A New Beginning_The Midnight Walk_Momma_Pondo and Sylvia
Catalog Guide:
A New Beginning
Strawberry ringlets are what fill his vision the second he turns down the next aisle, pushing his shopping cart leisurely forwards as he ambles unhurriedly behind it. His mind, ever the one for random thoughts, reminisces for a second of just how familiar that vivid colour seems, of someone he remembers that’d had the same full head of springy curls – in that same memorable style and colour. He expects the fond memory to fade in the passing seconds, like being in someone’s proximity and inhaling the scent of some pleasing floral or fruity fragrance sprayed liberally over their person, with the...
The Midnight Walk
On nights like these, youwww.onedoor.cc will never run into a person doing something crazy. I will never forget this night. It was the night I got arrested for a crime that I didn’t commit. I was strolling through the streets that night. It was so quiet outside, that the only thing you could hear were the crickets chirping. I was on my way home when someone ran past me and almost knocked me over. I stood there silently because my body was flowing with anger because they didn’t say excuse me or anything. As I started walking I heard something hit the floor. “Clink”. I turned around to see what it was and it ...
Momma
Today is October 27, 1933, and momma finally let her tears out. We hadn’t seen the sun in two days. I didn’t even know what time of day it was, the dust has swallowed our home. In between waves of dust filled air, momma lets me run outside and chase off the birds. The dust has covered our house so much that I can walk right up on top of it. But it ain’t no fun up there because the view is the same for miles and miles out. We’ve got neighbors, but their houses are just little mounds of dust like ours too. We used to have cows but they all walked away from here once the dust was high enough for ...
Pondo and Sylvia
Pondo and Sylvia By Kathleen BrosiusHe was a tall man, handsome and rugged. His black hair fell over his ears and his blue eyes sparkled, especially when he gazed upon his beloved Sylvia. Pondo, as he was called, was an old rogue to some. Careless in dress, stubborn to conform to the changing demands of society, he spent most of his time on the river bottoms. He was a commercial fisherman. He bought a plot of land with a gunnysack full of moldy muskrat pelts and $30. Called Mini Park, it was a place for commercial fishermen to store their gear, mend their nets and box traps and get out of a br...