Marked by His grace and mercy and more importantly, His Love that surpasses all human understanding. Marked is the key of receiving.
Devon Kidd
He touched her and it felt nice. Words workds workds marked marked marked i have not words to say about tis particular word, but I do like the word marked. Marked is a nice word. I have a series about marks, demons marking humans as their own, a thing that had initially started to protect human lovers but quickly corrupted into a game to taunt one another.
Jasmine
They were looking at the list of possible conspirators, deciding who needed to be…taken care of.
“What about him?” Antony pointed at a name on the list.
“Isn’t that my brother in law?” asked Lepidus.
Antony shrugged. “You said he was rude to you the other day.”
Lepidus shrugged.
Kiki H
it should have been marked that i already completed my task but it wasnt and i dont understand that
yanira
To me, it looked like an invisible watch marked on my wrist, giving me a sense of time that I didn’t realize I needed.
To others, it just looked like a spot of discoloration.
To me, it was my birth mark, and it was anything but a flaw.
This day marked the first year of his death. The very realization made her shudder and brought back all the old memories. She started to live that day again, the day he died.
Alekhya
her personality, her demeanor, had a marked change from the night before. she had been bubbly, almost manic-y. this morning she was sluggish, seemed tired, sloth-like, mumbled a hello as she slowly moved to the breakfast table. just not a morning person. and probably had stayed up too late.
Dark, grey clouds marked the skies this morning, reflecting my mood from last night. I felt as though I had woken up in the middle of the night. I rubbed my eyes and went to the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water, half spilling on the counter and half on my T-shirt.
Shalini
She wore it with pride. Her T-Shirt was her sign to the world. She would not surrender to public opinion. There he was, staring at her shirt with disdain. But there was no way she would give up her tits-shirt.
Fran Hunne
We spotted him easily within the crowd. He was the one dancing to something other than the sounds of voices talking simultaeniously, over the calls of parents to the stray children and the laughter of friends and lovers. We saw him when he moved differently, like one of the voices was for him, somewhere away from the other people. We saw him sidestep, we saw him trip, we saw him twirl. We saw him dance like all the voices had found their chorus and were singing as one.
The skin was scarred. That’s easy to see. Can you see the marks? Can you see the marks that make them human? The marks in their mind, in their behavior. It takes one to know one they say.. grit is the mark. The mark of pure hu
Lauren
I hated being marked in school it wasn’t great. I often didn’t get the marks I wanted and it was extremely disappointing when everyone would get much better marks than me.
Even though I got thoroughly disappointed with my results constantly, I still didn’t change my method of completing studies. I was hopeless.
Michael
Emily glanced down at her essay, her full pink lips drawn together as she debated whether or not to flip it over to reveal the grade marked in scarlet. She had spent hours toiling over this paper, neglecting her social life and health and sleep to achieve perfection. Ms. Bridges was her favorite teacher, and she just had to impress her. But did she?
Annie Rinaldi
Mark mark mak djks ks jfjs kkff ks. MARKED the X on the spot. Yadadda kfkfk
Yasmine Yucker
I was marked absent today, again! When I was clearly sitting there. Literally in the teachers face, how could she mark me absent? I always knew Mrs.Red hated me she did devious things like this. This was the 6th absent, she knew, hell I knew if I’d gotten another absent my ma was going to kill me. They were going to send her a letter about me “skipping her class”. Why would I skip her almost everyday. Well I should since she marks me absent anyways. I decided to go to an admin about this situation to clear this up before it gotten to far. I took my phone out my pocket, unlocking it, going to the camera icon. I flipped the camera towards me pressing record. I silently began to say, “It is November 6, 2017, I am currently in Mrs.Red history class.” I turned the camera on Mrs.Red, “she marked me absent, yet again.” I was even getting fed up with the thought I was saying out loud again.
Michelle Tucker
Marked. It can mean two things which come to mind immediately: 1) Marked, as in academically, grading/evaluating a piece of work. or 2) Marked, as in permanently changed, left with a mark that is there forever.
Ethan
She was at a loss for what to write. She sat next to the window and marked doodles on the page. Her internal world was far from quiet, but somehow she couldn’t seem to translate any of it onto the page.
okayfine
I had been marked from nearly head to toe in the filth of my efforts to restore the car. The paint I had been using was dark black and I had clumsily gotten it all over my hands, arms, and even in some places I was not yet aware. I work in an office in close proximity to others so I wore a long sleeve shirt to work the next day to hide the stains I could not remove.
I had made it most of the day by the time the first passerby mentioned my blackened hands and asked what had happened. Before I could utter even one word in my defense the woman across the hall interjected “He has it on his ears as well. See? Look.” I have since learned that any of business of mine that leaves its mark on my skin becomes the business of those around me.
Kristian Pierce
today I wrote a sentence and I had to mark all the wrong punctuation so I marked them all. sometimes in the store, all the items will be marked down that have not been selling so people can buy them at a lower price.
Jasper7722
He was marked, from the moment he entered and he didn’t even realize it. This would be his last trip to the carnival.
Lee
Richard was a marked target. Wearing a white shirt and nice slacks in the middle of a room of preschoolers. A young boy wobbled forward, snot dripping from his nose and an open purple magic marker in his hand. “Daddy!” the boy cried out, and threw his arms (and the marker) around Richard’s legs. Richard reached down and picked up his son. On the journey up, the marker scribbled all the way up his side and onto his left ear.
Next time he picked his son up from preschool, he decided to change first.
Kiki H
He’d imagined his death a thousand times.
But none was so cruel as the one he dwelled on most: a lifetime spent living the hardest of truths. Reminders of divides is he who lives the most deprived of the contact and affection he derides. Any plot he decides is better than none at all. Except it’s not. And therein lies the cruelty.
Thus he would plunge whatever of himself remains into that dream more times than he could bear to admit if it meant just one more moment with his marked intentions.
Gray
when i was a little girl and i was in class i used to be really bad and have to get my card marked alson whe use to see walls that where marked .
yanira
He felt pain on his forhead, when he came to again. What the .. he put his hand up – and his fingers came back bloody. Slowly he got up and walked home. The people on the street stared at him.
Fran Hunne
She looked down at her paper, full of scribbles and scratches. She hadn’t written in that kind of fervor in so long. The edges of the paper were crumpled with her effort.
Marked with red, dollar bills, identified for culprits, birthmark i used to have on my knee, i still feel it there sometimes, raised and brown and hairy, size of a small quarter, haha, glad its gone, i forget about it, but there is was in that baby photo, plastic surgeon took it out with an eye-shaped incision, not there’s a line-scar, I’m fine with reminders, make me who I am.
July 15th marked the birth of my first novel. I don’t remember a time when I was more excited in life. The date will surely be etched in my memory forever. However, there is also a fear seeping in that I want to get rid of.
Shalini
‘Don’t say another word, Just let it go. You’ve said enough.’
There was a marked silence left behind as she turned away. For a moment it echoed among the banging of cups and plates at the sink, slamming of drawers, the rapid gushing of running water, an expletive or two. As she moved around the kitchen surrounded by this percussion, the hollow that was the silence expanded.
‘I’ve had enough,’ she said before the back door slammed closed.
´´ It is early , I feel tired, i did not sleep very well last night´´, said the marked.
´´ Drink plenty of coffee, take a few slow and deep breaths´´, replied the bell.
Robert Kohlhammer
This is the place where they marked us. I remember the moment I screamed. It’s quite the sensation to be branded, to be labeled, to be burned with the insignia of somebody else. It’s not exactly a romp in the park to be deemed someone else’s property. Yet, here we are, with all the fires around us. The ones we set in the middle of the night.
Marked by His grace and mercy and more importantly, His Love that surpasses all human understanding. Marked is the key of receiving.
He touched her and it felt nice. Words workds workds marked marked marked i have not words to say about tis particular word, but I do like the word marked. Marked is a nice word. I have a series about marks, demons marking humans as their own, a thing that had initially started to protect human lovers but quickly corrupted into a game to taunt one another.
They were looking at the list of possible conspirators, deciding who needed to be…taken care of.
“What about him?” Antony pointed at a name on the list.
“Isn’t that my brother in law?” asked Lepidus.
Antony shrugged. “You said he was rude to you the other day.”
Lepidus shrugged.
it should have been marked that i already completed my task but it wasnt and i dont understand that
To me, it looked like an invisible watch marked on my wrist, giving me a sense of time that I didn’t realize I needed.
To others, it just looked like a spot of discoloration.
To me, it was my birth mark, and it was anything but a flaw.
This day marked the first year of his death. The very realization made her shudder and brought back all the old memories. She started to live that day again, the day he died.
her personality, her demeanor, had a marked change from the night before. she had been bubbly, almost manic-y. this morning she was sluggish, seemed tired, sloth-like, mumbled a hello as she slowly moved to the breakfast table. just not a morning person. and probably had stayed up too late.
Dark, grey clouds marked the skies this morning, reflecting my mood from last night. I felt as though I had woken up in the middle of the night. I rubbed my eyes and went to the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water, half spilling on the counter and half on my T-shirt.
She wore it with pride. Her T-Shirt was her sign to the world. She would not surrender to public opinion. There he was, staring at her shirt with disdain. But there was no way she would give up her tits-shirt.
We spotted him easily within the crowd. He was the one dancing to something other than the sounds of voices talking simultaeniously, over the calls of parents to the stray children and the laughter of friends and lovers. We saw him when he moved differently, like one of the voices was for him, somewhere away from the other people. We saw him sidestep, we saw him trip, we saw him twirl. We saw him dance like all the voices had found their chorus and were singing as one.
The skin was scarred. That’s easy to see. Can you see the marks? Can you see the marks that make them human? The marks in their mind, in their behavior. It takes one to know one they say.. grit is the mark. The mark of pure hu
I hated being marked in school it wasn’t great. I often didn’t get the marks I wanted and it was extremely disappointing when everyone would get much better marks than me.
Even though I got thoroughly disappointed with my results constantly, I still didn’t change my method of completing studies. I was hopeless.
Emily glanced down at her essay, her full pink lips drawn together as she debated whether or not to flip it over to reveal the grade marked in scarlet. She had spent hours toiling over this paper, neglecting her social life and health and sleep to achieve perfection. Ms. Bridges was her favorite teacher, and she just had to impress her. But did she?
Mark mark mak djks ks jfjs kkff ks. MARKED the X on the spot. Yadadda kfkfk
I was marked absent today, again! When I was clearly sitting there. Literally in the teachers face, how could she mark me absent? I always knew Mrs.Red hated me she did devious things like this. This was the 6th absent, she knew, hell I knew if I’d gotten another absent my ma was going to kill me. They were going to send her a letter about me “skipping her class”. Why would I skip her almost everyday. Well I should since she marks me absent anyways. I decided to go to an admin about this situation to clear this up before it gotten to far. I took my phone out my pocket, unlocking it, going to the camera icon. I flipped the camera towards me pressing record. I silently began to say, “It is November 6, 2017, I am currently in Mrs.Red history class.” I turned the camera on Mrs.Red, “she marked me absent, yet again.” I was even getting fed up with the thought I was saying out loud again.
Marked. It can mean two things which come to mind immediately: 1) Marked, as in academically, grading/evaluating a piece of work. or 2) Marked, as in permanently changed, left with a mark that is there forever.
She was at a loss for what to write. She sat next to the window and marked doodles on the page. Her internal world was far from quiet, but somehow she couldn’t seem to translate any of it onto the page.
I had been marked from nearly head to toe in the filth of my efforts to restore the car. The paint I had been using was dark black and I had clumsily gotten it all over my hands, arms, and even in some places I was not yet aware. I work in an office in close proximity to others so I wore a long sleeve shirt to work the next day to hide the stains I could not remove.
I had made it most of the day by the time the first passerby mentioned my blackened hands and asked what had happened. Before I could utter even one word in my defense the woman across the hall interjected “He has it on his ears as well. See? Look.” I have since learned that any of business of mine that leaves its mark on my skin becomes the business of those around me.
today I wrote a sentence and I had to mark all the wrong punctuation so I marked them all. sometimes in the store, all the items will be marked down that have not been selling so people can buy them at a lower price.
He was marked, from the moment he entered and he didn’t even realize it. This would be his last trip to the carnival.
Richard was a marked target. Wearing a white shirt and nice slacks in the middle of a room of preschoolers. A young boy wobbled forward, snot dripping from his nose and an open purple magic marker in his hand. “Daddy!” the boy cried out, and threw his arms (and the marker) around Richard’s legs. Richard reached down and picked up his son. On the journey up, the marker scribbled all the way up his side and onto his left ear.
Next time he picked his son up from preschool, he decided to change first.
He’d imagined his death a thousand times.
But none was so cruel as the one he dwelled on most: a lifetime spent living the hardest of truths. Reminders of divides is he who lives the most deprived of the contact and affection he derides. Any plot he decides is better than none at all. Except it’s not. And therein lies the cruelty.
Thus he would plunge whatever of himself remains into that dream more times than he could bear to admit if it meant just one more moment with his marked intentions.
when i was a little girl and i was in class i used to be really bad and have to get my card marked alson whe use to see walls that where marked .
He felt pain on his forhead, when he came to again. What the .. he put his hand up – and his fingers came back bloody. Slowly he got up and walked home. The people on the street stared at him.
She looked down at her paper, full of scribbles and scratches. She hadn’t written in that kind of fervor in so long. The edges of the paper were crumpled with her effort.
Marked with red, dollar bills, identified for culprits, birthmark i used to have on my knee, i still feel it there sometimes, raised and brown and hairy, size of a small quarter, haha, glad its gone, i forget about it, but there is was in that baby photo, plastic surgeon took it out with an eye-shaped incision, not there’s a line-scar, I’m fine with reminders, make me who I am.
Hello!
July 15th marked the birth of my first novel. I don’t remember a time when I was more excited in life. The date will surely be etched in my memory forever. However, there is also a fear seeping in that I want to get rid of.
‘Don’t say another word, Just let it go. You’ve said enough.’
There was a marked silence left behind as she turned away. For a moment it echoed among the banging of cups and plates at the sink, slamming of drawers, the rapid gushing of running water, an expletive or two. As she moved around the kitchen surrounded by this percussion, the hollow that was the silence expanded.
‘I’ve had enough,’ she said before the back door slammed closed.
´´ It is early , I feel tired, i did not sleep very well last night´´, said the marked.
´´ Drink plenty of coffee, take a few slow and deep breaths´´, replied the bell.
This is the place where they marked us. I remember the moment I screamed. It’s quite the sensation to be branded, to be labeled, to be burned with the insignia of somebody else. It’s not exactly a romp in the park to be deemed someone else’s property. Yet, here we are, with all the fires around us. The ones we set in the middle of the night.