It can be hard sometimes. Now and then we will choose the wrong way, a bit like moving against the grain.
We can ruin the wood we call life.
This can be hard to take back, since the damage has already been done.
It will scar you for a while, the mistakes we make but eventually it will fade into the past.
A simple decision can ruin our lives, but only you can choose whether to hold on to the past pain or let it go.
Upon that cold day she felt the calling of her own warm heart, as if in these quiet moments it was her home-song.
In Britain pubs, restaurants and cafes became overflow schools to provide food and a good learning space for the most needy students. Business boomed and so did educational outcomes. The rest of the school population had more space to socially distance too, it was a societal win-win.
A world without character quirks is a world in which humans don't evolve or advance.
His focus was scattered, so filled with nervous anticipation was he, so excited, even giddy. He couldn't hold a conversation or sit still while his thoughts danced in infinite directions. Yet he had to get through the day in one piece. He met Mairead last Tuesday at a wedding and this, he hoped, was their first date. He could picture it already - holding hands, a tingling feeling spreading throughout his entire body. He would take her for a walk through the park and count the ducks; it seemed the most natural thing in all the world. And she, his special girl.
Moss-laden bricks of grey-orange, fitting as guards on the threshold. Behind the fool’s-ancient wrought-iron gates. Where rows upon rows of crumbling mounds stood in various interpretations of upright, their pores bathing in light from an ill moon, ailing. Porous trees hunched over most of the void spared by the sickening light’s expanse, plunging the rest in healthy shadow. The place echoed.
To enter, I must skirt around a pile of wet leaves. Today there is no weather; there is no wind, just howling. The temperature is of a mild apparition and so I hear the winds company more so. The leaf barbs that bar nefarious entrance are of little consequence to my apt overage and the grey-orange guards do little but deposit their dust upon me and my cloth.
The perfumes in the apothecary held the old world medicinal charm, the soothing aromas to quiet the soul and let the healing begin.
The first day of spring comes as the first song to newly opened ears and heart.
He is my brother. A person from my bloodline. He has me covered, like I've got his back. My accomplice. My co-conspirator. He wouldn't hesitate to die for me. We are the same soul, split in two, and walking on four legs. If I help his boat to reach the shore, then my own will reach too. Because we are one. If he dies, then I'll die. We both are killers. I can kill myself for him, and kill others for him too. He is a heartbeat among the cacophony of heartbeats I have. People might ask, like you did. But does it ever matter? Being the one in power, or not being? Either way, when my brother is in question, then there has to be no question.
Those rings flooded the markets, all made by trafficked children, every cent of the profit going into the pocket of some emotionally indifferent evil human-zombie.
Its fiery wings glided softly past me, bring warmth into my body. It flew once, twice around me, finally stopping to rest on my shoulders. Its body is like blazing fire, burning brightly even through impenetrable darkness. A fire is the light in the dark, while the phoenix is the light of my world.
