A Short Story : The Story Of Aunt Petunia

Now there is the matter of how did the letter get to the house. The story mentions that the door was warped. Mrs. Dover had a hard time getting her key into the lock. Was the door even locked at all? There is

Once he got home, he greeted his sister Ann. He joined her and their mother at the dinner table. Mother said, “How was work today, dear? I understand you must be hungry. Let us ait a while for your father to come home.”

Sister immedietly began to pack her things, she decide she would take everythin that belonged to her and live in the P.O that Papa Daddy had brought for her. Sister made sure that everone knew she was leaving she snatched the pillow she needle pointed right from under Papa-Daddy, next she took back the charm bracelet she gave her sister, the fern that she only waterd , the radio , the sewing machine that she helped pay for," a good big calendar, with the firsy-aid remideis. The thermometer and the Hawiian ukellele" that she thought feor certain were hers. ‘the watermelon preserves and every fruit and vegetable

For the third time, Elias was now looking at the shopping list given to him by his wife. The yellow lined paper was wet and the ink was seeping through, creating a nonsensical blob of illegible words. Straining his eyes he could barely decipher the letters; milk, eggs, and formula. The rest of the list was a jumbled mess. All that he could make out past the third item on the list was the letter D smudged into the paper. He looked closer, his frustration rose. Now interrogating the paper he started thinking to himself out loud.

The feeling that was swallowing us whole at that very moment felt very ethereal. Like it was there, solid, standing right in front of us, but nothing was really there except for strangers passing through. It felt like it was a longing, a yearning that went on for far too long and then finally, in the midst of a normal day, it stopped, and everything was found. I never thought that this feeling would ever come to me. You know the smell you get after it rains? that earthy smell that you always come to love? I found a word for it, I have no idea where it came from, but It's called Petrichor. I can find a word for that, yet I could never find a word to describe that feeling that was running through my mind, my body, my soul. I can always remember and feel it, but I can never describe the damned feeling to anyone. Funny isn't it? Now that I think about it, you're probably wondering what I’m talking about, right? I'll tell you, but you'll have to listen and feel with all your senses. If you don't, you'll most definitely miss something. So, stay aware, but don't stay tense, you'll be here awhile. And please, I beg of you, don't laugh at my silly story, for I am not wrong and neither are you. Don't compare to any other, this my story and mine alone. Nothing could ever be the same as everything I felt and went through. So please, enjoy this sad, silly, beautiful story of mine.

IN A THINLY-VEILED attempt at telling every woman he has on Snapchat that he now exercises, a 29-year-old legal profession said he can't wait to start rooting again, using his soon-to-be chisel body as a potent sexual weapon, which none of them are going to be able to resist.

Alan leaned against the wall and sighed, staring at the newspaper he held in his hand that he’d payed extra for. For him it embodied his whole struggle. Ever since the stamp act was passed, he was losing money fast, and he knew it. With his ever-increasingly prevalent tuberculosis and another upcoming baby, he felt his hope and his future come out his mouth in deep red blood.

They had spoken for many hours about this Opera Ghost, and Emelia still had trouble grasping all she heard. Finally, the time came for Emelia to begin preparing for the performance, so their conversation ended there to never be continued.

In the middle of the night, Mrs. Whatsit came to visit because she was blown off course and lost here her way in the hurricane. Inside she eats a tuna fish sandwich and Mrs. Murry took off her her boots. just as Mrs. Whatsit was getting ready to leave she said the there was such a thing as a tesseract. Though Mrs. Murray could hide her feelings before this time she was in so much shock that she turned pale and had to hold onto a chair for support. As Meg watched her she knew that something must be very if her mother

I stole, filled with the adrenaline of the moment and a childish bout of cognitive dissonance. Every student in Ms.Rainey’s third grade class dreamed of performing well enough to access the candy box she kept below her desk on the far side of the room. Our young minds saw the candy as the ultimate prize, better than a gold star or a “good job” and a pat on the back. We all knew the rules, pick just one, out of the boundless flavors and types of sugar. Some would plan their selections weeks in advance, while the more adventurous or, to be more accurate, chose in the spur of the moment.

Mr.Graves took five of the dreaded slips of paper and placed them into the box, the rest were taken away with the wind, as I wish our family could be. It was a windy day, a fall day that could chill to the bone and I only just realized, it was a gloomy gray day.

“That is very impolite of you, wouldn't you say?” Ralph proclaimed as he studied the man with such scrutiny.

After he was fired from his apprenticeship, he spent most of his days down at the local pub. Lucky for him was right across from where his current housing arrangement was. His friend, Harry was gracious enough to give him a place to stay until he could get back on his feet. Harry's wife Caroline was the one who suggested it. Harry and Perkin's relationship had changed after Perkin was fired from his apprenticeship. Harry had no idea why his friend hasn't said anything about the sudden change. The only thing Harry knew was that his friend was not himself.

Harry kept his head down, eyes transfixed on the paper before him as the train rattled and swayed from one side to the next. Everything about his posture conveyed his yearning for solitude, though that didn’t seem to deter Louis from staring. He had started his journey two seats in front of Harry, his blue eyes shifting back to glace at him every few seconds. Now he moved with the sway of the train to the seat beside the boy. He had never been a nervous soul and spontaneity was his forte. It was now Harry was forced to look up. “What are you doing?’ Louis asked with a raise of his brow. Harry’s own drew together. “Writing.” Louis brushed wisps of bottled, cherry bomb red hair from his face. Last week it had been blue, purple the week before

“Ok, I understand Mrs. Evans.” He noticed the way she looked at her husband’s picture hanging on top of the chimney. It was like he was still there to watch her. Everything in the room was tidy and clean. She must have made time pass by cleaning up everything. He could see though that there was an unusually big pile of papers on the corner of the desk behind her seat. Maybe she had been busy organizing some things, a job or maybe a closer investigation on the case…