What are you waiting?_Pushing It_Splinters of Shame_The boy who left his mother
Catalog Guide:
What are you waiting?
One day a man wakes up feeling terribly ill, he’ s in his bed but doesn’t feels like his bed , he looks at his room but his vision is blurry and his eyes heavy, “strange” he thought, ”that doesn’t seem like my room at all”. He knows it’s all because of the importance of that day , he is feeling anxious, he is getting sick again. As he struggles to wake up a woman knock his door, ” Mr E. I’m you neighbour from apartment B ,There’s a letter for you, the mailman must have put it in my mailbox but it’s addressed to you!” He stands up quickly and open the door . The woman looks at him and say “it’s...
Pushing It
It’s that timwww.onedoor.cce again.Sooner or later, it always comes to this.Unless of course, we are saved from all this nonsense by pine, or cosmic intervention.Not this time though, that was never going to be in the script.The way this works is that there is an inevitable build up to this show down. Good versus bad, us against them. We sort the teams and then off we go until it all gets too much, too big, too far down the line to do anything other than sort it all out, once and for all.“You have to be stopped,” she says to me“It seems that you have taken my line,” I say in return.“We have reached an impas...
Splinters of Shame
Your sodden clothing offers you no protection from the razor edge of the wind as you watch your home splinter and shatter. It floats in pieces for a minute before being swallowed by the uncaring mouth of the ocean. Parts of your ship, now relegated to driftwood, spread like litter. Some innocuously bump your little lifeboat but others are larger and pose more of a threat. You see a remnant of the main mast, tangled with rigging, fast approaching and there is movement around you to avoid the snagging tendrils. There is shouting - senseless, panicked shouting - and you know you should be taking ...
The boy who left his mother
After hauling a suitcase up the metro steps, paying an overpriced taxi fee, and wandering around a neighborhood with no cellular connection, not that there was anyone in the country she could call for help, Lila found herself in front of a baby blue mailbox she only knew from online photos. She gave her hands a break from gripping an uncomfortable handle. A layer of grime cleared from the shiny tiles glued to the side of the wood post. Number 13、 She smiled. Lila bounced on her way to the door, leaving her suitcase, “My own house, my very own house.” She thought as she drooled over construc...