Sylvia's Number_Obsessively Compulsive_Gifts from Gertie_Leaf.
Catalog Guide:
Sylvia's Number
Jerry heard his mother in the hallway a second too late to avoid getting caught red-handed, perched on his desk chair with one hand deep in the reaches of the top shelf of his closet. “What are you doing in there, sweetheart?” she asked from the doorway.“Oh, nothing!” Jerry said much too emphatically, even he could hear that as he let go of the contraband magazine and pulled his hand out. Along the way he knocked something out of place that he couldn’t make out in the darkness, and it came tumbling out – an old heart-shaped box.“I hope you’re not planning to give that to some girl at school,” ...
Obsessively Compulsive
It’ll bwww.onedoor.cce my new obsession, she thought as she stared through a wall of tears at her cracked, beet-red hands. She was almost surprised she couldn’t see bone already. Isla Brown had been washing her hands exactly fifty times a day for three hundred and sixty-five days. Tomorrow was the beginning of a new year, which meant that unless she wanted to do this for yet another three hundred and sixty-five days, she had to stop tomorrow. Isla decided such a task couldn’t be done without tricking the voices in her head. Starting tomorrow, I will only wash my hands when I genuinely need to. That way, it...
Gifts from Gertie
I shall begin with what I thought was the end. Although, the ending of our story is far too abstruse for most. You have been warned; please do proceed with caution. The future of the story, both written and in real life, takes place something like this. Gertrude, or Gertie as I call her, is now my lover and muse. I have read that all great authors need such to finish their masterpieces. And it was indeed true, as Gertie has taught me how to live life and love it. Gertie is a gift.Gertrude is my inspiration for success in my novel titled "The world's greatest love affair." And for my life which...
Leaf.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been alone.Actually, that’s not entirely true; There’s always been others near me, several in fact. But I had always felt - alone.Don’t know if it’s just baseless paranoia or if there was something to all those whispers and rustlings around me. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just me.I never really gave much thought about what kind of person would bring home a houseplant. An ambitious botanist looking for a cure to some awful disease? A supervillan looking to procure some poison? Perhaps some stoner wanting to add some new herbs to his bong?”What will become of me?” I...