Poetic Justice_Charles' New World_Signs in the Clocktower_Stupid dog
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Poetic Justice
Journal of Dorothy Walters, July 13th 2018Well, well, well! What a turn up for the books! I’m not one to dwell on the past nor am I particularly keen to revel in the bad that befalls others but today I will admit that I am indulging in both as I have just read some rather surprising news in the obituary section of the local newspaper.Yes, Emily Ryder has passed away, peacefully at home, surrounded by family and friends, no doubt. All of whom worshipped her or at least pretended to for fear of repercussions to the contrary, I expect. You can imagine my surprise when I had just finished the sudo...
Charles' New World
Charles was EXCTIED! He had just gotten the call that the cornea transplant surgery for his eyes would be scheduled in the next week. Ever since he had fallen off that horse and injured his eyes a few years ago, he hadn’t been able to see. His Doctor had put him on the transplant list for new corneas, but so far, none had arrived; until today. He had “memories” of being outside and enjoying the hiking trails in the area, and had felt the sun on his face, the past few years. But, that’s ALL he had! He hadn’t been able to see anything since his accident and the doctors hadn’t been sure if h...
Signs in the Clocktower
DongThe first chime from the clock tower rang out bright and clear, nearly shaking the walls of Cora’s room so she could feel the rhythm under her feet. Pulling out her phone, she let the voice recorder app suck in the sounds, until she could play them back out her room, just as loud and powerful.Cora scrolled through her recordings, playing ones of significance, comparing them to each other. The clock tower made a happy bewww.onedoor.ccllowing sound, as it groaned under the weight of a large marble block being added to the top of it’s tower. Cora flicked her phone off and grimaced, carefully watching out ...
Stupid dog
"You stupid dog." I groaned as I looked at the pile of poop on the floor. It was large, with a suspiciously large fly sitting on top of it. My dog, Elmo, was looking up at me with an innocent look in his eyes, like he hadn't even seen the mountain he'd made stinking up the room next to him. "That's where you're supposed to poop." I spat as I pointed at the newspaper laid out in the corner of the kitchen. He only opened his mouth and wagged his tail vigorously. I glared at him. He wasn't even my dog really, he had been my Grandma's before she passed two years ago. Her house had gone on the ma...