Peg had hunted throughout the morning, but still she couldn’t find it. She knew there had to be one; she’s overheard them talking about it last night, and the night before, but whichever way she peered at all that there was around her, she just couldn’t work out what what it was that they were trying to work out.
1. The mysteries depicted in Sidney Sheldon’s books are captivating and impeccable.
Widely twisting and having a way out for every difficult situation there is.
If I were to decide how to write about a mystery or a mysterious circumstance I wouldn’t be able to write this. A mystery is a weird thing in itself, isn’t it? Mysteries are quite mysterious. I have no idea what I’m talking about. This is what I get for staying awake this late.
Mystery is confusing yet at the same time fascinating but all around just engulfing. Its as though the book knows its fucking with your head and loves watching you squirm to the sound of your own neurons hitting each other over and over and over in colliding confusion.
What a mystery it was, the other day, after returning home from the beach, I happened to see my back door jar opened and what appeared to be a suit case placed on my living room chair. A letter was placed on top of it, with an address and phone no. that I do not know. What shall I do.
Mysterion the Gold digging rat came to me in a dream. “How be you this fine evening, Trollop”. I hesitated, not only had he come baring gifts but also with an ill temper. Brewed in the pits of hell. Poor bloke.
Mystery. I don’t know about this one, it’s always at the tip of my tongue, like a drop of something like water, but poisonous. It goes down my throat, and by then I have died.
I love the series Sherlock. The one on BBC. It’s utterly awesome. The mystery is great and the story line and characters are dynamic. I, dunno. I’m tired.
Life is a mystery. We do not know how the tables will turn yet we wait to see what will happen. It truly is like a box of chocolates because each one Is protected with a hard shell, just as we are at some point. Yet, in the end, when bitten or broken into…we reveal a soft gooey inside. Life does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?
If he had been a mystery before, he was now a full-blown mystery.
She hadn’t understood why he wore the clothes he wore, styled his hair the way he did, nor listened to the music she could hear blasting out of his earphones when she stood close enough.
But why he stood up for her, against his friends no less, she could not begin to fathom.
she never liked mirrors, but she was gorgeous. was she a narcissist in disguise? surely not, because she was too generous. but, in what circumstance does all symptoms relay a disorder? perhaps in private, she was evil and knew this
You are a mystery. The feel of your skin, the cool texture as you run your fingers down your face, the innocent blink of your eyes, your bashful smile, it is all a complex, inconceivable mystery. I reach out with uncertain hands to solve it, but I find only the impossibility of a dream dreamt too far.
oh my god are you serious? Mystery is the word that I have 60 seconds to write about? What the fuck are the chances? So…Mystery…who to me is AKA un-named person…and I can’t stop thinking about him, and I can’t bring myself to gather my thoughts enough to express to him in a civilized way how I feel….
sherlock holmes unknown scary
stairwells stories clues magnifying glasses m music
magic
trixie belden
agatha christie
nancy drew
unknown
nervous
solve it
desire to solve
intruiging
magical
plot
device
secrets
dark and brooding
what’s to tell
device
attractive
leather jackets
Mystery. Mysterious. Everyone, everything, every place, every event is a mystery. A world full of mysteries, a person filled with emotions, feelings so mysterious. It makes you wonder, just what does mysterious mean? It means mystery, the promise of adventure, of suspense, of something mystical. Mystery.
Ribbons curled about her, twirled about her, as she fell. Her cries disappeared before they left the well. Someone would find her, surely, but they would never know, could never know, the truth…
Mystery is intriguing. Sometimes it resolves easily, sometimes it does not. There are many books on this subject and mystery happens every day around us. From forensics, to simply looking for something like lost car keys. To be honest, life is one big mystery.
my life is what it is a mystery,filled with clues yet no explanation nor execution,never knowing whats around the corner in the end i just have to look…
love is a mystery, beauty is a mystery. these things can be solved, nor should any one ever want to solve them. the mystery behind something is half the fun. appreciate mystery, live by it.
“It is a mystery, isn’t it!” Sheila turned away,smiling to herself. Little did Greg know exactly what a mystery the whole thing was – the little black dresses, the late night rendevous, the fact that she left before dawn every time they were together. He thought it was exciting … and it certainly was about to get exciting!
There was a man walking down the street in the rain, his hat tipped to the side, hiding half of his face to anyone who walked by. The rain dripped off his clothes, and his strolled on the side of the street that was in the shadows… mystery man…
Oh my god, there is professor plum, and he smokes his pipe and looks at me with that mustache, he’s actually looking at me with his white mustache!! which he trims and takes in, he’s walking towards me with his leather boots, and he’s concerned, leans in with a furrowed brow, do you know what it is not that you are looking for? scare??D who dawhat a what now? you are
Suddenly, the thoughts came. A mystery, a thriller. Nobody could explain its origin, nor its fate, nor the scenes and events that would transpire between the two. It didn’t matter, the mystery was complete. Unknown.
Long curly brown hair bouncing behind her as she tapped up the steps.
“Who’s the new girl?” he asked leaning over to Jeffery.
“Hmm?” he looked around, “Oh! The girl on the steps? She’s an art prime, don’t know her name though. Brand new today.”
“Oh. Interesting.” He watched as she stopped at the top and began to rustle through her bag.
“Oh go talk to her if your so ‘interested’.” Jeffery gave me a push and a grin which propelled me to the steps.
Edmund leaped up them as she was putting her bag back on and walking away.
“Um excuse me?” She didn’t hear. “Excuse me? Are you the new girl?” Still nothing. He jogged a bit after her and was directly behind her. Edmund tapped her lightly on the shoulder and felt a sudden buzzing. She turned around and looked at him questioningly. Suddenly Edmund was nervous, “Um hello. I…um, I’m Edmund. I heard that, that you were new. So I thought you could use some help getting around school and…and stuff.” He finished with a nervous laugh.
She simply looked up with bright green eyes and a small smile. She pointed at herself.
“Uhyes! Yes, yes I meant you!”
She nodded and smiled wider, then reached out to his arm. He looked at her hand curiously as thin fingers wrapped around his arm. He turned to her questioning, when suddenly he heard a voice.
‘Hello, I’m Adagia.’
How beautiful. Light as air and soft with some twinkle to it.
But her mouth hadn’t moved, so it wasn’t the new girl.
“Did you hear that?” He looked around.
There was a lovely tinkling laugh. Like bells.
‘It was me.’
Edmund looked down at the smiling face there.
“You?”
She nodded again, with an even larger smile.
“But how?’
‘I am…gifted with certain talents. And since I am unable to speak, I am instead able to communicate through thoughts and physical contact.’
“You-are unable-to speak?” He repeated slowly.
‘No.’ she said simply, ‘I am unable. I was born that way.’
“Oh….wait! You’re….gifted…as well?! I am too! I can…” he lowered his voice, “Well I can control the weather. What is your gift?”
‘Well my thought-speech and…oh no!’
The minute bell had just rung.
‘I have to go!’, she said quickly, ‘Can I meet you here after class? It’s nice to know someone…’
“Sure, I’ll meet you here!”
She let go of my arm and it felt empty. She waved and ran to class.
Adagia.
Adagia ran to class.
Adagia the mystery ran to class.
And Edmund was late.
Edmund was late…
because he watched her the whole way.
a page at the back of a book. the handwriting was sloppy and almost indecipherable; the splotched ink bled through the pages, transforming the letters and morphing much of the connotation. but, slowly, like a song cutting through silence, he could make out the words: “the dark.
he’s coming.”
who?
one of the best kind of books, also an example of what life is… why does life have to be a mystery why cant we just know where it leads t oand how it ends… mystery is aalso how one likes something and others think its absolutely bad.its how choices differ from blood to blood.. or how well they actually match even though the two individuals have nothing in common.
that would be boys…they are super mysterious…I can never understand them. They always say one thing and mean another… They make you think they like you when then they really don’t…I just wish they would stop being so mysterious and be a little more open and honest. I mean seriously…Just quit playing with our feelings…we’re not toys
Mystery is my middle name. You see, I am a professional actress, and I think that everyone is too, because we tend to keep some emotions and feelings to ourselves. We laugh, yet we feel down inside. We say it doesn’t matter, but we know that he or she means everything to us. Life is a stage, everyone is wearing their very own masks.
Her disappearance was a mystery to us all. We never were able to find out where or when she was taken. All they knew was that every year, they went to lay flowers at her grave site in the cemetery. Purple and yellow daisies. Just as she had always said. Purple and yellow.
i once was a mystery. i don’t know what happened to me. it’s a mystery in itself. so, there’s the mystery of how i once was a mystery, and then there’s the mystery of the what happened to said former mystery. i guess the real enigma here is me. me, myself, and i. what am i? who am i? what aren’t i? who aren’t i? where do i go when i’m nowhere to be found?
Mystery is the key to life. It keeps the old young and the ancient new. Mystery is the magic of our world leading us through doors we never thought we as people or humans could pass through.
Peg had hunted throughout the morning, but still she couldn’t find it. She knew there had to be one; she’s overheard them talking about it last night, and the night before, but whichever way she peered at all that there was around her, she just couldn’t work out what what it was that they were trying to work out.
1. The mysteries depicted in Sidney Sheldon’s books are captivating and impeccable.
Widely twisting and having a way out for every difficult situation there is.
2. Detective Carl was mystified with the murder
There are mysteries that even I couldn’t solve. One of which would be why she had a cheese fetish.
unkown
mystery
silent
surprise
If I were to decide how to write about a mystery or a mysterious circumstance I wouldn’t be able to write this. A mystery is a weird thing in itself, isn’t it? Mysteries are quite mysterious. I have no idea what I’m talking about. This is what I get for staying awake this late.
Mystery is confusing yet at the same time fascinating but all around just engulfing. Its as though the book knows its fucking with your head and loves watching you squirm to the sound of your own neurons hitting each other over and over and over in colliding confusion.
What a mystery it was, the other day, after returning home from the beach, I happened to see my back door jar opened and what appeared to be a suit case placed on my living room chair. A letter was placed on top of it, with an address and phone no. that I do not know. What shall I do.
Mysterion the Gold digging rat came to me in a dream. “How be you this fine evening, Trollop”. I hesitated, not only had he come baring gifts but also with an ill temper. Brewed in the pits of hell. Poor bloke.
sometimes it scares you yet excites you, it is a mystery.
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
msyter
mystery
mystery mystery mystery mystery mystery mystery mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
mystery
Mystery is when you have the elements of suspense, and lack of knowledge in order to entice someone’s imagination. The end.
Mystery. I don’t know about this one, it’s always at the tip of my tongue, like a drop of something like water, but poisonous. It goes down my throat, and by then I have died.
I love the series Sherlock. The one on BBC. It’s utterly awesome. The mystery is great and the story line and characters are dynamic. I, dunno. I’m tired.
Life is a mystery. We do not know how the tables will turn yet we wait to see what will happen. It truly is like a box of chocolates because each one Is protected with a hard shell, just as we are at some point. Yet, in the end, when bitten or broken into…we reveal a soft gooey inside. Life does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?
a laugh like fine china, starlit eyes. the dancing flame of a candle. delicate fingers pressed ever so lightly onto soft skin. burning. desire.
If he had been a mystery before, he was now a full-blown mystery.
She hadn’t understood why he wore the clothes he wore, styled his hair the way he did, nor listened to the music she could hear blasting out of his earphones when she stood close enough.
But why he stood up for her, against his friends no less, she could not begin to fathom.
she never liked mirrors, but she was gorgeous. was she a narcissist in disguise? surely not, because she was too generous. but, in what circumstance does all symptoms relay a disorder? perhaps in private, she was evil and knew this
You are a mystery. The feel of your skin, the cool texture as you run your fingers down your face, the innocent blink of your eyes, your bashful smile, it is all a complex, inconceivable mystery. I reach out with uncertain hands to solve it, but I find only the impossibility of a dream dreamt too far.
oh my god are you serious? Mystery is the word that I have 60 seconds to write about? What the fuck are the chances? So…Mystery…who to me is AKA un-named person…and I can’t stop thinking about him, and I can’t bring myself to gather my thoughts enough to express to him in a civilized way how I feel….
sherlock holmes unknown scary
stairwells stories clues magnifying glasses m music
magic
trixie belden
agatha christie
nancy drew
unknown
nervous
solve it
desire to solve
intruiging
magical
plot
device
secrets
dark and brooding
what’s to tell
device
attractive
leather jackets
Not apparent. You must search to find what it means. Detective and books. Love. Life. Must find the answer. Ummm idk.
Mystery. Mysterious. Everyone, everything, every place, every event is a mystery. A world full of mysteries, a person filled with emotions, feelings so mysterious. It makes you wonder, just what does mysterious mean? It means mystery, the promise of adventure, of suspense, of something mystical. Mystery.
Ribbons curled about her, twirled about her, as she fell. Her cries disappeared before they left the well. Someone would find her, surely, but they would never know, could never know, the truth…
Mystery is intriguing. Sometimes it resolves easily, sometimes it does not. There are many books on this subject and mystery happens every day around us. From forensics, to simply looking for something like lost car keys. To be honest, life is one big mystery.
my life is what it is a mystery,filled with clues yet no explanation nor execution,never knowing whats around the corner in the end i just have to look…
love is a mystery, beauty is a mystery. these things can be solved, nor should any one ever want to solve them. the mystery behind something is half the fun. appreciate mystery, live by it.
“It is a mystery, isn’t it!” Sheila turned away,smiling to herself. Little did Greg know exactly what a mystery the whole thing was – the little black dresses, the late night rendevous, the fact that she left before dawn every time they were together. He thought it was exciting … and it certainly was about to get exciting!
There was a man walking down the street in the rain, his hat tipped to the side, hiding half of his face to anyone who walked by. The rain dripped off his clothes, and his strolled on the side of the street that was in the shadows… mystery man…
Oh my god, there is professor plum, and he smokes his pipe and looks at me with that mustache, he’s actually looking at me with his white mustache!! which he trims and takes in, he’s walking towards me with his leather boots, and he’s concerned, leans in with a furrowed brow, do you know what it is not that you are looking for? scare??D who dawhat a what now? you are
Suddenly, the thoughts came. A mystery, a thriller. Nobody could explain its origin, nor its fate, nor the scenes and events that would transpire between the two. It didn’t matter, the mystery was complete. Unknown.
She’s a mystery.
Long curly brown hair bouncing behind her as she tapped up the steps.
“Who’s the new girl?” he asked leaning over to Jeffery.
“Hmm?” he looked around, “Oh! The girl on the steps? She’s an art prime, don’t know her name though. Brand new today.”
“Oh. Interesting.” He watched as she stopped at the top and began to rustle through her bag.
“Oh go talk to her if your so ‘interested’.” Jeffery gave me a push and a grin which propelled me to the steps.
Edmund leaped up them as she was putting her bag back on and walking away.
“Um excuse me?” She didn’t hear. “Excuse me? Are you the new girl?” Still nothing. He jogged a bit after her and was directly behind her. Edmund tapped her lightly on the shoulder and felt a sudden buzzing. She turned around and looked at him questioningly. Suddenly Edmund was nervous, “Um hello. I…um, I’m Edmund. I heard that, that you were new. So I thought you could use some help getting around school and…and stuff.” He finished with a nervous laugh.
She simply looked up with bright green eyes and a small smile. She pointed at herself.
“Uhyes! Yes, yes I meant you!”
She nodded and smiled wider, then reached out to his arm. He looked at her hand curiously as thin fingers wrapped around his arm. He turned to her questioning, when suddenly he heard a voice.
‘Hello, I’m Adagia.’
How beautiful. Light as air and soft with some twinkle to it.
But her mouth hadn’t moved, so it wasn’t the new girl.
“Did you hear that?” He looked around.
There was a lovely tinkling laugh. Like bells.
‘It was me.’
Edmund looked down at the smiling face there.
“You?”
She nodded again, with an even larger smile.
“But how?’
‘I am…gifted with certain talents. And since I am unable to speak, I am instead able to communicate through thoughts and physical contact.’
“You-are unable-to speak?” He repeated slowly.
‘No.’ she said simply, ‘I am unable. I was born that way.’
“Oh….wait! You’re….gifted…as well?! I am too! I can…” he lowered his voice, “Well I can control the weather. What is your gift?”
‘Well my thought-speech and…oh no!’
The minute bell had just rung.
‘I have to go!’, she said quickly, ‘Can I meet you here after class? It’s nice to know someone…’
“Sure, I’ll meet you here!”
She let go of my arm and it felt empty. She waved and ran to class.
Adagia.
Adagia ran to class.
Adagia the mystery ran to class.
And Edmund was late.
Edmund was late…
because he watched her the whole way.
a page at the back of a book. the handwriting was sloppy and almost indecipherable; the splotched ink bled through the pages, transforming the letters and morphing much of the connotation. but, slowly, like a song cutting through silence, he could make out the words: “the dark.
he’s coming.”
who?
He didn’t think,
He took the path,
She paid the price.
And just like that,
She’s gone,
Forever.
He didn’t think,
Just took the path,
She paid the price.
one of the best kind of books, also an example of what life is… why does life have to be a mystery why cant we just know where it leads t oand how it ends… mystery is aalso how one likes something and others think its absolutely bad.its how choices differ from blood to blood.. or how well they actually match even though the two individuals have nothing in common.
that would be boys…they are super mysterious…I can never understand them. They always say one thing and mean another… They make you think they like you when then they really don’t…I just wish they would stop being so mysterious and be a little more open and honest. I mean seriously…Just quit playing with our feelings…we’re not toys
Mystery is my middle name. You see, I am a professional actress, and I think that everyone is too, because we tend to keep some emotions and feelings to ourselves. We laugh, yet we feel down inside. We say it doesn’t matter, but we know that he or she means everything to us. Life is a stage, everyone is wearing their very own masks.
Her disappearance was a mystery to us all. We never were able to find out where or when she was taken. All they knew was that every year, they went to lay flowers at her grave site in the cemetery. Purple and yellow daisies. Just as she had always said. Purple and yellow.
i once was a mystery. i don’t know what happened to me. it’s a mystery in itself. so, there’s the mystery of how i once was a mystery, and then there’s the mystery of the what happened to said former mystery. i guess the real enigma here is me. me, myself, and i. what am i? who am i? what aren’t i? who aren’t i? where do i go when i’m nowhere to be found?
Mystery is the key to life. It keeps the old young and the ancient new. Mystery is the magic of our world leading us through doors we never thought we as people or humans could pass through.