hopefully123
The teacher only mentioned it in class. Apparently my best friend's cancer was only worthy of a passing remark. Of a word, a glance, an awkward quiet from people who just want to move on already. But it's not worth just mentioning. It should be addressed, discussed. We should be made prepared for having this is our lives.
Golden andsoft, light floats off the fairy lights onto the make shift dance floor. Had i known was a my surprise,l party, i would have put on a dress, not worn flip flops. but it was perfect all the same, good music and friends, all singing and dancing and connecting and talking and being, we were we, all existing in this moment, and one day this would be nothing but a perfect memory.
We are not possible. We are not in a world of windows and clouds and doors. We are caution tape and ceilings and bricks. We are a rejection letter to a school you never had a chance of going to and not the expression on a kid's face when he first grasps the concept of what a star is. We are not possible.
Before. it is pre. not change. static. it is good, better, best, awful, horrendous but no matter what it is lost. it is before, it is ow now. it is pictures and memories feelings and it is not completely real in the same way that it once was, because it is past and gone and faded.
She walked through the fair, the smells of stale fried food and sweet sweat everywhere. Michelle hadn't been to one in so long, not since two schools agin. It was a great night, al ittle chilly,all lights and cheap games. It made her think of happier times.
Lemon hair like a dandelion and yellow dress to match. Seriously, this was one bright yellow five year old. I mean, I realize lemonade is yellow, but does on must dress solely in the color of the product they are selling? Her eyes, however, were keen and sharp, alarmingly so for one small. She was determine to get as many quarters from elders as possible.
"It's all sleek lines and planes", he said enthusaticly. Mr. Thomas ("Just Thomas!" he chirped, but my teacher strictly insisted on "Mr. Thomas".) was explaining his design for a building. Really, it looked like everything else, but his wonder and excitment made me care about this building, too. It seem like such a big deal, this ugly thing, because the smile on his face enticed yu to believe it was.
The tour guide was leading them into the next room, but Aaron didn't want to leave this one. Why would anyone? Gracefully high ceiling, stain glass windows, a beautiful echo from the past. However, once the pictures were taken and children began to squirm, no one wanted to remain. No one wanted to linger and imagine the greatness that once happened in such a wondrous room.
I saw her while being marched to my sterile cell. Gray hair, in a bun. White, plain, formidable clothes. Exactly what you would expect from the head warden if such prestigious prison. I could swear that when she looked at me, that disgust in her eyes was not the required kind, but the personal kind. Well, woopie. How grand of a time I will hve
It tasted like hope. I know that sounds like a slight exgratation, but after a few days attempting run a way, mac and cheese like it was cooked by gods. But I had to come back. What would sweet, little Michelle do trapped in a house with him? Even if mom refused to look at me, even if the bruises Michelle got from Dad were turning blue and yellow, I had my artificial cheese and for a moment, even thing would be ok.
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