sissytisha
Stories (37/0)
The tragic fate
Some people, when visiting someone or talking to someone in the evening, always find it difficult to say goodbye. As time passes one minute after another, and when the visitor feels he should really go, he stands up and stammers, "Uh, I think I ......" followed by the host saying, "Oh, you're leaving now? It's really early!" So the embarrassment of the visitor's uncertainty ensues.
By sissytisha2 years ago in Fiction
The Little Christian
Once upon a time there was a little girl whose parents loved her very much, bought her many, many toys, and took care of her in every way. They did not give the little girl any strict religious upbringing, but when she was six years old, she stubbornly believed that she was another reincarnation of Christ. So, she slipped out of the house every day and ran to all the houses to pray for their blessings. And often she would also go to persuade drug addicts and alcoholics to give up their vices. Many people would listen to her blessings or exhortations because of her loveliness. Her parents, however, found it unnatural. A six-year-old girl who often hangs out with drug addicts and alcoholics always feels very incongruous. So, her parents often went out to get her home. Whenever this happened, she would throw a tantrum, screaming and breaking toys around the house. Her parents would say, "Christ doesn't do that," to which she would retort, "That's the old Christ! I'm the new Christ!"
By sissytisha2 years ago in Fiction
The kid on the counter
The story I am about to tell happened about fifty or sixty years ago in a place called Piacenza in northern Italy. A lawyer's little daughter, playing hide-and-seek in the house, climbed into a cupboard to hide. When she was found and it was her turn to be a ghost, she said, "I don't want to play anymore, I want to stay on the cupboard. The others continued to play and she just stayed on the counter.
By sissytisha2 years ago in Fiction
The life of a goat
At the end of winter, just as we crossed the Ulungu River, a yellow-faced dwarf goat gave birth to a black, shiny-skinned lamb. It was a good omen, and Mama Zakobai was very happy. We tethered the baby goat under the miscellaneous shelf next to the felt house. So, the mother searched for it for a whole day.
By sissytisha2 years ago in Fiction
A life of regression
His life revealed to me one of the most illuminating parables I have ever experienced. I first met Jenkins, or really noticed him, some years ago when I was a kid out on a camping trip. Someone was about to nail a board to a tree to use as a shelf, so Jenkins went over to him and offered to give him a hand.
By sissytisha2 years ago in Fiction
A fallen leaf
In the thin, crisp air, there was an Angel flying high with a flower from the garden in the sky. As she was kissing the flower, a small petal fell to the damp ground in the woods. This petal immediately took root and sprouted up among many other plants.
By sissytisha2 years ago in Fiction
The note under the wall
Some things that didn't seem too important at the time can be rooted in the memory for a long time. They have always been there to sleep peacefully, occasionally awake, open eyes to see you busy (promotion or disappear) and sleep again, many years they are so light as if not in. A thousand times the opportunity to miss, and finally see them again one day, see the time to many so-called life events to wear away, and they are firmly fixed there, heavy with the weight of the incomparable. For example, a photo of the old days, when shot without thinking, casually put where, for many years do not even remember it, but suddenly one day when sorting out the old things came across it, brushed off the dust, but will feel that it is your origin is also your escape; and many solemnly left a picture, but has forgotten where and for what.
By sissytisha2 years ago in Fiction
A life on hold
After three years of writing my PhD thesis, I am finally about to defend it. In the past three years, I've been slowly wandering between the library, home, the riverside park and the café. I was shifting left and right, writing a few words a day, just like working for the commune to earn work credits.
By sissytisha2 years ago in Fiction