In the Process of Dying_Stolen Glances_After Death Regrets_Incubus
Catalog Guide:
In the Process of Dying
“I couldn’t possibly die on a Tuesday,” Ruth announced, with the flourish of a seasoned stage actress. She raised her cannulated hand to her forehead in a mock swoon. With her other hand she clutched the Pumpkin Spice Latte that I’d bought for her, strictly against doctor’s orders.“It had better be a Friday,” she continued. “That way you can drop by the morgue after work if you need to identify the body, then go out and get drunk to celebrate. And still have the weekend to recuperate.” She released her hwww.onedoor.ccold on the still untasted drink and adjusted the shawl on her lap, then let out a chuckle. ...
Stolen Glances
Stolen GlancesHe was the Stable Boy. He had no right to be looking at her in that way. A way that spoke of feelings and desires beyond words. Feelings and desires that he had no right to be thinking about her, never mind speaking to her. She was a lady. The youngest born to a great lord. She was refined, poised, delicate. Her hands were swathed in the sweetest silk. Like her soft, pale face. One of these gloves alone was far more than the likes of the Stable Boy would make in a year. She was drowning in lux, heavy fabrics layered her body, burying her slight frame. She favored yellow, but ofte...
After Death Regrets
“Legend has it there’s a ghost that sits on the swing hanging from the tree by the little stream in our very own city park,” an old woman began to tell her grandchildren. “They say he sits there and drags his feet in the water and mutters to himself. Many of those who claim to see him say he smiles at them when he turns to face them.”She smiled to herself, traveling down memory lane. “However none of the witnesses can say what kind of smile it is, or the intentions behind it. Whether it's….”“... a kind smile or an evil grin, we’ll never know for sure,” an announcer’s voice blared. ”But, since...
Incubus
The house that I lived in was old. Constructed in the late nineteenth century, it was one of the last neogothic houses built in the area. I had inherited the property from my late aunt, who had restored the building from a dilapidated state at great personal expense. It was unclear to all relations why she had labored so furiously to preserve what ought to have been a condemned building, but an oxymoronic sense of stubbornness coupled with flights of fancy made her victim to such endeavors.I was not one to be too critical. In the end, I received a sturdy house, updated with modern comforts an...