The Hobby Shop_Leahs Church_Throne Thrown_Unfinished Dialogue
Catalog Guide:
The Hobby Shop
“I won’t be too long,” said his wife. “I’ll meet you back in…say…45 minutes. Tops. Don’t be late again. Not in this weather.”“Sure, sure,” he replied, edging back towards the car with three bundles of groceries in his arms. “What did I say?” she asked.He leaned over to put the bags on the hood, hugging them to keep them from toppling over. Had she just said something? He was sure he’d heard her voice behind him.www.onedoor.cc With arms still manhandling the groceries, he twisted around, feeling the twinge of a pulled muscle, to look over his shoulder. There she hovered, arms crossed, a hand tapping an elbo...
Leahs Church
Leah's Church Leah walks through the theater's stage door and tries to shake her umbrella outside as she holds the door open with her rear end. The rain has been brutal all day and filled the gutters with streams of water. This could have been a night like so many others in her theater career, but this night is different. Leah is prepared to have a great show and not get too mired down with emotions. She checks in at the desk, smiles, and hugs the stage manager, and begins her kind of superstitious routine to get ready for the show. She loves the quiet time in the backstage area, and that's w...
Throne Thrown
"Throne Thrown" by Bryan Kost--------------------Are you there, God? It’s me, Satan.Just checking in. Sorry it’s been a while. Man I’ve been busy. Busy on man, I’ve been. Running a pandemic takes a lot! Sure you understand.Seriously, though, I’ve been thinking. I wanted to get your thoughts on something. On us. Our contention, the stakes, the score, the future of it all. Our relationship. Okay, I’ll just put it out there: Maybe we could hit a ‘reset,’ my friend? Hmm?Ha! Never mind, I just lied. (That is my native tongue.) I don’t want your thoughts. I sure as hell don’t want a reset.What d...
Unfinished Dialogue
It was late when Arthur finally parked outside of his father’s apartment. He sighed with relief at the closed curtains, not wanting any premature eye contact. He fiddled with the notes he’d written, mouthing the words to make them real. He would stutter or say it wrong and then start over until he felt satisfied with the way it came out, and even then he practiced three more times. He told himself he kept the car running to keep warm but he knew deep down he wanted the sound of the engine to cloud over the static in his brain. He tucked the notes in his pocket and fumbled with the keys, turni...