Our Improper Monster Stepbrother_Liar_All for that_Dear drug
Catalog Guide:
Our Improper Monster Stepbrother
The energy at the dinner table was the oddest it had ever been. Drunk uncles and crazy aunts were easy to handle compared to the uncomfortable awkwardness. From my father in a Hugo Boss suit to the bellbottoms sitting right beside me. I looked across at my sister who was sipping carrot soup and avoiding eye contact with our new stepbrother. He was gobbling his turkey leg with bizarre buck teeth that poked out like daggers. One strap of his dirty blue bell-bottoms was hanging off. The mud from his boots was dirtying our expensive carpet, one quick move and the slobber hanging from his mouth wou...
Liar
“I think it’s finally time I told you the truth about why I’m… so… me. My parents got porced and my dad was super crazy and annoying about me succeeding, but my mom… she could care less. My dad hit me if I wasn’t good enough, and then my mom… she would drink or use drugs and ignore me instead of looking at my flaws. So, yeah, I guess that’s kinda why I’m a pathological liar.”“Uhuh yeah. Can you grab me a paper towww.onedoor.ccwel? I just spilled some water.”“Sure,” I mumbled as I handed him a paper towel. My therapist said that I need to open up and be more vulnerable, and I figured Chase was a pretty safe...
All for that
"I thought you were my friend!" Yara cried, tears streaking down her cheeks. "How could you! How could you do this to me!" "Because you don't deserve to go to Julliard! I deserve to go to Julliard!" yelled Michelle at Yara. "You Indian people know nothing about classical music but I have been playing piano since I was a baby!" "That's racist!" Yara shouted. "I have been playing piano since I was three years old!" she then stared at Michelle, her tear stricken face looking at her. "Someday Michelle, you will regret it," and with that, Yara leaves Michelle alone in the practice room with Michell...
Dear drug
Dear drug, I was meant to write a story about you. This story was supposed to teach something as it was read. Instead, as I re read what I originally wrote, It taught me something. Writing this isn't about the money or the contest. It isn't even about teaching something anymore. It's about me. For a year and a half I've been trying to figure it out. Why is it that my writing doesn't flow like it once did? Why is it my happiness refuses to maintain it's place within my body?You keep taking from me. Energy, friends, family, love, happiness,health.It was the way you spoke to me...that had me comi...