At the center of the table, they are all gathered around. Exchanging food and conversation, I’m there and some how I still stand out. If I were gone, you’d notice there that centered of naked table would be bare. I get a few comments, I don’t mind this. Good to be out and on the table again.
In the center of the table stood a golden candelabra. Twelve candles stood within it. Eleven of them had been extinguished. Anna gasped- their time had almost run out. As she watched, the last candle flickered.
“No!” she cried under her breath, taking a step towards the candle as though she would be able to keep it alight. The cnadle went out and a wisp of smoke rose into the air. In the distance, Anna heared a scream and she sank to her knees clamping her hands over her ears to block out the sounds of her friends last cries for help.
She had failed.
She sat there. Ashamed. Scared. Almost hopeful. May be this would be the time? “She’s very smart,” said Adila Bibi. “She’s the centerpiece of my collection. My girls. And the most expensive.” The man smiled. He could afford it. And her.
It’s not thanksgiving till the holiday dinner is splashed on the walls. A rorshak display of family ideals, lovingly peppered on the wall. Each member fuming in his or her own way, in a separate section of the house. And a carefully crafted horn-of-plenty…untouched and erect. The main paper Maiche’d in a second grade classroom, to add just a touch of reality to the evening..
The garland was the centrepiece of the fireplace, wound with glowing fairy lights. It made the room warmer. A golden contrast to the white outside. And I was the centerpiece of the room, all eyes fixed on me after I blurted out my reaction. I was never one to suffer in silence. I felt the searing glare of disapproval. I was a red contrast to the black and white of this room, this town, maybe even this world, goddammit.
I sat at the round, wooden table fiddling with the napkin spread across my lap anxiously as I stared at the oddly shaped crystalline centrepiece. I didn’t want to be there I shouldn’t have been there. All I wanted and needed was sitting in his living room in a bungalow across town with a guitar in his hands. My mother used to tell me to always follow my heart but how could I do that when there would be devastating consequences if I did so? If I followed my heart, the entire city would’ve suffered. My dad’s executive assistant continuously told me to stay away from Dan; she warned me not to fall for a peasant because no matter who he was, he would be unworthy of me. Normally I would listen to her but this time, her words came too late. I was already falling and there was nothing I could grip to stop myself and nothing set in place to break my fall.
It was my centerpiece. Not my masterpiece, that was a much later work, but the centerpiece was the one that got me noticed. It is the one that people tend to see first, before coming closer to examine my other pieces. It is the eye-catcher, and for that I must be glad.
It stood in pride of place, adorning and dominating the table, and demanding the attention of everyone who entered the room. It was big, bold and daring. It was Art.
It was ignored; and had been for years. No-one came in here any more.
It was there, among all the people in the square, in the most visible place of all. The statue was 10 feet tall, made out of pure gold. It was shining in this lovely sunny day, catching eye of every person who walked trough the square.
The centerpiece is a beautiful item that brightens up a table. It can be filled with fruit, flowers or stones. It should not take over the table but add to the atmonsphere. The colors of it s hould compliment the rest of the decor so that
the art studio was full when we got there. The attraction was the painting done by a stranger, a person who came from overseas many years ago. His centerpiece was a great piece of work. An abstract piece of art depicting the birth of earth.
The room was swathed in gold, the decorations grand and regal, each demanding their own piece of your attention, but the centrepiece was the most eye-catching of all.
The centerpiece of my life has always been tragedy. It’s this big fruit bowl filled with insecurities dressed in black welts, lies covered in oozing disappointment, and hopes buried underneath the rubble. I eat dinner every night in front of this horror, shoving what my supporters say of me down my throat. But the more I try to swallow, the wider the bowl seems to become and the more frightening the fruits of my death seem to grow.
Andrew and Janice held hands around their table, their vegan friends at the ready to enjoy their meatless Thanksgiving dinner. The table was scattered with delicious dishes of nuts and berries and all manner of yams, potatoes, hummous and guacamole variations. As everyone voraciously attacked their food, Janice beamed with pride to see the array of friends and family gathered around her centerpiece: a giant leaf of lettuce, carved from a 20-lb block of tofu.
There was something unusual about the Thanksgiving centerpiece this year. Usually, it was very innocuous. Often, it had flowers. It was festive. Predominantly orange. This human head…this was different.
Thanksgiving was never really about family was it? I thought it was about the food but for my mom it was always about the centerpiece. She would concoct these elaborate centerpieces that involved fruits and horns of plenty. The year that I accidentally lit the centerpiece on fire was the worst year on record.
There are things you say, things you do, things you think and buy and read and sing and write and appreciate, that a year ago you’d never, no. There are things you are thankful for that, the year before, you couldn’t imagine wanting nor needing. The centerpiece of the dinner table, an orchid, was something she would’ve never known that she would like if he had never brought it home. And so that was what her Thanksgiving speech was about- change.
Isn’t that a beautiful centerpiece! The lovely holly leaves, beautiful red berries, red and white carnations, and the tall red candle in the middle! So simple, yet so elegant!
Centre of the universe, the centre piece of the puzzle. Always the piece that’s missing that results in the utmost frustration. Always the piece that maintains the enigma and prevents us from ever fully knowing the truth.
If the room was a table, she was the centrepiece, for my eye went to her first, and her presence told me everything I needed to know about the event. She was adorned in finery, chandelier earrings revealed by a spiraling curl, and she smiled with a vague shyness I hadn’t expected.
“And now for our centerpiece of tonight’s event, we have in lot number 253, a blonde, 16, young and frisky she’ll sure keep you busy!”
I could not believe that he was talking about me. A fellow human being. I stood there in shock in a ridiculously bedazzled bikini set as about fifty men in masks and suits were sitting grinning at me. Me. What happened?
Centerpiece. Center being the prefix, piece; being the suffix. A centerpiece is usually placed in the middle of a table. Usually put there for decoration, or for…I’m sorry. I can’t do this any longer. What’s the use? Am I going to be given a reward for writing a couple sentences on the word centerpiece? I know that it was chosen by random, but I still do not get it. Why should we only get sixty seconds to write? Why not a million? Why not three hours? Why cant we have more time to write, so that we can set aside time to actually think about what we will write. If I don’t have time to think, My entries will just be endless rants that no one even cares to read. {that sounds familiar}. So, from now on, I’m starting a rebellion. No more 60-seconds for me. I’m going the full-length. Any measure of time I can get my hands on, I’ll have.
My alarm has been off for a good 4 minutes now. I no longer have a care for it. I’ll press the button to submit whenever I want.
That thing you put in the middle of the table to tell someone what the occasion is and what you want them to think about it and you. A tiny masterpiece or extravagant nothing to draw the eye from the surrounding mess.
don’t touch it like that it deserves more than our dirty fingertips, your angry suicide plots. don’ lick your lips or kiss the ground. to die is more than you will know in your lifetime.
this is the most stupid word i have ever hear in my life , it can be a piece in a center of something :D or it can even be a center that handles a piece inside
That is a chewy word. I feel like if I mentioned this word to my incredibly high room mates who are on the couch with me, they would be amazed. That, or one of them would bring up the word centipede or caterpie. Probably, because I first misread it as centipede.
I said my piece in forty seconds. Cool, yo.
The hot wax of two uneven and discolored candles explodes from the pocket at the wick brimming over and crashing onto the weathered brass holder, a rotting fruit is placed between the blazed sticks.
The true centerpiece of her ensemble, however, was her hat. Plumed with fine, soft feathers that rose high above her neat chignon, its lavender netting and silk was of the latest styles in Paris. And though her face was breathtakingly, heartrendingly beautiful, it was her hat that brought all eyes to her. And she met those eyes with her own fine, dark eyes, rivals only to Elizabeth Bennet’s.
At the center of the table, they are all gathered around. Exchanging food and conversation, I’m there and some how I still stand out. If I were gone, you’d notice there that centered of naked table would be bare. I get a few comments, I don’t mind this. Good to be out and on the table again.
In the center of the table stood a golden candelabra. Twelve candles stood within it. Eleven of them had been extinguished. Anna gasped- their time had almost run out. As she watched, the last candle flickered.
“No!” she cried under her breath, taking a step towards the candle as though she would be able to keep it alight. The cnadle went out and a wisp of smoke rose into the air. In the distance, Anna heared a scream and she sank to her knees clamping her hands over her ears to block out the sounds of her friends last cries for help.
She had failed.
She sat there. Ashamed. Scared. Almost hopeful. May be this would be the time? “She’s very smart,” said Adila Bibi. “She’s the centerpiece of my collection. My girls. And the most expensive.” The man smiled. He could afford it. And her.
It’s not thanksgiving till the holiday dinner is splashed on the walls. A rorshak display of family ideals, lovingly peppered on the wall. Each member fuming in his or her own way, in a separate section of the house. And a carefully crafted horn-of-plenty…untouched and erect. The main paper Maiche’d in a second grade classroom, to add just a touch of reality to the evening..
The garland was the centrepiece of the fireplace, wound with glowing fairy lights. It made the room warmer. A golden contrast to the white outside. And I was the centerpiece of the room, all eyes fixed on me after I blurted out my reaction. I was never one to suffer in silence. I felt the searing glare of disapproval. I was a red contrast to the black and white of this room, this town, maybe even this world, goddammit.
I sat at the round, wooden table fiddling with the napkin spread across my lap anxiously as I stared at the oddly shaped crystalline centrepiece. I didn’t want to be there I shouldn’t have been there. All I wanted and needed was sitting in his living room in a bungalow across town with a guitar in his hands. My mother used to tell me to always follow my heart but how could I do that when there would be devastating consequences if I did so? If I followed my heart, the entire city would’ve suffered. My dad’s executive assistant continuously told me to stay away from Dan; she warned me not to fall for a peasant because no matter who he was, he would be unworthy of me. Normally I would listen to her but this time, her words came too late. I was already falling and there was nothing I could grip to stop myself and nothing set in place to break my fall.
It was my centerpiece. Not my masterpiece, that was a much later work, but the centerpiece was the one that got me noticed. It is the one that people tend to see first, before coming closer to examine my other pieces. It is the eye-catcher, and for that I must be glad.
It stood in pride of place, adorning and dominating the table, and demanding the attention of everyone who entered the room. It was big, bold and daring. It was Art.
It was ignored; and had been for years. No-one came in here any more.
It was there, among all the people in the square, in the most visible place of all. The statue was 10 feet tall, made out of pure gold. It was shining in this lovely sunny day, catching eye of every person who walked trough the square.
dfgas
The centerpiece is a beautiful item that brightens up a table. It can be filled with fruit, flowers or stones. It should not take over the table but add to the atmonsphere. The colors of it s hould compliment the rest of the decor so that
the art studio was full when we got there. The attraction was the painting done by a stranger, a person who came from overseas many years ago. His centerpiece was a great piece of work. An abstract piece of art depicting the birth of earth.
The room was swathed in gold, the decorations grand and regal, each demanding their own piece of your attention, but the centrepiece was the most eye-catching of all.
The centerpiece of my life has always been tragedy. It’s this big fruit bowl filled with insecurities dressed in black welts, lies covered in oozing disappointment, and hopes buried underneath the rubble. I eat dinner every night in front of this horror, shoving what my supporters say of me down my throat. But the more I try to swallow, the wider the bowl seems to become and the more frightening the fruits of my death seem to grow.
Andrew and Janice held hands around their table, their vegan friends at the ready to enjoy their meatless Thanksgiving dinner. The table was scattered with delicious dishes of nuts and berries and all manner of yams, potatoes, hummous and guacamole variations. As everyone voraciously attacked their food, Janice beamed with pride to see the array of friends and family gathered around her centerpiece: a giant leaf of lettuce, carved from a 20-lb block of tofu.
There was something unusual about the Thanksgiving centerpiece this year. Usually, it was very innocuous. Often, it had flowers. It was festive. Predominantly orange. This human head…this was different.
Thanksgiving was never really about family was it? I thought it was about the food but for my mom it was always about the centerpiece. She would concoct these elaborate centerpieces that involved fruits and horns of plenty. The year that I accidentally lit the centerpiece on fire was the worst year on record.
There are things you say, things you do, things you think and buy and read and sing and write and appreciate, that a year ago you’d never, no. There are things you are thankful for that, the year before, you couldn’t imagine wanting nor needing. The centerpiece of the dinner table, an orchid, was something she would’ve never known that she would like if he had never brought it home. And so that was what her Thanksgiving speech was about- change.
Isn’t that a beautiful centerpiece! The lovely holly leaves, beautiful red berries, red and white carnations, and the tall red candle in the middle! So simple, yet so elegant!
She placed a centerpiece in the middle of a table elaborately set for one, the same as every other night.
Pacing amid the flowing crowd.
Feels like i’m on stage.
Centre of the universe, the centre piece of the puzzle. Always the piece that’s missing that results in the utmost frustration. Always the piece that maintains the enigma and prevents us from ever fully knowing the truth.
If the room was a table, she was the centrepiece, for my eye went to her first, and her presence told me everything I needed to know about the event. She was adorned in finery, chandelier earrings revealed by a spiraling curl, and she smiled with a vague shyness I hadn’t expected.
“And now for our centerpiece of tonight’s event, we have in lot number 253, a blonde, 16, young and frisky she’ll sure keep you busy!”
I could not believe that he was talking about me. A fellow human being. I stood there in shock in a ridiculously bedazzled bikini set as about fifty men in masks and suits were sitting grinning at me. Me. What happened?
Centerpiece. Center being the prefix, piece; being the suffix. A centerpiece is usually placed in the middle of a table. Usually put there for decoration, or for…I’m sorry. I can’t do this any longer. What’s the use? Am I going to be given a reward for writing a couple sentences on the word centerpiece? I know that it was chosen by random, but I still do not get it. Why should we only get sixty seconds to write? Why not a million? Why not three hours? Why cant we have more time to write, so that we can set aside time to actually think about what we will write. If I don’t have time to think, My entries will just be endless rants that no one even cares to read. {that sounds familiar}. So, from now on, I’m starting a rebellion. No more 60-seconds for me. I’m going the full-length. Any measure of time I can get my hands on, I’ll have.
My alarm has been off for a good 4 minutes now. I no longer have a care for it. I’ll press the button to submit whenever I want.
Which will be right now.
That thing you put in the middle of the table to tell someone what the occasion is and what you want them to think about it and you. A tiny masterpiece or extravagant nothing to draw the eye from the surrounding mess.
don’t touch it like that it deserves more than our dirty fingertips, your angry suicide plots. don’ lick your lips or kiss the ground. to die is more than you will know in your lifetime.
this is the most stupid word i have ever hear in my life , it can be a piece in a center of something :D or it can even be a center that handles a piece inside
a centerpiece is a center of a shape that shape will cause a lot of sicknesses
so i will go to buy an air plan
Bam!
Smack dab in the middle she stood. The centerpiece of the entire room, she glowed as voices congratulated her.
Where was I? Smiling, true and honest.
Nothing but a happy heart, but the darkness wriggled its way through, it always did.
Why was I not the centerpiece? Where am I now?
My mother had a crepe paper centerpiece on the dining room table for every holiday.
the centerpiece in museum was stolen in the bright light of day and in front many high profile personal either the thief was smart or the police lame!
A piece most commonly found in or around the centre.
That is a chewy word. I feel like if I mentioned this word to my incredibly high room mates who are on the couch with me, they would be amazed. That, or one of them would bring up the word centipede or caterpie. Probably, because I first misread it as centipede.
I said my piece in forty seconds. Cool, yo.
The hot wax of two uneven and discolored candles explodes from the pocket at the wick brimming over and crashing onto the weathered brass holder, a rotting fruit is placed between the blazed sticks.
The word ‘centerpiece’ has been the centerpiece of my writing so far.
His wanting to travel was the centerpiece of the argument.
The true centerpiece of her ensemble, however, was her hat. Plumed with fine, soft feathers that rose high above her neat chignon, its lavender netting and silk was of the latest styles in Paris. And though her face was breathtakingly, heartrendingly beautiful, it was her hat that brought all eyes to her. And she met those eyes with her own fine, dark eyes, rivals only to Elizabeth Bennet’s.
Sentinel
It stood
as a silent witness
to the passing years
Friends
Family
The ebb and flow of time
of celebrations
Gatherings
Tears
Fights
Joy
This centerpiece
on a wooden table
A tangible object
of continuity
in our hurried lives.
A thing that you want everyone to talk about. Full of pride showing it to other people. The main act.