popgoestheweasel
When I was young I used to play with those glitter wands, filled with oil and sequins and sparkles. I had a pink one. I would pretend I was a fairy and everything my wand would touch would live a long, happy life.
It's funny the way people think. Some people aren't afraid to make nasty remarks about someone or something they don't like. Does that make them disrespectful? Nasty? Unkind? Or is it something to be respected? That they're not afraid to stand up for their beliefs?
"Whatever suits you best," she said.
"Alright then. I'll stick with this one."
He picked up his things and walked out of the shop with his brand new toy.
Most would regard it as a weapon of mass destruction.
Except him. His plan was fatal and he knew it.
But it gave him a sense of joy.
And he knew it was what suited him best.
The X-ray was nothing more than a tough reminder of what she had already known.
She had felt it coming. She knew what was to happen.
The doctors had located a 3-inch tumor in her spine.
Removing it would cause paralysis from the neck down, leaving it there would do the same.
It had been centuries since she laid a finger on the book.
Apprehensively she pulled it out from the bookshelf, taking special care not to damage it. Ever so gently, she folded back the cover, took a deep breath, and read.
She cried.
Pulled her hair.
Grabbed my shoulders, pleading.
I hopped on the train and headed for nowhere.
I already wrote about wrapped. Scroll down, you'll see mine. About candy and kids in high school.
writing since 2010 · 8 entries · 7 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Liz showed up.
2longest streak
7days written
4.3entries / week
the words Liz reaches for
candywrappedwrappersalreadypulledbestafraidnastydeliciousinsideacquirefalsemakingunlovablefriendschange