Diary: Midnight Brownies and a Short Story_June 13th_A mirror too small_Passing Time
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Diary: Midnight Brownies and a Short Story
Shortest stories often have the most beautiful parts, because they aren't lengthy enough to the point that you can already decipher what’s gonna happen next. Or perhaps there are loose ends which you could change into a different interpretation. Or maybe it’s just a piece of brownie- delicious, yet insufficient no matter how many you consume.I was about to write about a sad story, but brownies flipped my frown to a smile. So I guess it will be a happy story now. However, what is a happy story? Should I write about brownies then? No…. How about chocolate cake? Wait, is there any difference betw...
June 13th
June 13thIn room 111 on the third floor of the MGM Grand hotel, dust gathers. It was an owww.onedoor.cctherwise unused room, because it stands in a stark contrast with the rest of the hotel's lavish designs. One small window faces the brick wall of what Ben Fogel knew to be a neighboring pizza place. He had arrived roughly fifteen minutes ago and had just now finished unpacking. It was a business trip, and he didn't bring much. He came to Vegas to look at a promising new company in hopes to invest. He owned a small venture capitalist firm, and he was looking to expand. He was currently experiencing a fall ...
A mirror too small
Celia took one last glance at her reflection in the vanity. She saw herself. Celia, the first daughter of Percy Wetmore. There was no question about that. The hazelnut eyes and curved nose were enough evidence. The real question was if any of that would matter after tonight. She swirled and the lacy edge of her knee-length gown spread themselves out like a disk spinning on a spindle. The crystal gems in her earrings glittered like the diamonds they were designed to look like.“Celia, would you please walk away from that mirror and come assist me down in the kitchen. It’s not my boyfriend that’s...
Passing Time
The sunflowers had bloomed the week prior, the heat pulling them higher with each passing day, touching the sky with what seemed to be sheer elegance. Claire admired them as she slowly paced the perimeter of the garden, her fingertips grazing the tops of the purple hull peas. The breeze picked up a bit, pulling strands of her blond hair from her back braid and guiding them in an unsynchronized dance. It delivered a scent of the gardenia from the back porch to the far end of the garden where she now stood watching the birds sway in and out, weaving intricate patterns. She had always loved gard...