The Life and Times of June Parker-Jones_After the Smoke Clears_The next celebrity_Brooke and Pontcha
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The Life and Times of June Parker-Jones
“Did you know,” said the girl, “ that octopi can unscrew the lids from jars?”“No, I didn’t,” I replied, even though I did. “Where did you hear that?”“I just read it.”“Oh.”, I said.“It says here that a human brain has eighty-five billion, five hundred million more brain cells than an octopus brain. Brain cell is another word for neuron.”“It is.”Her eyes narrowed. “You know the word neurons but you don’t know about octopi opening jars?”, she asked.“On second thought, maybe I have heard that somewhere before.” “Interesting.”I cleared my throat and tugged at the cord of my lanyard uncomfortably. H...
After the Smoke Clears
After waking up next to Merlin in that flower patch that day was refreshing. I didn't want to wake him up but Tessa and Alwyn's yelling could wake the dead. Looked at me with this drowsy smirk as they coddled me like old friends that haven't seen me in a long time.I had to protest my well being many times before Merlin pushed them away. I barely knew him a week and there I was sitting in his embrace, watching the sunrise, and loving every single moment. I closed my eyes, letting every fuzzy memory of last night fade into the sound of his heartbeat. His was calm but mine was a fiery pitter-pat...
The next celebrity
Wake up. School. Practise. Sleep. It’s always been the same, I guess.Well less of the last one if we’re being serious as nights always fade into dawn’s arrival. Ever since I was seven these days of routine have followed me around, haunting me into being something more than the average. Into being someone worwww.onedoor.ccth something. It is weird though, I guess, how little value I place on myself as a person, elevating my skills and attributes above anything and everything else. But it’s going to be worth it. Just one more day, one more day until the spotlight shifts into my direction. The bus is rolling u...
Brooke and Pontchartrain
A man kicks down a door in slow motion. He wears all black under a black trench coat, and shades purely for the aesthetic. It is after midnight. You hear a guitar riff to set the tone. You see neon lights from the ceiling to set the mood—flashing green and purple that flirts with the room. From his hip, the man lifts his weapon: a fluffy, orange cat wearing a black spiky collar. More guitar sounds. Very grunge. Fits his loner vigilantism. He holds the cat like an assault rifle, but this cat doesn’t care about nothing—you can tell by the look in its eyes. The tall, dark man goes “pewpewpewpew...