the language of flowers_Seven Months_The Way You Look Tonight_The big problem
Catalog Guide:
the language of flowers
Hunter eyed her windowsill critically. Truthfully, she knew there was no more room. Ever the pragmatist, she quickly catalogued her ever growing inventory of houseplants. She couldn’t find it in herself to care about the troubling pattern of these lovely new additions. She’d make room, she knew. Somewhere. Maybe there was a lonely shelf in the bathroom? She heaved a sigh and plopped into her kitchen chair, raking her hands through unkempt hair, still partly styled from the utter disaster of a date from the night before. Upon waking up, miserably alone, she’d donned her hoodie, laced up her bo...
Seven Months
C/W: Terminal illness I can’t keep my eyes from drifting to the oxygen tank. I tried not to look at it, tried not to say anything, we’ve already had that conversation. Abby doesn’t need to be reminded of it every ten minutes for the next seven months, though we all hope she’ll last longer than that. Then again, wouldn’t it be cruel to drag www.onedoor.ccthis on? We sat on the swings behind Abby’s house. It’s a child’s swing set, the seats are made of plastic and barely big enough to sit on but we sit here anyway. Abby sits on the swing next to me, looking up at the clear blackening sky. The oxygen tank was ...
The Way You Look Tonight
The bright orange blob of fire and gas rose over the placid, watery expanse of the Sheela as it did every day, blessing the world with vibrance and color, and I put my head on your shoulder, letting out a big yawn. I was tired, sleepy, and had recently undergone an extremely reluctant hike over the hill which now sat behind us just so that you could ‘feast your eyes upon the Sheelan sunrise’, as you liked to call it. I never could really see the appeal, to be honest. It was just a lake, the Sheela, and for the sun, well, it rose every day, did it not? You were humming, I remember. Some weste...
The big problem
It’s raining … oh now its storming …uhm I was wrong there is a hurricane The heating is set to 24 degrees. Sounds produced by the wind coming from the front door now reached the living room as well. The yellow walls, that was painted by great grandfather Billy who is now death turned black. And now the whole room is dark. A woman with pale long lags wandered on her tiptoes because the floor was freezing cold, to the lamp and switched it on. Then there was a little: “clip!” and three: “chus, chus, chus “and a big: “zzzzzzz”! Elli jumped a little and her head plummeted. She ran to the power fuse...