The way the cookie crumbles_Until The End Of Time_The Long and Short of It_The Breaking of the Bread
Catalog Guide:
The way the cookie crumbles
"Can I lick the spoon, pleeeeaaaaassee?" the seven year old girl let out a long whine, tugging at the hem of her older brothers shirt, her squinted eyes going wide, pleading with the elder. Andre`, who was unamused with the little girl, rolled his eyes and said "There's raw eggs in here, you already have a cold, I don't need you getting more sick. After about three minutes of her wines, he sighed and walked over to her little station. She was helping im out by wrapping the delectable warm cookies into clear tissue paper, and tied them up with a bow and a price tag. The duo were making and se...
Until The End Ofwww.onedoor.cc Time
Fourteen-year-old, Becky Swanson was mesmerized at the brilliant color spectrum that filled the sky over Lake Canatoga at dawn. A gaggle of geese honked as they skimmed across the almost-still water. Becky heard the snap of a twig off to her left and turned quickly to find its source.About fifty feet away, a young man with auburn-brown hair sat on a boulder staring out into the lake. He looked to be about sixteen. Becky found him to be quite attractive and cleared her throat loudly to get his attention. *Ahem!*The boy turned, startled at first, then smiled at the sight of the pretty, young re...
The Long and Short of It
“Thanksgiving was terrific,” Brad said. “I actually enjoyed having less people there. It was more quiet, cozier, and the food was better.”“Katherine was ridiculous with her mask,” Calista said. “I mean, caution is one thing, but behavior like that is just attention seeking.”“She’s always been like that.”“Yeah.”“Your pies were good,” he said, touching her hand lightly. “You can tell that because I didn’t get any of the chocolate custard. It was crumbs by the time I got to the dessert table.”“Your bread was good.” She was watching his hand massage her fingers and wrist. “It always is. It was go...
The Breaking of the Bread
The overpowering smell of raw sewage began to fill the nostrils of the young Marcus Trent as he sloshed his way through the maze of passageways beneath the ancient city. He looked over to his best friend, Avedor, and started to shake his head. There was his friend, olive skin glowing with a light bronze tone as the dancing flames of the torch flicked shadows all about the granite tunnel. Clearly they had made a wrong turn somewhere, which had become somewhat of a mantra for the day itself. Avedor’s eyes were beginning to run as the stench continued to grow stronger, and finally, gagging, Marcu...