Could it be possible the Blue and Blacks were in some way… different than the Gold and Whites?
A single warrior appeared in the core of the light, one-armed, barefoot. He was grinning. The Dawn Arrow had arrived.
The above short is a prequel (Grand Budapest Hotel’s Tony Revolori and The Hunger Games’ Jack Quaid) of what could be.
Even from inside our studio apartment, 30 yards from the main house, we could hear our parents yelling at each other that night. I don’t think there has ever been a time when they would restrain themselves for anyone’s sake.
Seventy-two percent of shopping carts have been tested positive for fecal matter. I read it in a free morning newspaper one night.
It doesn’t take a Doctorate in Sociology to know online dating is a pretty normal concept these days. What was once seen as a cause for social stigma is now a general fact of being a single adult. And I had been one of those for the better part of a year now.
I got this package in the mail from my dad: brown paper wrapping, large but flat, with the word “FRAGILE” written on it in black ink. When I unwrapped it, it was this big, acrylic painting, framed in some sort of bronze-gilded plaster.
Her eyes glowed in the light of the street lamp, sepia tones matching the mood, dead roses in her left hand.
“I didn’t plan it, but I love you,” he whispered in her ear one night. He wrote it on her front door the next day.
Mark squeezed the newspaper and shut his eyes even tighter. The wave of sadness was unstoppable. People died babies died – and people carried on anyway. He moved quickly through the crowd towards the door, choking back tears. Maybe I will go back to my room and die.