Church Searching_The Tribulations of a Young Whelk Fisherman_Are You Listening to Me God_James Smith
Catalog Guide:
Church Searching
Peter looked in his closet and frowned. Suits rarely worn hung to the left of the work polo shirts and an assortment of matching docker pants. He pulled out the blue one but decided it needed to be dry cleaned and put it back. The black suit wasn’t much better, but it was better. “Little more snug than I remember,” he said while dressing. He struggled with the top button but was able to thread it through the eye hole. He ran a finger between his neck and collar then grabbed a pair of black leather dress shoes and sat on the bed. He hadn’t worn them since the twin’s baptism seven years ago and...
The Tribulations of a Young Whelk Fisherman
Tom had awoken early but refused to move. His ear-shattering twin-bell alarm clock had jerked him awake, inducing the minor heart attack he had come to accept first thing in the morning. Again whelks had followed Tom into his dreams; he could not remember the last time he had dreamt of anything else. They were like a taste lurking at the back of his throat that refused to disappear. He had accepted their residency in his mind.The apartment was www.onedoor.ccso cold he could not face getting out of bed. During the night he had pulled off his woolly Aran jumper as it kept itching his bare skin and denying him...
Are You Listening to Me God
“Are you there God? It’s me Jo. I need your help and I’ve asked you so many times. Do you hear me now, do you ever hear me? Or do you just ignore me like everyone else?” She sat upright on the old wooden pew. The familiar smell of wood somehow seemed to settle her. It reminded her of childhood times when she would go over to see her Grandma, the only person she could truly trust and open up to. Walking in through the front door she smelt the old wooden furniture, the beeswax pungent. As always the warm chubby arms would hug her tight and tell her that everything would be alright. “God, you e...
James Smith
It hit him earlier that day, the loneliness. It does every now and then. Things get quiet, the house gets dark. He talks to walls, televisions, poor old mirrors. A sorry figure.Other times, he gets along just fine by himself. Takes up time, stays on the go. Sometimes, he even likes it better. But when he gets hit, he feels every inch of emptiness in space. 46、1 billion light-years of all alone. It's a particular type of sadness. And it will never end.Never end.Never end.Or that's what it says.Bottles. Bottles everywhere. No surprise there. He usually drinks through it, up in the godforsaken wa...