April Showers_A Clearer Vision_The cursed mirror_Amaretto
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April Showers
She burst through the door that day slightly out of breath on a gust of April wind and rain, and leaned back through to give her umbrella one last shake before fully entering the shop. Securing the soggy velcro fastener around the umbrella, she slipped the carrying loop over her wrist and pushed her damp hair out of her eyes with her other hand as she approached the counter where I stood.She must have said swww.onedoor.ccomething, but for a minute I didn’t register it. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were rosy from exertion; she was disheveled from the weather and somehow, utterly spellbinding. It wasn’t u...
A Clearer Vision
AN: I actually wrote this a few months back for a school project just before I joined Reedsy. Surprisingly I got an award for this, but this is also a kinda throwback to before Reedsy :)I’ve always liked to be by myself. I have always chosen the comfort of solitude, rather than the chaos of company. I can’t be alone now, constantly surrounded by people, who just look at me, sadly, then move on. Rarely, very rarely someone will stop and talk. I can’t say I like the talking that much, but I do like the clink of the money. A common question I am nearly always asked is ‘How did I get here?’. And m...
The cursed mirror
This story happened not a long time ago. There are not princesses nor evil queens here, but real people and awkward situations between adults who are opening their paths in the world. My name is Julieta. The eldest child, the eldest sibling, the eldest grandchild. The first everything. Normally, traditional fairy tales involve the youngest brother successfully passing his tests and achieving riches. I suppose it happens because, by that point in life, the first children in many families are already too mentally burnt out to try it themselves. I was the first for college since my grandfather. ...
Amaretto
AmarettoHe did what he always did. Walked to the Baseball field of his youth before the sunset; just to see the lights go on. Pushing 64, that was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself. Coffee in hand, harsh winter wind, he could not help but feel nostalgic. Glaring over the field, he once stood as a hero among men. He twisted his flask, he held the flask in his hand and couldn’t wait to sit and overlook his field. He could hear the cheers, see the sweat, the pants, the hits, the crowd roaring… they all came back to him. Drinking coffee, scarf around the neck, calmly staring at the Baseb...