Mourning of Freedom_WHO'S YOUR FRIEND?_Unorthodox Truce_Pianissimo
Catalog Guide:
Mourning of Freedom
Thanks a lot. Thanks for nothing. No, really. I am not happy about what you have given me. You have given me an opportunity to look for new friendships. You have removed my obligation of friendship where I would have literally walked the ends of the earth for you. But now, instead of embracing the new and holding to the open door, I sit saddened at your rejection. What was it that turned you away from me? Who kept you so tightly that I was no longer valid?As I wander the underworld of days gone by, a whirlwind of emotions rush in. So many and so perse they are. They are as the fireflies in the...
WHO'S YOUR FRIEND?
Trigger warning: bereavement and lossWho’s Your Friend?ByAnnie R. McEwenAs we did nearly every afternoon, we sat on the front porch steps of the broke-down farmhouse in the country, watching the day go out and the night come in. The sun went down, the moon went up. The world went round and round and everything was good. “Same time tomorrow?” he said, like always. “Sure thing. Love you.” I kissed his cheek, scratchy with late day beard.“Love you, too.” He winked at me, smiling.It was the last time we spoke. I waved and walked back to my car. Drove the fifteen miles back to my house in the...
Unorthodox Truce
“So, next week is really going to be 1944、”The small living room in Captain Westheimer’s quarters smelled heavily of coffee, smoke, and pine. Despite it being situated in a prisoner-of-war camp in southern Germany, it was quite cozy. It was Christmastime, though, and Westheimer wasn’t one to care that he could be in a lot of trouble for inviting British Sergeant Plundell into his personal quarters. He hated the rules against fraternization.Having served in World War I, he could remember thewww.onedoor.cc Christmas truce of 1914、 It was when he learned he wasn’t the only warlock in the world who decided to l...
Pianissimo
Sitting inches apart on the piano bench, their hands hovered over the keyboard of the old upright. Jake could barely breathe. I can’t believe I’m here with her. Isabella was so close that one of her blond curls brushed against his arm. A light waft of vanilla, like fresh-baked cupcakes, rose to his nostrils. Just as he had imagined, she smelled as wonderful as she looked. He examined her long slender fingers suspended next to his. I wonder what it would feel like to hold her hand. Without moving a muscle, he glanced out of the corner of his eye at her milk-white skin and soft pink lips. She’s...