Notoriously known for blurting out secrets, Ross was proud of himself for staying hush until today.
I made a mistake.
I shouldn’t have said ‘yes.’
Happy Sunday lovelies! I haven’t really shared much about myself, so when I stumbled upon this tag on Travel in Retrospect, I thought it would be a lovely way to get better acquainted. Be sure to check out Travel in Retrospect’s blog, it’s incredible!
Without further ado, the ‘About Me’ Tag (25 questions).
I pulled the shorter straw.
I am the unlucky intern that has to break the bad news.
I long for the the day when you want to speak to me and not because you’re in trouble or need something. I beg you to stop emotionally abusing me into giving you what you want. It doesn’t matter what I give or how much I give because to you, it’s consistently insufficient. Never have my acts been returned with a “thank you.” Instead I get an ache in my gut telling me that this will not be the last time. It’s painful knowing that I’m just a mere tool, only to be used and unappreciated.
Do you understand how much it hurts to be so powerless, unable to say “no” because it’s coming from someone I love? From someone that’s supposed to love me unconditionally.
After we speak, I’m always left with the same thought: ‘Are all families like this?’
Christmas is her favourite time of year.
(17th December 1945 -)
Dame Jacqueline Wilson is one of the nation’s most-loved and favourite authors with her books being cherished by young readers. She has sold millions of copies worldwide, the total stands at over 40 million for the UK alone and her books have been translated into 34 different languages. Read More »
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
Roald Dahl was a British author and fighter pilot who fought in the Second World War. Dahl wrote a total of 19 children’s books throughout his decades-long writing career, earning several awards and his books selling more than 250 million copies worldwide. Read More »
Happy Halloween, witches and demons!
May your cauldrons be overflowing with chocolate and your window sills be lined with pumpkins…Enjoy these two sentence stories.
I wake up at midnight to check on my newborn baby and strangely, I can’t hear him crying or whimpering. When I enter his bedroom, the crib is empty and a chilling voice comes from behind me, “Mummy.”
I usually liked sleeping with my back facing the closet. That was until I was sent a photo of my sleeping form, taken through the door shutters.
She was sobbing on their bed alone then suddenly felt a cold arm wrap around her shoulders and her boyfriend whisper, “Don’t cry, my darling.” But she buried him in their garden last week.
Looking in the mirror, I see a bloody face with a broken jaw, dirty hair, ripped clothes and a right arm hanging loosely from its socket. I lift a shaking hand to my clean face and notice the clock behind my busted reflection: 12:30pm, this is me in an hour.
I place the shoebox on my lap and riffle through its contents of private close-ups, wide angles, coloured and grayscale photos. Why has my wife taken all these photos of our neighbour’s daughter?
His eyes zoomed in on the girl standing near the corner of the conveyor belt and grinned to himself, he has finally found his next victim. Her suitcase would later be labelled as ‘unclaimed’.
Mummy and Daddy brought home a little boy last week. Sometimes I wake up to find him standing over my bed holding a pillow.
Screaming before falling asleep comforts him. It reminds him that he is still alive, unlike the decaying body beside him.
I watch anxiously as the planchette leads my fingers across the board, ‘J’ ‘O’ ‘I’, a crash from the flat upstairs briefly breaks my concentration and when I look back at the board, my hand is now resting on ‘E’. A cold presence washes over me, I feel a tongue flicker against my ear like a snake, “JOIN ME” and a hand clamps over my mouth silencing my screams.
I enjoy getting praises especially during halloween for my realistic decorations, my personal favourite is the family of skeletons hanging from the tree in my front garden. On a related note, their house next door is now for sale.
What scary two sentence stories can you come up with? 🙂 Let me know!
His hands always have a strong grasp on mine.
(The 1st two sentences comes from a prompt on Penguin Random House ‘The Writers Academy’, it was submitted by Rhiannon D’Averc from United Kingdom. Thank you for the inspiration!)
I have accumulated lots of books (amongst other things) over the past 8 years, leaving my room and closet to be slightly untidy (maybe a little more than ‘slightly’….)
Today, I have decided to share the stuff which can be found on my bookshelf (the interesting and the embarrassing).
I spent days rewriting and perfecting my vows. But I never got to say them aloud.
Spent 17 hours in labour with twins. Only took one home.
My girlfriend and best friend were found in a car crash with suitcases and my dog in the back seat. I still cry at night for my dog.
I watched as they sentenced my mother to 10 years in prison. As she disappeared through the doorway, I let out a sigh of relief.
A bouquet of a dozen red roses. One for each hour they were married.
I could hear everything that was happening around me. But they couldn’t hear me screaming to not turn off life support.
He called his Mum to tell her that he and his kids are no longer visiting this weekend. She blew the candles on her birthday cake alone.
She watched as her husband was laid to rest. No-one noticed the small smirk on her face or the fact that her sister was crying harder than his mother.
A couple told their 12 years old son that they were getting a divorce. They heard him on the phone planning a party later that night.
I sent her a text saying, ‘See you at home’ and immediately got the reply, ‘Can’t wait.’ She was buried last week.
What do you think? What 2 Sentence Stories can you come up with? 🙂 I am excited to know!
I welcome the escape of nature.
A beautiful green forest with the bright colours of blooming and blossoming flowers – red, purple, yellow and white. My fingers itch to pluck them from the soil. If I find some daisies, I can perhaps make a daisy chain.
The breeze blows my long blonde hair back. Goosebumps form on my face and neck as the cool air makes contact with my skin.
The warm grass feels so soft under my bare feet. I step out of the shadow of a tree trunk and into the sunlight which instantly warms my skin, causing me to relax and feel at ease erasing all my previous worries away. The sun is hidden by the tall trees and its branches.
Walking deeper through the forest, I come across the sound of soft crashing and flowing water. It brings me towards a beautiful, blue waterfall. The water is so clear, I can make out the cave and rocks behind the waterfall.
A few people jump off from the top with their arms raised above their head. Excited screams and carefree laughter briefly disappears into the waves.
White tiles and the strong stench of bleach. It’s so lifeless and overpowering.
I make a 360° turn on the spot. I’m in a box room. And there’s no door. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling and swings back and forth, the light bounces off the glossy white tiles.
I don’t know why, how did I get here?
An intercom above my head buzzes, I look up.
A male voice echoes loudly through the intercom, ‘Do you know why you here today?’
I shrug warily.
‘You will need to complete a series of tasks before you can leave the room.’ The intercom echoes. ‘This is your punishment for yesterday’s actions. Fail to do as instructed or finish by the end of the day, you will be kept overnight.’
Shivers run down my back. Tears build up in my eyes as I start to feel the cold. Goosebumps and the fine hair on my arm rises. I want to go back home.
Please let me out.
(21st April 1816 – 31st March 1855)
Charlotte Bronte was an English Novelist and Poet. She is the eldest sister of the Bronte Sisters, Emily Bronte (Wuthering Heights) and Anne Bronte (The Tenant of Wildfell Hall). The Bronte Sister were contemporary female writers and initially published their works under male pseudonyms. Charlotte Bronte’s pen name was: Currer Bell. Her published works have become treasured classics of English Literature (most notably, The Professor and Jane Eyre).
Bags are like friends; a woman can never have enough. And a tote should definitely be your BFF.
There are many reasons why a tote is crucial to every lady’s closet and this post is my personal opinion of why.
“I’ve got your results.” Mr Pavot holds up the papers in one hand.
How could I have been so stupid?
Twenty minutes. That’s how long it’ll take for the police to get here. Fortunately it should give me enough time to make a quick escape.
‘A good short-story writer has an instinct for sketching in just enough background to ground the specific story.’ – Lynn Abbey.
“Hello class. I’m your new teacher, Mr. Pavot.”
Feeling creative today? Then let’s do some writing!
“What did you say?”
“We are moving to Chester,” Mum repeats again to my little sister, Angela who’s sprung to her feet in utter shock abandoning her current position of sitting down beside to me on the couch. Chewing on my lip anxiously, I look back-and-forth between the two.
Vampire Academy Series
Author: Richelle Mead
Genres: Young Adult, Romance, Fantasy
Being curled up on the couch on a Sunday night and watching movies used to be what I looked forward to at the end of a stressful week. But today that is not the case. Instead of laughing at every scene in ‘Liar Liar’ like we’d normally do, there’s a tense silence in the room and vacant expressions etched across our faces.
Grey mini suitcase with blue handles and lining. The salesman that sold this to me said it was ‘one-of-a-kind.’ Lying git. If it were true, I’d be exploring the city instead of berating the airport from the landline of my hotel room. Having no success except running up the telephone bill, I reluctantly hang up and rub my temples to ease the growing migraine. Defeated with nothing else to do, I stare at the stranger on the bed. Curiosity and my itchy fingers unzip the suitcase to explore the unfamiliar possession.
The day she was born. When she grabbed my finger with her whole fist. Taking her home from the hospital; her warm, brown eyes widened in fascination. Sitting on her own. Her first smile. The first time she crawled. The day she took her very first steps. The most amazing sound ever made: her laugh. Her first day of school. Picking her up from school to find her clothes dirty from playing in the grass.
I’m quite positive that the window beside me is now cracked. But a sight like this would evoke a glass-shattering scream from even the toughest of men. My eyes widen. My chest tightens. My hand numbly drops the handbag and newspaper to the tiled floor. My heart beats loudly in my ears. Tears build in my eyes. Bile makes its way up my mouth, but I painfully swallow it back down causing tears to roll down my cheeks. I wipe them away furiously.
How could they do this to me?