There once was a house that no child or adult dared enter, the house was known to be haunted. Even though that the house was haunted, it always seemed to look neat on the outside but it was rumored that it was haunted inside. Everyone knew not to go into that house, except this one child, Annie. Annie was a young girl who had wavy brown hair and big eyes. Annie didn't believe that the house was haunted, so one day she set off to go look through the house, she knew if her parents found out about what she...
I love tests. I really do. Everyone just sits there staring at the paper - don't be in advanced calc if you can't handle it. The arcs, the plots, 3d graphs, cycloids, functions of the imaginary and trajectory's of murders - it's all beautiful. Each is a beautiful fractal within itself - a new function for a curve to follow.
Lets check out the next question.
"So what did Falkner mean by the word carrage?"
Crap - no more speed before English class.
Here it is - the teacher glaring at me. The sweat dripping off me as if I...
"It is here. Start digging." the large man pointed with his hat.
"How do you know? What is this treasure?"
"Dig, or I will kill you where you stand. And then it will have to be a larger hole to put you in."
"You could kill me anyway." the small man said.
"If the treasure is as valuable as the spirits say it is, I think we'll both get what we deserve, coward. That is what they promised."
And so the snivelling man dug until there was a large hole. When he declared he had found something he was pushed...
Potatoes.
The bane of my son's existence.
I set the plate down in front of him with a futile hopefulness that today might be the day that he wouldn't wrinkle his nose and recoil as if it were something deeply offensive. But it wasn't. And he did.
"I don't LIKE potatoes," he growled, glowering up at me.
His father frowned and made to reprimand his son's insolence, but I held up a hand to silence him.
"These aren't just any potatoes," I declared with authority, "These potatoes are grown by superheroes."
My four year old looked skeptical, but as he...
I used to follow my grandfather up the field, gathering potatoes. He would pull them up and leave them like gold nuggets, glowing on the topsoil. I came behind with a trug that was big enough for my baby brother to sleep in. I struggled when the trug was nearly full, and I'd have to set it down every few yards and watch my grandfather as he worked mechanically ahead of me.
I daydreamed that, one day, there would be a real gold nugget lying on the row. I would take iot to the bank and a big man with...
I was not interested in the small poster in his hand. My eyes were on his face. He was the one I had been searching for. Member of that cult, the one that took my daughter away from me. He might have just been an innocent new recruit like she had been all those years ago but the hatred in my heart didn't care. He represented evil and someone had to pay.
I walked over and pretended to be interested in what he had to offer. He explained the organisation would give me peace of mind if I signed up...
Sophie stood at the window, the curtains snug around her shoulders,trailing behind like a dress, or veil. The sun was dipping down behind the trees across the way.
He should be home by now, she thought, chewing the already ravaged thumbnail on her right hand.
She thought about the fight they had the night before. How she had held onto the seeds of those feelings for so long they had germinated and grew and soon the roots were twisted around with her insides, and the branches and leaves moved with her arms.
The anger had grown and become parasitic. And...
Without a doubt, the hat makes the man.
Douglas VanHornersmeltser knew this. He also knew that without removing his hat, the bald spot atop his head would never receive the proper tan he needed for his date at precisely 7 p.m. on the night of Saturday the 11th of January.
A prudent New Englander, Douglas had rarely ventured to concern himself with tanning, his chaste, leathery skin almost always coated in the finest sheer of exfoliated heaven. Yet on this very occasion he sought the affections of the lady up 12th Avenue, Lydia Snout.
An elegant woman with slender legs...
"But do you love me?"
Love? What is love? Love is a social construct. Love is an excuse to screw someone you think is hot. Love is a joke, a trap, an illusion. Love is what you wish for when you don't know how the world really works.
I see your skin and I think of you naked, wish for you to fall into my arms so I can possess you. Part of me wants you now, part of me wants you always.
There's only a limited extent to which these parts overlap.
Lust after you, to be sure. Like...
Swing. That was what we did every time we danced. We'd grab hands and swing each other around with all our might, laughing all the while. Everyone made sure to stay clear when we hit the floor. Once, he dropped me. It was unexpected, a fluke. We were swinging, like always, when, suddenly, he let go. All i felt beneath me was the cold hard floor. After that incident, we stopped swinging for a while. We'd get onto the dance floor, and everyone would run clear, but all we'd do was kinda sway and maybe do a little hip-hop. After...