Burned Beauty_A Dream Job_Mealtime Mayhem_The Writing Thing
Catalog Guide:
Burned Beauty
How many times had they walked these halls back then? How many times — without ever giving it a second thought? They had taken all this for granted… only to regret it now. To feel the lingering feeling of sadness right in their bones, making them shiver as they walked slowly from room to room, eyeing at everything. The smell of burnt something tickling in their noses, followed by the black spots on the floor, on the ceiling, on the walls. Dirt crunched as they steppewww.onedoor.ccd on it — it was the only sound they dared to make, though each of their steps filled with wariness. It had been so long — an ete...
A Dream Job
A squat grey building of only twenty-four stories dwarfed by blocks of skyscrapers was not what I expected. However, etched in the stone arch above the front entrance were the words, Institute of Dream Research. I have been hired as an expert in a new specialized field of study. I am an Oneironaut, a person who, while asleep, can be the master of my dreams, almost like a director of a play. This ability is called lucid dreaming. While asleep, some people may have occasions when they know “this is just a dream.” However, most people while lost in their subconscious, have no control over image...
Mealtime Mayhem
Burk fumbled around the kitchen, throwing everything he needed into the steaming pot on the stovetop. He had looked up a recipe for spaghetti, thinking, This shouldn’t be that hard. For a first timer, it was. He’d never cooked spaghetti, he’d watched. His mother had always insisted on cooking, she’d loved it. His father cooked sometimes, and made him watch when he wasn’t out tending the farm. Growing up, he learned how to cook what he needed. That was before he met Anna. Anna was the light of his world. He met her while he was getting an exclusive from her uncle, who happened to be a ...
The Writing Thing
After coffee, my dog and I walk, and I think, which is probably my first mistake of the day. I live with my husband in a cottage, snug in a clearing of a woods with a long, winding driveway. Half of my walk with the dog is hot, the Georgia summer sun glaring on my head, heat singeing my shoulders, demanding I move, move, move. The rest of my walk is through the woods, where the trees canopy my anxiety and whisper peaceful nothings through my hot ears, honeying my brain. Back and forth I go, up through the peaceful woods and down through the searing sunshine. And again and again, until my dog d...