Miles to Go Before I Sleep_The Boy Who Never Grew Up_A petition for the abolishment of Monday_Things
Catalog Guide:
Miles to Go Before I Sleep
In life, the Mask-Maker’s wife loved poetry. Her home office on the second floor of their quaint town home was lined with painted bookshelves, crammed to bursting with novels and collections. She liked to joke that the most dangerous part of their house was the entrance hall, as it was planted directly beneath the office and was therefore in the primary blasting zone were the office to finally collapse under the weight of all those books. She would smile as she’d joke about these things; a dazzling sight, her mouth curling in a way that always seemed to have a touch of mischief to it, her pet...
The Boy Who Never Grew Up
‘Grow up.’ That’s all they tell me. ‘You need to grow up and get your head out of the clouds.’ They’re right of course, but I don’t want to. What fun can you have when you’re grown up? Work, taxes, taxes, work, cook, clean, work, sleep, clean, work. Sounds extremely fun. I’ve never understood adults who tell new adults to ‘grow up’. Why? Because you can't find the same happiness from the things I like? Because my way of thinking is not normal to yours? Your form of happiness comes from wearing your favourite sports team's t-shirt and shouting at the tele, they can't hear you mate. Your form of...
A petition for the abolishment of Monday
It was a sun-bleeding Monday when I died. And as Mondays can be expected to be, it was as ultimately gruesome and tedious as every start of a new week. But on this day, there was one teeny-weeny occurrence that stuck out of the ordinary sleep-deprived, caffeine-infused zombie trot. Oh, had only one of my few awake brain cells paid more attention to what happened, to the premonition I was told, I might still be alive, might have even gotten a whiff of Tuesday, of better times. But well, as life goes, nothing good can every come out of a Monday. Swww.onedoor.cco, I have come to the inevitable conclusion that ...
Things Used to be One Way, but Now They are Another
The room seemed to be spinning. Jayger squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them again, struggling to focus his sleep-blurred vision. This was not the room he had been sleeping in. Sitting up, the 19-year-old brushed his blond hair out of his eyes and tried to figure out where he was. There were no windows. In the dim light of a hanging lantern, he saw pieces of leather, bits of metal, and bolts of thick cloth scattered around the room, overflowing from boxes, spilling off of tables, and piled on the floor.His eyes landed on a single familiar object: his leather drawstring sack.Jayger got up ...