A Journey Through the Bottom of the Tub_Lost with the Winds._Magic and Mr Tomkins_30 Years in 30 Ste
Catalog Guide:
A Journey Through the Bottom of the Tub
Rose Tresor was not made for life in the country, I was not made for milking cows or feeding chickens. I was not made for mucking stalls. I wasn’t even made for little denim shorts and plaid shirts. Yet there I was, in the middle of the hot, dusty, bleak country. I was hungry, tired, and still couldn’t see. Doctor Hayman had told me that because of my “delicate composition”www.onedoor.cc it might take a few hours for my eyesight to come back completely this time. I was used to it, my retina had been damaged in the accident, and once a month for the last year, I’d been having a procedure to get them fixed,...
Lost with the Winds.
The dribblets of rain raced down the glass. I shifted to look at the ceiling. The ridges flowed into different shapes contorting into faces and images. I watched it turn and contort, going into a peaceful gaze, where it was just me and no one else.Then the back door slammed. Parker came to the couch, propping herself up into the corner, her glasses falling halfway down her nose, blue eyes lacing her vacant expression as she typed into her phone.I love to watch her like this, her hair messy around her face, no wedged shoes, so she barely comes to my chest, and a tablet or a phone in her hands.S...
Magic and Mr Tomkins
One day Mr Tomkins discovered he could fly. It happened as he was taking his Sunday constitutional on Primrose Hill one glorious day, the first warm day of Spring with the sun shining and a mild breeze ruffling the daffodils. The famous landmarks of the City came and went in and out of view as clouds scudded across the sky. Mr Tomkins had that soaring feeling one gets when released from the prison of continuous rain into the first rays of sunshine. He stretched his arms to the sky and quite naturally, without effort or alarm, he rose into the air. They say people rarely look up and it seemed...
30 Years in 30 Steps
This was supposed to be the summer I would never forget. Concerts, trips to the beach, endless memories, picnics, sleepovers. Instead, I lie suffocating in some rich old guy's house in the middle of nowhere we rented for the summer. I’m jolted from my existential moment by the loud creak of the stairs. The footsteps aren’t slow enough to be my dads, but too heavy to be my little brother’s. Before she can open the door I yell out to her. “What do you want?” To my utmost annoyment, she opens the door widely, letting in a stream of bright light. I squint trying to adjust to the sudden illuminat...