Irmasi's story
what do you hear when you open your front door. the birds. cars. children playing. Irmasi hears gun shot, screams and sirens. he lives in italy, the mafia side.
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what do you hear when you open your front door. the birds. cars. children playing. Irmasi hears gun shot, screams and sirens. he lives in italy, the mafia side.
#10wordchallenge By the LIGHT of the bright PAPER MOON, The lonely mouse searched for a new home. It was too COLD and cramped in his little den, So out in the SNOW he did roam.
(just an idea) Part 1 *^*^*^* "Come on Crescent... We'll be late!" calls Sam from the dark, dingy kitchen. I sit at the small mirror looking deep into my reflection.
So I have several on-the-go stories at any one moment in time. I will list them along with a short summery so you can see what - if any - you'll be interested in.
The smell of ash greeted him as it did every morning. Dreams of inferno and death fading with the rising sun, how long had it been he wondered. Two years, or was it three.
He was sitting on the plane to China, thinking about what had happened. What had he done wrong. How had they found him. He knew he would have to find a new place to stay.
Sparks slipped out of the chair he was sat in and crawled over to Sam's feet. He sat in front of the man and watched the old mercenary talk. "You... The Alpha project.
When he had gotten to the top of the large oak tree, the first wolf started howling. It had smelled him. He panicked, knowing that if he didn't do anything right now, they would kill him.
He was running as fast as he could. Not thinking about anything else than his feet and the ones chasing him. Not looking at anything but the forest ahead of him.
There's a man boarding up the wishing well. Singing, wish your dreams a good farewell. He bares his teeth and then he disappears. And you have no more coins to toss. On plans you make that end up...
Sorry it's so short The cave made me feel safe. I traveled far into the cave so the thing couldn't see me. I traveled as far as a lake that shone purple from crystals at the bottom.
-1- It was raining outside. Come to think of it, it was always raining.
Why does it matter if I have scars on my body. Why does it matter if I refuse to hide my scars in shame. Why does it matter to you. It's my life. I am who I am.
As the white snow dropped and as families were sitting around the fire, I was running. Running where I didn't know.
Yes she's still breathing, Yes she's still here. Just because you don't care Doesn't mean she can disappear. Yes she's still standing, Yes she has a life.
I have often thought On silver-mist hazed days, Punctuated by the soft beat of the rain on the glass: What would I whisper to you Huddled close under a collapsed wall, and Clutching you tight,...
Walking through empty fields of an apocalyptic world I cannot feel the sun. The smokey air scrapes my lungs clean filling them with rust and dust.
Ok, so you're a spider. You're born with hundreds of brothers and sisters.
Ok, so you're an ant. You have thousands of friends, so long as you pull your weight and do your job. The colony just gets bigger and bigger, that familiar smell warms you to the core.
We're limping now. Floating / bobbing / sinking. Hydraulic leaks. Warning lights are blinking. Water-maker's gone. The bread has all gone stale. The new girl is on the edge. Looking rather pale.
-1- The beast made a snap at the slab of meat in her hand.
Come away with me. We'll toss our anchors out to sea. We'll run away somewhere. And fade out without a care. We can be all alone. Where just lonely winds have blown. Adventures await.
Part 6 •-•-•-•-•-• "Imogen. Come on Imogen, wake up" says a muffled voice that makes my hair tickle my cheek.
I scrape my living, Through some endless means, For mother and child, Unlike other teens. Don't come to me, All big and smart, Complaining of life, That to mine, is art.