this is for school I'm sorry I do not know how to write_Right Place, Right Time_A Strange Packag
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this is for school I'm sorry I do not know how to write
Mauve immediately knew something was wrong when her two best friends slunk into the library, lunch boxes in hand. Riley’s hair was a mess, and Reese was walking slightly faster than usual to get away from him. This was never a good sign.When Reese got to their spot, he simply stared at Mauve, his lips pursed together, and didn’t even start a conversation. Riley followed after shortly, looking even more anxious than usual.“What is it.” She frowned at them.“Oh. It’s nothing. It’s just a certain someone in this room doesn’t value his friendships.” Reese sniffed and rested his head on his hand as...
Right Place, Right Time
‘I can’t drink it,’‘Oh, come on Susan, what good is this doing anybody?’‘None! It’s not doing any good - for anyone!’ Susan slammed the tea cup down, the light brown liquid sloshed over the sides and onto her Eichholtz Umberto Dining Table.‘Susan!’ George jumped up and rushed to the kitchen, bringing back a napkin to wipe up the tea, ‘what’s come over you?’Susan didn’t answer but stood and made her way towards the dining room door, eying the ridiculously expensive ornaments on her fireplace as she left.It was a glorious summer day outside but her heart felt cold and empty as she stood on her f...
A Strange Package at the Door
A Strange Package at the DoorGeorge has a Strange Experience‘There was a knock on the door. The dogs heard it too, as they first barked like mad, and then rushed to the front window to try to find the one who had violated their territory. I was the third and last to get to arrive there By the time I opened the door, there was no sign of the person who had knocked. www.onedoor.ccBut there was a fairly large cube-shaped package carefully placed on the doormat.As I picked it up, I saw no indication of a name or address, nothing to identify me or the sender. It certainly had not been mailed, puerolated, or shi...
Forever Mustache March
I have never realized before that he had a big mole by his left ear. It is a shame: I had been visiting this barber’s shop every first Monday of the month for the past 8 years and yet I had never looked at his face carefully before. Was he my friend? I would like to think so. I trust him with a sharp razor on my face. The shop smelled like sharp lavender, evoking a sense of loneliness and the barber smelled like citrus cologne that burnt your throat. The collective moisture on the walls had a haphazard paint over it. The talk radio was on; a woman with a high pitch voice is disturbingly talki...