, Jabe says to absolutely no one, “It makes more sense when the Christmas tree is in the middle, but oh well.” He dusts a few of the pieces, shrugs, and moves on. Monopolizing the table in front of the sofa sits a display case housing a variety of coins. Taking a cloth sprayed with window cleaner, Jabe wipes the front of it until all cola splatter is gone and it is shining. Stepping back from his canvas paintings, he straightens the off-kilter ones. Jabe works like this until everything in the house is in its pla...