A Small Gathering of FriendsShe looked at her clock.A Small Gathering of Friends by ~weekendhunters
11.37 pm.
She let out a sigh.
"These guys," she muttered to herself, pulling on her
turtleneck sweater and ran her hand on her short
cropped hair, and with her brown slacks and slip ons,
she looked like a librarian, which is her profession.
"They live for decades and centuries, and never learn
to show up on time."
She sauntered over to her record collection, and
flipped through them, taking out a Beach Boys record
and smiled.
"Has it really been fifty years since I got this?"
she thought to herself. "Time sure flies when you're
a vampire."
She walked over to record player, took the record out
of the sleeve, placed it on the player, set the speed,
placed the needle on the record, and in a matter
of moments, "Wouldn't It Be Nice," started to come out
of the speakers.
"Still sounds good after all these years," she smiled,
and sat down on the couch.
She heard a knock on the door. "Who is it?" she called out.
"It's me," a familiar voice called out.
She went to the d
The EssaySarah looked at the clock and sighed.The Essay by ~weekendhunters
It's been an few hours since school's out, yet she's
still stuck inside, grading her student's essays.
It's times like these that made her regret her job.
On top of unruly and lazy adolescents, their equally
apathetic or ignorant parents, not to mention budget
cuts made on education by the state department
yet, for some warped reason, kept on insisting her
and her colleagues to bring up the grade levels to
those in certain nordic nations.
"At least they give a damn what we think there," she
grunted, as she chewed on the cap of her red pen, reading
through the essays submitted, underlining the good parts,
crossing out certain words and replacing them with proper
spelling, writing between the lines parts that she wants
further clarification on, just part of the thankless parts
in her jobs which made her regret her work decision at times.
She placed a rather horribly-done essay on the "done" pile,
and grabbed another piece, before the title made her p
Misconceptions of Authors + Their Place in Society As I continue writing and looking up tidbits of information, I am unfortunately reminded that the make-up of today's society seems to not appreciate authors as much as they once did. My only question is: why is that?Misconceptions of Authors + Their Place in Society by ~Smokewhisper
Surely there have been great technological advances in which it is easier to obtain books (audio books, Kindles, iTunes downloads, and the like); however, it seems that we hold the creators of our most beloved stories at low esteem. There was a time when authors and certainly artists of any talent were looked upon as the most intelligent of intellectuals, second only to scientists and philosophers. We are being b
Depression: What is it? Why is it a problem?Depression:Depression: What is it? Why is it a problem? by ~Paris7500
What is depression? Is it a problem? If so, why? What are some things that be done about it? Depression is a problem. If you are diagnosed with depression, obviously it may mean you could be very unhappy. To be depressed can say and mean a lot of things. Depression is a chronic illness that usually causes long-term problems, like diabetes or high blood pressure. Most likely if you are depressed you are feeling sadness for one reason or another.
Why was this topic important to me? What do I hope it will do for people?
I find depression to be a very serious issue. It can take very dangerous effects on people. I feel as if it is a
One Day of FreedomOne Day of Freedom by ~kchikage
[1702 words]
The buns smell good, delicious. I am hungry but I have no money. So, I’m going to get them into my mouth by playing a simple little game. There are only three simple steps. Step one: join the crowd and swim to the middle of the shop. Step two: sneak a piece of bun under my shirt. Step three: escape between the legs of the crowd and when I reach the exit, run. There is only one rule to this game: Do not get caught.
I’m game as the over-flowing crowd drove me into the bakery shop. With my beggar’s bowl nearly squeezed out my hands, I assume that the adults must also be starving too. But no, I always watch them
Sta.sh
