Burning damage_LOOKING OUT TO GOODBYE_one of the senses_The Art of the Prank
Catalog Guide:
Burning damage
The flames were dancing in the night sky, lighting up the dark street and releasing an intense smell of burnt wood. The starry sky welcomed them: the stars, perfectly visible until shortly before, were covered by that bright, intense, red color. Joleen, Zoe and Maia were watchwww.onedoor.ccing the house burning, standing in the middle of the tight country road. «It's over», was whispering Joleen, «it's over». The remnants of the old walls fell at their feet in sparks and immediately went out, even before touching the ground. «What have you done?», asked Maia, turning to Joleen. Zoe was so desperate that sh...
LOOKING OUT TO GOODBYE
LOOKING OUT TO GOODBYEGeorgina lowoleIt was on Monday in the afternoon soon after I came from school. Mum and dad were not home they went to the farm. I was washing my school uniform to be used the next day. It was my habit to wear clean clothes always and to be smart. Many girls admired how I was and some were jealous off coarse so I accepted it for thus how life is. I was busy washing my clothes when Mr. Mbewe reached our house aggressively, he looked very serious and angry. I gave him a chair to sit but he remained standing and he asked where my dad was, I wondered why he was acting so wei...
one of the senses
the fair-skinned girl is crying again. she leans against you, your rough knots making rivets in her smooth forehead, her fast tears sliding down your bark and darkening a patch of dirt at your base. when at first she came running through the forest to you, of course you could sense that something was wrong, but you weren’t able to tell what. though as soon as she touched you--falling to her knees on the ground, lurching forward onto her torso, scraping the pads of her fingers against your uneven brown skin as her light hair became spattered with specks of wood--you understood, in that instant,...
The Art of the Prank
“They somehow look more impressive on canvas,” said my roommate, Ryan, standing beside me and staring at the three easels and what was propped on them. “And in frames,” he added.“As opposed to the prototypes?” I asked. I sipped my black Gevalia coffee.Ryan scratched his head, fluffing his sandy blond hair. “I don't think it's called a prototype in regard to painting.”“Preliminary drawings then?”“I think they're called 'studies,'” said Ryan.“I think you're right,” I said. “I don't think the artist studied too much, do you?”“You know better than I do,” said Ryan, “but … no. Wait. Do you mean Lea...