chuppers
The kit contained everything she needed: every size of lock pick she could imagine, along with grease for the hinges and gloves to hide her fingerprints.
This was real. There was nothing amateur about it.
He looked far too old to be a waiter, she thought, scrutinizing him. The man had a bushy walrus mustache, wavy shoulder-length hair, and bright hazel eyes that twinkled at her under his white caterpillar eyebrows. He was obviously hiding an amused smile as he asked her, "What can I get for you today, miss?"
He had taken her hostage the minute they met, though he would never know it. He had bewitched her, body and soul, had taken her captive with his beautiful voice, sunny smile, and loving heart.
The punch connected with great force, sending me sprawling to the ground in an instant. "How dare you," she growled at me, her now bruised fist shaking in anger. "What gives you the right?"
She had so many hats that it was almost ridiculous. I couldn't help but stare around; the wall was full of them. They were mostly 'old lady hats', old-fashioned, wide-brimmed pieces with gigantic feathers, bows, and occasionally birds attached in what might have been to someone else an artistic pattern.
The world tilted and pitched beneath me, and I suddenly found it extremely difficult to stay upright. Oh dear, I thought distantly, it's happened again. My vision grayed at the edges, and I swallowed dizzily, searching for a water fountain; I had dehydrated myself again.
The stroller was heavier than she would have expected, but then again, she didn't know what to expect when it came to babies. They were so foreign to her, so irritating, so frightening, that she never knew what to do with them. Usually she stayed far away, but she had been roped into helping, and she had to constantly suppress the anger within her- it seemed that the people who would make the best parents were the ones who could never have little ones of their own.
He wasn't sure what his calling was; all he knew was that he had to find it. Everyone around him had already found theirs - doctors, graphic designers, scientists, teachers, linguists... the Decided were all around him, mocking his indecision and giving it names with their derisive stares: Inadequacy, Weakness, Failure.
Overjoyed. It seems like one of those odd English words that doesn't mean what you think it should. Shouldn't someone who is overjoyed have too much joy? Perhaps it isn't possible. Joy is so fleeting anyway that it mustn't be possible to have more than you can handle.
The rustling in the trees startled me. Everything had been so quiet just a second before, and what should have been a peaceful noise made me suddenly, fearfully aware of how very alone I was.
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