just another writer with too many cats
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There Is Truth in Wine
The Merlot is tart, a tang on my tongue, as I sit and wait for the cinema's latest showing to begin. The plush recliner of a seat nearly envelops me because I'm so tiny, and even my high-heeled feet barely touch the floor. I'm sure I look like a right sight in this dinner theater as people still shuffle in before the previews start.
It's Just Like Going to Sleep
you whistled through your teeth, cracked edges all askew and for me to stare at without warning, and every single breath you took was a wheeze.
When It Was Over
I didn't get a "goodbye" before you drew your last breath. Your body had been tethered to machines and lines, all matter of life-saving and -sustaining equipment,
One last song sounded in the distance on that day where the earth ceased spinning in its routine, each activity grounding to a standstill, awry,
If you dare, set out by the tenth hour and take the train to the place protected by the mighty kings of the jungle. From there your journey will begin.
The space station was a cold, drifting piece in the expanse of the stars. Renee observed the monitors that measured the outside elements and anything of note—though watching became a tedium after 141 days of the same slow-moving realm stretching out to infinity. As a former civilian, she had been trained on a mostly need-to-know basis; the different space missions that had erupted after the third world war had no lack of volunteers and field experts alike, but the lottery system at her tech company had been on her side in the end.
Every Day at Seven o'Clock
Henry Cummings was not the most social person ever to grace the planet. As a former community college professor, he had perfected his daily routine over nearly thirty years. Classes had been in the morning, he had read and graded class work such as papers and exams in the afternoon, and then he had gone home around four o'clock. A light dinner then had followed. Everyone had known not to disturb him past seven o'clock, even his wife Charlotte when she had been alive. In that way, reading had been the passion where he had always allowed himself indulgence.
When "Beautiful" Wasn't Enough
It was supposed to be the first day of the rest of forever, but her pretty bouquet of pastel shades scattered to the ground