For Old Times’ Sake_Other People's Shite: Patsy's Repurposed Designs (Part Two)_Write a Stor
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For Old Times’ Sake
“I can’t believe you drug www.onedoor.ccme out here.”“Stop complaining, it’ll be fun,” she says before grinning broadly at me. She’s enthusiastic today.“I should be coding right now.” I sound petulant, but it can’t be helped. I really don’t want to be here.“It’s a snow day.”“You don’t really have those when you work from home.”“You work all the time, it’s okay to take a day off once in a while, you know.”“Says the part-time librarian,” my words come out snider than I intended. I immediately regret the snarky comment as I glance over at Anna and see her raise an eyebrow in surprise while staring back at me.“...
Other People's Shite: Patsy's Repurposed Designs (Part Two)
After bypassing security measure-men apprehending another faction worker, out past curfew, Ruby Kurtones III had arrived slightly late - and unnerved - taking a wrong turn to the alleyway to meet best friend Patricia ‘Patsy’ Murdock; at their agreed-upon site for a night of hobby. Sweating in her hazard suit and dragging along her oxygen tank with the busted wheel. Ruby began to find herself both weary and excited for her first night of thievery. As three siren blasts sounded in the distant squadron, signaling the appeasement tower's lighting for the night. Ruby stood increasingly unsure, as ...
Write a Story told exclusively through dialogue- He said ; She Said
“Hey! Waiting for somebody?“ he said.Looking up a little shocked, she ran her eyes here and there in the empty coffee shop. In a state of confusion, she said” Talking to me?”“Yes Gorgeous,” he said“Of course, I am waiting for somebody, so if you could please excuse me “, she said a little irritated.“If you don’t mind, can I accompany you till that somebody arrives?” he said smiling widely.“No, I like waiting alone?” she said with finality in her tone trying to dismiss him.“That’s rude, such a beautiful face deserves a beautiful tongue as well”; he said sitting down right in front of her.“I as...
A Confession
It’s lying in the center of my plate, limp and green, its heart stabbed by the tines of my fork. Steam rises from its salted surface and assails my nostrils. It smells of wet afternoons in Grandpa’s garden when the sky is grey and the black soil smells sour with horse dung and cabbage leaves. Afternoons when my knees are raw and muddy and the east wind from the Channel is burning my eyes and making them water but I can’t complain because Grandpa is glowering under his rain hat and forking manure into a fresh pile at the bottom of the row – one forkful every second.I wiggle in my chair and pu...