miatetangco
The scarf was pink and fluffy. It looked like a gay snake, wrapped around her neck and draped over her shoulders that way. Her beard hung down and mixed with the pink, creating what could possibly have been the gayest outfit ever.
I heard her speaking in the next room, but the words were muffled. I understood her sentiments, however. I heard the anger in her voice, and the hidden insecurity. Don't ask me how I heard it--I simply knew.
The parallel rays of the sun were indistinguishable from this height--he could usually see each delicate, golden strand but tonight... Tonight was different. Tonight he decided to free himself from the smoggy streets of his beloved city and fly higher than he had ever gone before. It was beautiful up here, peaceful.
She took a left turn at the corner. She had thought it was a dead end at first, but that was before she got to the stoplight at the other end. This was where she turned off from Madison street, going about ten meters from when she started at the house.
Christina had been dancing at the Pink Marshmallow Hut for five years now. She had been dreaming of becoming a professional ballerina for some time, but had never plucked up the courage to quit her job and pursue her dream. She grabbed the pole on the bar and hauled herself up with a deep sigh.
The Kindle that Stephen King wrote about in his novella "UR" was pink. It reminded me of how Apple products always have lots of different colors to suit their different consumers' tastes. I wonder if Kindle will ever follow in their footsteps. Because I do know some people who buy things just because of their color.
The green jello jiggled on the plate violently as the waitress weaved through the crowd in the packed restaurant. She held the platter gloriously over everyone's heads, making the jello slip and slide every which way on the smooth surface of the plate.
The ice cream had long ago melted in her hand but still Debbie stared blankly into space. She had gone off on another day dream and, this time, she was flying somewhere over the lands of Thorgon or somewhere over Bolindiva. She never could tell the two apart.
The tack hung loosely from the door. From all its swinging, the little thing had gotten lose and was now about to fall to the floor. It teetered on the edge of the tiny hole it had created long ago. Just as it was about to release itself from its perch, Amy stepped in and pushed it firmly back into place. It would take another few hundred swings of the door again to get it back to where it had just been.
The cub scurried out of the prickly bush and ran to its mother, who eyed the offending plant suspiciously, its eyes narrowed. The leopardess licked the top of her offspring's head, peeling away the small leaves stuck in its fur.
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