Hush-A-Bye Baby_The Dream_The Terrible Terrible Accident_The Fosse or the Fly?
Catalog Guide:
Hush-A-Bye Baby
I stared off into the flickering lights and waved until the van disappeared into the misty road overshadowed by giant oaks. The daunting silence and solitude dawned on me the moment the door creaked shut. This environment is what sets Thistle Grove Cabin apart. Built almost 70 years prior by Liron’s great grandfather to conceal his black money and display his love for his wife, this cabin was constructed with the most delicate care for the intricacies and an undying affection for the love of his life. After he passed away, the cabin was inherited by his descendants and quickly became a month...
The Dream
The dream is floating, lazily along the recesses of my brain. It is rolling gently along the banks of my memory. It is fluttering as softly as butterfly wings delicately tapping on the windows of my soul trying to awaken the recollection of it. I am sure that the dream is coming from someplace within the depths of my being. I try and remember the dream. It is sliding like the morning tide back into my memory bank. It is gliding swiftly through the recesses of my brain and rapidly dumping itself into the emptiness of my soul. I am drowning with the non-thought of it! I feel a fluttering jolt. ...
The Terrible Terrible Accident
”Time for bed!” I heard from downstairs, while playing Minecraft. Oh boy, not again, I could hear my mom calling me. She does that every single night before I go to bed. How annoying! Well, I know she cares at least, but I’d rather be playing my game than go to bed. “Knock, knock, knock…” I hear on my bedroom door. “Honey, can I come in?” my mom says. I say, “Okay, Ma”, that’s what I’ve called her ever since I could talk. She brings me water and a banana with peanut butter for my bedtime snack. She still doesn’t understand that I hwww.onedoor.ccate bananas, so I eat a piece of it and leave the rest on the p...
The Fosse or the Fly?
I remember that very first evening feeling feverish, sweat running down my back leaving the telltale damp patch down the centre of my clean shirt. I was unfortunately seated close to a crackling oak log fire which didn’t help matters, but I was too polite, too English to ask to move to another seat. My hand trembled as I reached out to select a few potato crisps and soft cheese apericubes from the array of nibbles Madame Dubois had prepared as an aperitif.It was our first invitation to dinner since we had moved permanently to France. Our new home sat on the outskirts of what is now our village...