Belle French was dragged out of the pleasant haze of her dreams the day after her meeting with Mr. Gold by the sound of her phone’s alarm blaring from on top of her dresser. Ignoring its harsh sounds, she attempted to bury herself further into the warm mountain of sheets and pillows that was her bed, but it was to no avail, and so groaning in frustration she crawled out of bed. Blue eyes barely opened, she fumbled for her phone, promptly turning off the obnoxious beeping and then slipping it into the pocket of her plaid pjs.
The first thing that she realized after having walked into the bathroom and splashed some ice cold water on her face to wake herself up was that it was Sunday. She groaned. She had forgotten to turn off her alarm again and as a result she was now wide awake at seven in the morning on the one day she didn’t have class for absolutely no reason.
She let out a little sigh as she trudged into what she supposed could be called a kitchen, but in all honesty was more of a 4 by 4 square with a fridge, an oven, and a sink, to make herself a cup of tea. As she waited for the water to boil she looked begrudgingly around at her tiny one bedroom flat. It was all of seven hundred and fifty square feet, sparsely furnished with the cheapest effects she could find on craigslist, and entirely on the wrong side of town. It was cramped and sad but it was all she could afford.
She had grown up in a provincial little town a few miles outside of Sydney, Australia. Her father had been the mayor and she had lived in a castle of a home. She spent the greater part of her days being ordered around by her father's PR company. She was told what to wear, and what to say, where to go, who to speak to, whom to ignore, when to smile...
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...him and in the most unnerving kind of way - the way that one is drawn to the fire during a harsh winter, knowing that if one got too close they would get burned, and yet shuffling closer still to feel the warmth and to watch as the flames licked and flickered against the fireplace.
Unfortunately, neither curiosity nor being drawn to the sense of danger exuded explained the way her heart raced and her palms sweat. No man had ever had that effect on her, not even men she had been in a 'serious' relationship with, so why a man she had just met made her feel that way was completely beyond her.
And so she brushed it off as him just being more handsome and cordial than what she had prepared for, yet she knew it was something more than that.
She looked up at the clock on the wall across from her - 7:30am.
Suddenly next Saturday couldn't come fast enough.
, how it drowns to his attention how much he had longed for his sister/future wife to be. Yet he never felt so lonely whilst within her company. Whether it was the fact that the burning desire driven him away. Or just his sheer highly intelligent curiosity got in the way of settling for second best.
?The tenement was a long passageway of ruined houses, all exactly the same; small impoverished dwellings built of cement, each with a single door and two windows. They were painted in drab colors and their peeling walls were linked across the narrow passageway by wires hung from side to side. [She] walked deeper into the neighborhood, avoiding puddles of dirty water that overflowed from the gutters and dodging piles of garbage in which cats were digging like silent shadows. In the center of the little...
Marie’s grandparent’s had an old farm house, which was one of many homes in which she lived, that she remembers most. The house was huge, she learned to walk, climb stairs, and find hiding places in it. The house had a wide wrap around porch with several wide sets of stairs both in front and in back. She remembers sitting on the steps and playing with one of the cats, with which there was a lot of cats living on the farm...
As the time passed, it was clear to both of them that their relationship will not turn into a sexual one, but into something much more profound. He did not want it to be compromised by carnality. The urgent appetite they felt for each other could not be satisfied by mere adhesion to lust. They had to deal with their souls, hearts and minds, as well as their bodies.
The third blaring buzz of my alarm woke me as I groggily slid out of bed to the shower. It was the start of another routine morning, or so I thought. I
The narrator has always wanted to live in a house like in TV. Her parents have always told her, “And we’d have a basement and at least three washrooms so when we took a bath we wouldn't have to tell everybody.” But when they eventually did get and move into a real house it was nothing like what she had imagined, “But the house on Mango Street is not the way they told it at all...Bricks are crumbling in places, and the front door is so swollen you have to push hard to get in...There are stairs in our house, but they’re ordinary hallway stairs, and the house has only one washroom. Everybody has to
Allison Vandemore looked back one last time at the dilapidated weekly rental as she pulled a dark strand of hair behind her round ear. How it looked even less livable than what it had ten short months before, she wasn’t sure. Still, she was certain a small part of her would cherish the time spent in the duplex style apartment. Although she was ecstatic this chapter of her life was finally over. The rotten siding, broken window panes, as well as the sagging roof with patches of missing shingles, felt like home. It’s the only real home I’ve known, she thought pressing her lips thin and nodding to herself.
sees her “mortal beauty” and with face a “flame[d]” runs away because he suddenly imagines “fall[ing….
She woke up at 6:00 am one morning to the sounds of loud banging on the door, but she was used to it as that was just her morning alarm. She got out of bed and changed into her baggy, worn-out red dress that didn’t fit her right anymore. She then made her bed, making sure to keep the crisp white sheets straight
They had left the cardboard boxes in the back of the car. Connie Drywood huddled behind the steering wheel and stared through the windshield, presumably at a house, with a flat expression across her face as if it were every other house in America. By now she was used to the middle of nowhere. Dead leaves swooned in the yard. Loose shutters banged in the windows. It was November, a cold day and the house, with its slanted roof and yellow siding, looked a bit like an oversized wedge of cheddar cheese.
Roslyn groaned piteously. Maybe if she just waited a little longer the sun would go away and leave her alone. Wait... Roslyn thought. There was something wrong with that idea... What was... "Oh shit!" Roslyn sat up, throwing the blanket off of her. She blinked, dazed by the light and tried to get her head to stop spinning and her eyes to focus. She was lying on the sofa under a blanket. She cast her eyes around her until she found her phone on the coffee table. She grabbed at it, missed, then sat up with her feet on the floor and leaned forward to grab it. In leaning forward, she threw up in her
Anyway, she had heard that a boy and his mother were moving into the neighborhood. "What fun," she thought. The locals were becoming used to her daily antics. What she didn't know, was that they would be moving into her wonderfully dilapidated house, to turn it into a cozy tearoom. If they had known it was more "Dilapidated," than "Wonderful," they probably would've chosen a different spot, but the man who they had bought it from had insisted, that with a little work it could certainly be converted into a beautiful tearoom fit for a queen. And sure enough, they came straight to her house and barged right in. Straight away the mother started to clean, and the boy began to make a fire, Right under t...
“Eva come inside!” shouted Jeannine. I was sitting on the porch watching the neighbors play around in the street. I got up and headed inside, Jeannine was making soup for the millionth time. We didn’t have much, just bread and some vegetables from the pitiful garden. The house was very worn, and rustic looking. Hinges were almost falling off the door. I sat down at the table quickly. She handed me a bowl of soup graciously.
smell. It was the kind of smell that made her want to curl up next to him. She
I scarcely snoozed at all, the day before; incidentally, I felt insecure regarding the fact of what the unfamiliar tomorrow may bring and that was rather unnerving. After awakening from a practically restless slumber, I had a hefty breakfast expecting that by the conclusion of the day, all I wanted to do is go back home and sleep. Finally, after it was over, my dad gladly drove me to school; there, stood the place where I would spend my next four years of my life.