Light drifts of dust and shell debris hovered in the heavy air, borne aloft as Nisa pried apart the smooth-grained husks to expose the delectable meat within. Ingram headed off the undercurrents of a sneeze with the back of her arm and steered herself away from the island, lest she contaminate their food preparations.
She held herself exceedingly still against the back counter until the tickle in her throat settled into a mild, throat-clearing cough. She was hardly surprised that the merchant was adept at navigating her pantry from the get-go: the order of her kitchen was impeccable; copper pots, iron pans, and sterling cooking implements dangled resplendently from the walls, arranged in multi-tiered rows of increasing size and metallurgical composition.
However little credit she gave Nisa for her ability to sort through the nuances of her cabinets, Ingram was quite impressed by the woman's efficiency at cracking open the pecans. The shells were brittle and liable to splinter to tiny, glass-like pieces if they were split the wrong way. Rarely did she ever feel so pleased to watch another person accomplish a task she had intended to finish herself, but Nisa had a knack for instilling confidence and calm in every domain of her life; so much so that during the merchant's previous visits she had even resorted to inventing chores and side projects just so they could spend time in one another's company, engaged side-by-side in solemn, patient work around the castle.
It was then Nisa chanced to speak, "It might be best to take a break at some point."
"No," she said at once. A silence descended on the room, interrupted by the popping sound of burst shells. Ingram reinstalled herself by the wood-burning stove, stubbornly firm in he...
... middle of paper ...
...still manage to say the wrong thing nearly ninety percent of the time. Thus, with an edgewise glance at her friend to gauge her reaction, she evaded the present subject and all its prickly implications of needless rest and instead turned the talk to pleasanter imaginings of the future, "Nisa, I may follow you the next time you leave town, since you seem to be the only competent person in the world who listens to my genius-like ideas." Long had she wanted to traverse the continents and explore the ceaselessly changing landscapes therein, but she loathed the idea of travelling accompanied, as some cumbersome accessory to Nisa's nomadic business. For a calculated space of time, she let the idea play out in the merchant's mind; then she had to ask, "Is it true that there are roads made of dirt? Has no one heard of soap? Soap is an equally viable road-building material."
It isn’t long before another interruption comes cluttering up to country road toward the Allen Ranch. This time it comes in the form of a worn wagon, drawn by two mismatched horses, and a large rugged man sitting behind the reins. Elisa appears to be somewhat static as she introduces herself to the peddler, making it known that he is drawing her away from her duties. But the peddler, who is just trying to find something to fix-up for money, sparks a vigor in Elisa, and she suddenly gains interest in everything he says, as benign as it may be. This peddler, who merely altered Elisa’s routine, has immediately altered her life. The change in routine is the first in many years for her...
“Pardon me?” Miss Allen asked, finally putting an end to the creepy ass moment of deadly silence. The perplexed expression on her face grew more confound with each passing second, but the gentleness in her eyes remained the same.
She was sitting there the room was in utter silence. She quickly packed her belongings and hid them behind the brown cupboard. Was she really going to run
The previous week they had performed the spell successfully. After contacting Mordred, Merlin and Morgana had arranged to meet him and Aglain, the leader of the druid camp, in the woods near a small waterfall, halfway between Camelot and the grave of Gorlois. Morgana always went on her annual pilgrimage to her father's tomb at this time of the year, at the end of spring.
Lilly Barels never thought she would be a writer. As a UCLA graduate who double majored in Neuroscience and Dance, her relationship with creative writing ended in High School. However, almost fifteen years later, in the midst of a broken marriage and lost in the fog of un-fulfillment, Barels discovered the creative channel that would transform her from a high school physics teacher to a soon-to-be published writer. After a passionate and healing love affair with poetry, she was accepted into the MFA program at Antioch Los Angeles. In 2012, Barels received her Masters in Creative Writing with a focus in fiction. Barels just finished her second novel, and she is a regular contributor to Huffington Post.
As Manley Pointer slammed the barn door shut behind him, the ladder to the loft collapsed to the floor. Hulga did all she could—scream. Minutes passed. Hours dragged on as Hulga continued crying for help. Deeming her efforts futile, Hulga wept. As the sun set beyond the horizon, Hulga’s eyes dried up. With no glasses and no rays of sun seeping in through the cracks in the roof, Hulga felt around blindly, gathering a small bundle of hay upon which to lay her head.
Mrs Ida would simply shake her head and let go of her wrist. Her husband, old man Kenton was another story. He was a silent, evil, cruel man that made it clear that the foster kids in the house were a necessary nuisance. He'd tell that to her every night, while he silently ran his gnarled old hands over her body under the clean sheets Mrs Ida placed on the bed every night. He'd lick her trembling lips and slowly thrust his nauseating tongue down her throat. She would close her eyes and pretend that she was somewhere else. Kenton would always remind her that she was lucky they took her in as a foster kid. Most folks don't want a foster kid that's turning 15. They just too much trouble. She was glad he was dead and that was the end.
My initial response to having read Editha is that I feel Editha is so blinded by her religiosity towards war that, and so vehement in her defense of said religiosity, that it could be said that she is a zealot. In my view, I feel she represents the humanitarian interventionist/religious imperialist view when, after George tells her that it's come to war after hearing of it, she says to him, “But don't you see, dearest, that it wouldn't have come to this, if it hadn't been in the order of Providence? And I call any war glorious that is for the liberation of people who have been struggling for years against the cruelest oppression” (Howells 127). She suggests
A thick plume of black smoke and ash hung in the air in a heavy haze, almost completely obscuring the lurid red glow of the waning sun. Below, a cloud of grey plaster dust twisted and writhed amid the sea of debris as intermittent eddies of wind gusted by.
There once was a man named Franswah, and he had a wife named Keisha. They both lived in Keithville, Atlanta. They had a little girl named Jasmine, she was twelve years of age and she attended Ghettoville Jr. High School in the seventh grade. Keisha never did like doing anything, so her husband Franswah decided to go out and have an affair with a lady named Shay. Franswah and Shay worked at a law firm together. Shay was his assistant, she always helped him with things and they always went to lunch together. So some nights he never came home or either he came in late. Keisha was never the type of person to just argue, she mainly just questioned him to see what the response would be and she left it alone until the next morning. So one night when he came in he had a funny odor and Keisha asked him what was up with the smell, he told her that he had been working out and got sweaty. Their daughter Jasmine had very high blood pressure, so most of the time she didn’t go to school because of her condition and she stayed ill. Keisha had a younger sister named Ashley, she is the rowdy type that doesn’t care and will tell anybody anything. Keisha was telling her sister about Franswah coming in late, having a odor on him and don’t want to be questioned. So one day when Ashley was over there and he walked in she confronted him and told him if she find out that’s its that he’s cheating on her she was gone handle it. So he got mad and started hollering at Keisha for telling her sister about what was going on in their relationship. Then that’s when Ashley came back and told him that she can tell her anything she want to tell her because that’s her sister. So few minutes later the phone rings and its was Shay. Keisha answers the phone and it was another lady’s voice, and she asked to speak to Franswah. So she asked her who is calling and she told her that it was Franswah’s baby mother. Everyone is in shock, so Ashley gets on the phone and started getting rowdy. Ashley was asking her different questions like how old is the baby, where she live, and where did Franswah and her meet.
Eric made his way to Mariah’s house like he said he would. He hasn’t seen her all day and he knew she wasn’t going to attend the blue diamond’s club that evening. As he pulled up at her condominium, he parked in an empty parking spot before making his way to her door. A few seconds after he knocked, Mariah opened the door slowly biting her bottom lip.
Food has been a great part of how he has grown up. He was always interested in how food was prepared. He wanted to learn, even if his mother didn’t want him to be there. “I would enter the kitchen quietly and stand behind her, my chin lodging upon the point of the hip. Peering through...
One dark day Mary how is this Mary well she a 21 year old how lives out in banff she’s 5 ft 6 has rainbow hair moved out to banff after her mom died and her dad left her when she was one. But anyway back to the story Mary thought hey why don’t i go for a walk all take Mac’s with me. Mac’s is my dog he is 4 month old and he is a silver lab. Where to go where to go hey why not climb the mountain.Will stay the night in a tant what do you think Mac’s ya i think it’s a good idea to last go 4 heures later. Mac’s? Mac’s? Mac’s? where are you Mac’s.
Clementine was a twelve year old girl. She was like any other child. She loved to draw, to read, and she had the most caring and compassionate Mother in the world. She had a perfect and regular life, or so she thought. There was something different about Clementine. She thought she was just a normal kid, but Clementine had a gift. Well, more of a curse actually. She had a very powerful mind, and when she would dream, her mind would become a strong and powerful place. A very dangerous place. She didn't know it at the time but when Clementine would dream, whatever she dreamt would become a reality.
That was the difference between them: while Ingram was still worked up in a lather of neurotic stirrings, Nisa was sailing through her work with a lighthearted ease that in no way hindered her dexterity. But the witch did not consider it a divisive contrast that ran afoul of their friendship, rather more of a keystone that hoisted up and bridged the long-running span of their relationship.