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Charlie's VisitorCharlie Voso knew there were only three ways to deal with rejection by a love interest: accept it and move along with his life, overcompensate for one’s shortcomings through rigorous self-improvement, or bemoan one’s life failures with a giant bowl of chocolate ice cream. He chose the latter.Charlie's Visitor
In the sole room of his apartment complex along Prose Street, he sat on his favorite -- and only -- burgundy couch. He held the bowl of ice cream in his left hand and the spoon in his right, his eyes prone to a particularly glazed look from failing to leave the television screen for three hours.
Vanessa had never been
by ~peaceyoga
Night in the ForestSkylarks perched themselves along the willow tree that supported Elizabeth. She had seen dozens of them today, brown wings edged with white dotting the forest, singing in tinny voices, searching for a place to rest with wings wildly flailing. An apple core laid beside her, its outer edge presently being digested in the concave of her stomach. It was an arduous process that made her insides ache, struggling to contain its flowing juices and ruby skin. By now, though, it would be brown.Night in the Forest
Clutching a book firmly with her right hand, Elizabeth absently scanned its text, the words barely reaching the corners of her mind. A quaint white
by ~peaceyoga
Invisible Aurora limped towards her maroon car one day outside her workplace. With a teal blue and orange striped scarf wrapped around her neck, she entered her car, which smelled faintly of fast food and cigarettes.Invisible
The streets and sidewalks had been glazed overnight with ice, making it difficult to start her car. After a few tries, she placed her hands on the leather steering wheel to discover that her right hand wasn’t there. She could feel its position on the wheel, but it wasn’t visible to her eyes. &
by ~peaceyoga
Chalk-less Streets Lily looks outside her window just as the incessant pouring of rain ceases, the tiny flecks making her vision dizzy. But she can see that the rain has washed away the last traces of the chalk, vibrant greens and pinks and baby blues, leaving giant slabs of concrete, gray under the darkening clouds. Although she has perfectly working electricity, she prefers the candlelight that illuminates the stacks of paper with pen scrawling etched across it, standing atop the wooden desktop. The concave of her stomach is noticeable beneath her thin black shirt, but sChalk-less Streets
by ~peaceyoga
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