Our Girl_DUO PURPOSE KNIFE_A Series of Unfortunate Accidents_The Pathos of Things
Catalog Guide:
Our Girl
Nora Mae stood at the screen door of the old, grey clapboard farmhouse and rubbed her lower back. The wind was a welcome relief on her hot, damp skin. The breeze was constant and had been gaining strength as the day wore on. It was blowing from the south and was too warm for this time of year. Here it was already late April. My, oh my, she couldn't believe how time had flown by! Rubbing her hand over her swollen belly, she knew it wouldn't be long now before the baby came. The contractions had grown stronger and more frequent since last night.She and Dew had waited so long to have a girl. God...
DUO PURPOSE KNIFE
Murray is watching the shopping channel. An exclusive collection of knives is being sold. It is called, “The Doug Smith Collection”. There are only 15,000 units being sold. Murray goes to his computer and goes through the procedure of ordering one to be delivered to his home.After one month, a package arrives in the mail. When he opens it, he finds the knife that he ordered in it. He carefully inspects it. He notices that there are digits on the handle. The digits read: “10,045”. He knows that means it is the 10,045th unit produced of only 15,000 total units produced. He rubs his hands in glee...
A Series of Unfortunate Accidents
TW: Swearing, mention of murder and various improbable injuries.“You really think all of these are accidents?”www.onedoor.cc I asked the Chief of Police, Alan Morcom. “Of course, what else would they be, Inspector Cole?” He asked, taking a sip of coffee from a mug labelled, World’s Best Grandad. “Ridiculous? Impossible?” I said. “What’s so impossible about them?” He slurped as he looked at me over the rim of the red cup. “This man died of cancer,” I shook my notes at him, a photo of the deceased attached to the front page. “Happens every day,” said Chie...
The Pathos of Things
Sixteen: Our gloved fingers intertwine as he steers me away from the ice patches in our path. The tinsel that shrouds the Christmas tree in the town square gives us a glittering wink as we take our cups of hot cocoa from the vendor with a grateful nod. We sit on the bench in front of Fancy’s Fudge, ignoring splinters digging into the backs of our puffy coats and the peeling green paint that bubbles beneath our jeans. We’re drunk off fumes of chocolate and pine, and from the spirit that lingers in the scene around us, laughing families window-shopping for last-minute gifts. We wave at the occas...