I Want to Buy a Miracle_The Sound of Desolation_Living My Best Life_Drained
Catalog Guide:
I Want to Buy a Miracle
A fine coating of sweat on his brow, his furtive glances, and the way he was incessantly scratching at his palms gave the man, third in line to order his meal, away as paranoid, nervous, or both. The lunch crowd at Marigold Masala Fine Indian Cuisine & Takeout had been a steady one, giving Kamya Kumar, who was working the cash register, little time to pay attention to anything but what each customer was ordering. Still, she’d noticed the man the moment he’d stepped into the restaurant, and had hardly taken her eyes off him as he made his way through the queue, his obvious anxiety heightening h...
The Sound of Desolation
The Sound of DesolationThe sunsets were absolutely amazing here, everyone said it even those that weren’t tourists. Oh, to have tourists again! It had been two long years since the world stopped coming to Powell River. All the local restaurants had closed their doors in response so people in town started co-ops, some grew fruits and vegetables, some had farms where they raised animals for butchering. A town on the ocean with an abundance of lakes as well would always be able to fish, harvest shellfish and seaweed but the locals know they have to be careful not to overdo it, preservation was ke...
Living My Best Life
When my dad passed away, I inherited the family photo albums. I was looking through some of the older family photos when I came across a picture of a gorgeous young man. I turned the photo over and prayed there was at least a name, if not a date. I was thrilled to see that it had both, but it was written in an unfamiliar hand. The writing on the back of the photo identified the young man as a childhood friend of my great, great grandfather’s. It was dated 1850. His name was Rory Fitzpatrick. It was one of those pictures taken at a photographer’s studio. He was dressed in the fashion of t...
Drained
The deep red rocks tower around me, a reminder of the scorching heat. The dryness of the landscape promises that I could wither away just the same. My only resource is a canteen with barely a few drinks of water, but even if that supply were infinite, I couldn’t consume it at the rate it perspires through me. I ride atop my only companion, and I am grateful for her company. She is drenched in her own sweat and has defeat in her eyes. I try to focus on keeping her safe—this poor animal that followed me willingly into the desert—and I begin to feel the strength of a desire to save her. In the di...