Ms. Alice_The Same Lie_flawed_Persephone's Tea Garden
Catalog Guide:
Ms. Alice
If you ever asked Ms. Alice how many kids she had, you’d get a different answer each year. Last year the answer was nineteen; this year it was only eight. Those from the lofty heights had only sent eight to her this year, to the caverwww.onedoor.ccnous belly of the school where the children went who could not, or would not, find their footing in the general classroom. Ms. Alice loved seven of them ferociously. She was their protector, their advocate, a stand-in mom, a giver of hugs, a deliverer of a sliver of hope. For seven of them whom she fully felt were members of her own little family. And then there w...
The Same Lie
This is a hard thing. All I have now are hard things. Nothing is soft anymore, nothing is easy. Some things are easy to start, but nothing is easy the whole way through anymore. They are staring at me like I am the garbage in rain gutters. But there’s something else too. Pity. I might be a poor little pup in those rain gutters. I think I’d rather be the garbage.“I need help.”“With what?”“You know what.”“No, I don’t. We don’t.”“Fuck you. I’m coming to you, trusting you.”“Then you can tell us.”The carpet under my feet is green. More brown than green now. More threadbare than it was. It used to ...
flawed
Silently in the café that we always used to go to together, I wait for him. My mind runs wild with crazy thoughts but on the outside, I hold a calm and put together expression and stance. I stare at my coffee swirling as the unstable table wobbles when workers rush past. I think of the table, it’s placed on the wonky tiled floors, wobbles at the slightest of movement, and is the most difficult table to tolerate. Out of all tables in this whole café, I always choose this one. Why? Why choose to sit at the worst table in the café when there are a dozen other seats free? Well to answer that, I ...
Persephone's Tea Garden
It had been twenty four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. A wrought iron table, graced by two swirled iron chairs. Even the kiss of the sunlight filtering through the flowering hedge was inarguably a mirror image of the one she’d seen years prior. However, most paintings tended to stay the same, no matter how many years they stayed in a museum, so that wasn’t of much notice. What made this painting exquisite, irreplaceable, was not just the level of details and brilliant paint colors; but the people. Lounging upon the chairs were two women, a ghost of a smi...