Wine, Amber and Auburn_Flames of Hate_Veiled in Red_It's the little things
Catalog Guide:
Wine, Amber and Auburn
Friday The resplendent sky portrays the hues of my grandma’s golden-crusted pies topped by a pop of colour with glazed cherries. Life away from city has been nonchalant in the remote heights of the apple valley of Himachal (a culturally tasteful state in India). I step out of the wooden chalet, which has been accommodating me for the past three months. After a momentary gaze at the aureate ether, I see Oshi already on the terrace getting a whiff of her milky spiced tea, portraying herself as a vanilla damsel from the 1960s , whose leisure lies purely in drinking the comforting potion. I walk t...
Flames of Hate
Trigger warning: suicideEvan was nervous. He wiped away sweat from his brow as the music began. He stood on the right side of the altar, the minister behind it. White flowers adorned both sides of the isle. He shifted on his feet. It had been nearly three months since he asked, and now the day was finally here. His heart skipped a beat as she appeared. She was stunning. Her dress was tightly fitting with a long white cape flowing behind her. At her side was her father, a large austere man. Emily smiled at him as she took her place on the other side of the altar. Her father, holding back tears...
Veiled in Red
Harriet Plumb had thirteen brothers, three of which sold her soul to the devil. Four ailed from scarlet fever. And five perished in the Civil War. Just one survived Richmond unscathed—then happened upon a wayward siren. Whether or not he remains is a tale for another time. For you see, our heroine endured a most disagreeable journey. And that’s where we should be.~As ugly a crumb as dear Harriet was, there was but one demon who adored her. A demon whose feelings she did not requite. It may have been Pitheous’s metaphysical form or his shy, incomprehensible parlance. Or it may have been the gla...
It's the little things
Making decorations out of construction paper is something that we all have done at some point in our childhood – either during playschool or at church or Vacation Bible School or at school. I can’t even count how many paper turkeys, paper Christmas trees or paper Easter eggs that my parents’ refrigerator held over the years.I flunked cutting in kindergarten … so my lines weren’t always straight.So, why in the world, am I, Shay Dawson, trauma fellow at Atlanta Memorial Hospital, sitting in the doctor’s lounge cutting out shapes with construction paper?“Honey Bubby!” Nicholas Morrell, my five-ye...