“Anthony were playing carpet hockey there is no reason to get all worked up because you’re losing to James” Kevin explained. “Just resume the game it's 4-1 and were playing to 5 as you both know”
I still recall the balmy November afternoon, when the sun revealed flights of kestrels in the deep blue sky and made the lens of my camera flare. I knew that day would be wonderful, albeit it was rare for a day spent in the swamplands to be anything but. The photographic opportunities seemed endless and the small white-breasted body of the sandpiper was right within my grasp, or the viewfinder of my camera, at the very least. It was also the day I met a very interesting character by the name of Jim Saddler, composed yet excitable. Wise beyond his years. The moment he arrived on my doorstep, I knew we were two kindred spirits, united in our keen eye for birds. I must admit, I was unsure of what the nature of our relationship would be. The possibility
Ian ran upstairs to take a five minute shower, and quickly dressed in a blue and black plaid shirt with some khaki shorts. He attempted to fix his hair, it was a little damp, but there wasn't time to properly dry it, so it was fine.
“It was my fault, okay?” His statement caused her to halt. She attempted to look at him again but her eyes focused on the clouds above his head. He stuffed his hands in his pockets before sauntering away. His hand fiddled with the wallet. She dragged herself to her dorm; her hatred for herself grew. She crossed her arms over her chest, thinking about how incredibly stupid she was. She replayed the encounter in her mind, rewriting the entire event to fit an embarrassment free one. As she blamed herself, her thief found himself at his quiet area on campus. While sitting on a bench, he examined the wallet. A tattered, russet leather wallet with ‘Marcy’ embroidered on it with blue bubble letters. He ran his index finger along each letter, tracing
I started to run up these wooden stairs that are in the middle section of the apartments and I tripped on a stair and hit my eyebrow on the stair and didn't realize it was bleeding and I screamed and my father came running down the stairs.
“Wemonade for sale,” a small, tan kid chirped with a big ol’ boxy grin stretched across his face. Taehyung liked to set up his lemonade stand in front of the flower shop; it always smelled nice and the owners of the flower shop were his friends. His stand was a square, fold-up table with a poster taped-up and drawn in crayon saying “LEMONADE for 5 cents,” and underneath that had been scribbled in, “with umbrellas :).” Despite the fact many people ignored him, Taehyung still was full of cheer.
Ray is my beautiful car, a 2014 Chevy Camaro SS. She is named after me, Rachel. My car is one of my most valuable possesions to date. When I first laid eyes on her, I knew she was the one. She is the color of a sweet red candy apple. I swear I could taste the flavor of the candy on an apple just by admiring her. Her custom made body-style kit and grill makes her look as if she could be the next transformer character or cousin of the character Bumblebee in the movie, "Transformers". When I approach her in the mornings, I open the car door, start the engine and listen to it as if it was a military jet about to take off for war. Her pick ups in driving are so fast. The first time I drove her, it felt like she was pulling away, even at normal
My husband and I live in a small, unincorporated town on the outskirts of a bigger city. Although we were almost 50 years old, we are 30 to 40 years younger than any of our near neighbors. Most of them have grandchildren who visit regularly, and drive them wherever they need to go. Not so for the man I usually just called “Professor.” His wife, Elena, died 12 years ago. I only knew her briefly, but she and the Professor were one of those “Life Goals” kind of couples. When Elena passed, it hit the Professor hard. For the last year, he had been battling cancer. With no bus service in our natural area, and cabs from town with an expensive, long wait, I ended up driving him to the doctors.
I've got slightly confused about when I've booked my meeting for. I wrote on the spreadsheet a time for 4:00 to 4:10, but when I clicked on the other link in your email, it suggested a meeting for 8:30. Is that a automated suggestion? Or is that the time when you are free? Sorry to bother you! I've just got a little muddled with the program!
Upon arriving to our apartment, my sister, brother, and I shared three hours of endless stories my mom had missed. Soon after, my parents decided it was time for bed. Having lost in a round of rock, paper, and scissors, I was forced to sleep on the floor with my parents while my sister and brother took over the bunk beds. Within a couple of hours into falling asleep, I woke up around 3’o clock from the floor vibrating with the bass notes from the bar downstairs. Scattered memories of my grandma suddenly rushed into my head: all the times I vented to her about how much I didn't want to go to piano lessons; the times I cried to her, limping back home with a bloody scraped knee; and the times we laughed together as my baby brother tried to talk to SpongeBob and Patrick through the TV. The last memory was the final straw, and I was ready to explode with the welled up tears from trying to seem like I had it all together. Still trying to hide my true emotions, I banged my head against the wooden leg of the bunk bed in an attempt to cover the true source of the teardrops. After hearing the loud thump, my parents immediately woke up asking me, “What’s wrong, what happened,” and going along with being the boastful kid I was, I responded, “I hit my head on the bed.” My mom replied, “Everything will be okay.” But everything was not okay because my grandma should have been next to me but instead, she was half way across the world.
“Come on, let's go,” said Kathie. “No, we can just sleep here in the park, behind the bushes. Did you bring our sleeping bags?” I said sarcastically. “Em, come on, seriously,” said Katherine. “I'm not joking anymore.” “Ok, fine. Just wait,” I said, trying to peer over the bushes. “Hey! Kathie, look there's a shoe over there.” “Who cares? Someone probably dropped it,” she replied. “Yeah, I'm just gonna leave my shoe behind the bushes,” I responded smartly. As I advanced on the bush, I gasped. Suddenly unable to find my voice, I spoke “K-Kathie…,” “Yeah?” she called out. “C-can you come over here?” I stammered. She slowly walked over, approaching the bush, I heard her gasp quietly. We stayed there a minute or two listening to our heavy breaths.
I awoke next morning and immediately thought of the letter I had received last night. It was on my oak wood night stand, next to my journal where I wrote my thoughts in. I opened the yellowish brown envelope to reveal