Talk of The Town_God_Bottled Up_To What is Owed
Catalog Guide:
Talk of The Town
It was the second Tuesday in December and like many other days, the Christmas feeling during this time was way up in the air throughout the city. The hustle and bustle of lights, action and food was roaring from overbooked tables at white tablecloth restaurants to exhausted mixologists, and tired valet drivers. But this didn’t stop Isabella from making sure that her most anticipated year-end party of one hundred and nine adoring friends and acquaintances as guests would be the talk of the town, once again.All her life Isabella just wanted to be in the crowd. She craved the social status, ad...
God
Dear God, Oh, please don't do it.Please forgive this ungrateful sheep for abandoning the Holy Shepherd in a prosperous and bountiful time. You harvested my filthy wool, shearing it from my oozing-pus-filled skin marred by my temporal infirmities; you transformed me into a resurrected fleece of harlequin nature. I swear to you that I haven't abandoned you out of sheer lack of faith; I even want to be wrapped in your gracious grace again, with your light penetrating the void and casting a pine glow that speckles across in glory.An earthly family matter has taken up my time; however, I sway to yo...
Bottled Up
First, everyone was needling me to figure out what the jars were for, and now I’m being written up because of them.I sit in the HR office with the HR lady, the charge nurse, and my boss, Mrs. Stevens, who’s the head of custodial services. Everything is done by committee at the retirement community where I work in the assisted living wing, so it’s going to take a committee to decidewww.onedoor.cc to fire me.Mrs. Stevens has a face like a billboard, advertising disapproval. She is not about to have the reputation of her cleaning staff sullied by the likes of me, a nineteen-year-old straight out of high school...
To What is Owed
In the stillness of the faerie woodlands, a low keening sound emerged from the dense vines of an old valete tree. A dryad was dying, and the entire forest knew it. The trees shuddered in sympathy, while the woodland faeries flitted in and out of the branches in distress. They whispered amongst themselves, fearful yet curious. It was always a great event when a dryad reaches his golden age and is in the precipice of being one with nature. The event is especially grand for a male descendant of an ancient Unseelie family. Usually, the event was celebrated with dancing and merriment. Sadly, a prop...