C.Misty
"Welcome," said she, her smile a little crooked. "This is the coven."
"Of what?" asked he, twiddling his thumbs. "Of witchcraft and wizardry and of boiling bones-"
The girl laughed, her frizzy black locks escaping her hood. "Don't be silly, Michael. It's one of knitting."
"Why?" I asked. My voice was flat with a disappointed lilt.
"Don't you know the dangers of putting too many popcorn kernels in the microwave? Mark, I thought you knew better!" I reprimanded, sparing a distraught glance for the ruined kitchen.
"Or, if you really don't want to work in retail, you could tutor as a side job."
"What?" Matthew exclaimed, shocked. "I'm not -"
"Smart enough to do so?" His teacher lowered his glasses. "You are, Matthew. Now go down to St Leanne primary school and apply as soon as possible for a position."
The devil. Or, at least, that is what I called him. I'm pretty sure Alex wasn't the disgraced angel from heaven; however, he did act like the clone of the devil. The nerve of him to get close to someone just to throw them away like a dirty old rag! Alex, you're going to regret what you have done to my friend.
The car was wavering on the road, and as Marianne sipped her tea, her heart caught in her throat as it veered dangerously near her; from where she was sitting, enclosed by her warm garden, no car should have been able to come near. However, this one petered at the very edge of her fence.
"Let me out!" I screamed, banging against the walls, but my cries were useless. I fell down onto the cold, uneven wooden floor, trying to avoid any hidden splinters.
"Hey," a voice said, in barely a whisper.
My head was buried in my dress; my hijab draped across the dusty floor. Hesitantly, I looked up.
"How?" was the girl's simple question.
"They - my - well - they're xenophobic." I throw out the words and stare across the room at the girl; pale skin, blue eyes and soft blonde curls. She probably didn't suffer the same problem.
Her eyes wandered over to my hijab. "Oh," she said softly. "Me too; Jewish. No one's paying attention to the Neo-Nazis."
"Muslim," I replied, reaching my hand over, "and the world's ignoring us minorities. Your name?"
"Helena," she said after a brief pause, firmly shaking my hand. "You?"
"Irmak."
The scope of a project cannot really be evaluated until you understand it. Until you understand the expectations as well as requirements of it. Then you can put forth your best foot, always - unless you're Severus Snape.
I swore as I swerved out of the way - wait for a second, because a horse was barreling towards me? I paused, pulled to the side and looked around. My windows were sprayed with dust and there was a man blinking at me in really old-fashioned clothes.
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
"What's the year?" I cut in breathlessly.
The vines were twisted around the pavilion; clearly, no one had inhabited this place for a very long time.
"Hello?" I said into the nothingness.
I watched the dust rise from a brittle vine I had accidently stumbled across; I don't think Isabelle gave me the correct address.
I peer through the dusty lens of my glasses.
"At least they didn't crack this time?" says Jessica sheepishly.
I glare at her, but it's half-hearted. "At least you replaced them, and I didn't like that pair, anyway. I like this one - you are definitely not trying them on ever again, or at least until you can not drop them."
"Noted. So, when are you meeting Sean again?"
"Tomorrow at noon. Hopefully, he remembers his reading glasses this time; he gets frustrated when he has to squint in order to read the menu." I replied, twisting my woven bracelet around anxiously.
I'm unsure of the current relationship status I have with Sean, but currently, it involves a lot of cursing in passionate rants about Harry Potter.
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