Empathy Girl Must Die_Under the Wing_The Eyes of Pity_My Permanent Speculation
Catalog Guide:
Empathy Girl Must Die
You’d think they’d promote me like Beyoncé. But they’d rather I be dead ‘n’ gone.No, man. Don’t go! Please stay. I don’t get much company and never anyone my age.Nah. I won’t hurtcha. That’s for sure. Look at these little arms. Li’l chicken wings. That’s what my brother calls ‘em.I know you think you know why I’m here - but do you really know why I’m here? I mean really?A WITCH? You’ve seriously got to be kidding me. Good lord! That’s really what they say? Dang! That’s cold!Well, when they’re talking to me, they say I have a gift. G-I-F-T. But you ain’t heard that, I bet?Hey, I just noticed. Y...
Under the Wing
“In the ire of shattered lives. How many fellows will deprive?Is it one or is it five?In the ire of shattered lives.Who's a fool to contrive,With their knives, who survives.Is it one or is it five?In the ire of shattered lives.”A siren song caressed the midnight air. It’s tune, once a somber reminder to pirates of old, now a forgotten myth in a sea of doubt. Elija hummed quietly with the songstress, still swept with torpor. A sudden screech broke him from hiwww.onedoor.ccs hypnosis. He brushed slumber from his eyes as he looked bitterly upon the waters framed by his window sill.The ocean brushed along the s...
The Eyes of Pity
It started with my cat.She was a pathetic little thing who would purr at the slightest touch and curl up in your lap if you so much as fed her a scoop of off-brand dry food from the superstore around the corner. My mom got her as a kitten for my thirteenth birthday. I had wanted a dog, but she wanted me to try out the responsibility of a cat as a “transition animal” to prove I could take care of a dog. Ethics of using an animal as a temporary crutch aside, it was ultimately a good decision because we became fast friends. One look into her amber eyes, and I knew she appreciated me. I was worth ...
My Permanent Speculation
I wear a pair of jeans, a denim blue fabric which hugs my ankles. A black turtle neck wraps around my figure and my blonde hair is pulled back with a few strands left in front of my brown eyes. I adjust the fake glasses upon my nose, staring in the mirror taking in my authentic style. No, no, no. I can’t be late again. I float back to reality, hearing my father’s voice booming in my head. He stumbles down the stairs clumsily, a stressful expression on his face. “Hey sweetie,” he smiles without true emotion. “I’m going to be late, I have to leave now. I’ll see you after school.” I mimic his smi...