Myra Herrington
Trying to capture the line between imagination and reality with only 26 letters. š
Myra Herrington
Trying to capture the line between imagination and reality with only 26 letters. š
Trying to capture the line between imagination and reality with only 26 letters. š
Trying to capture the line between imagination and reality with only 26 letters. š
The cold cuts at my exposed face and I pull my coat tighter towards me. The ice seems to be strong, but I still donāt trust the middle. At the edge of the lake I see my stump. Our secret little exchannge post.
Of course our families do not like each other, but he is the best man I have ever had the pleasure of not meeting. We are pen pals through this little stump, and I treasure his letters dear...
Does it really count as a whisper if I can hear them from across the room? I can feel their glances prick my skin.
āPoor, fragile little Odessa.ā
The words stroke my ear. I know my stoic expressions unnerve them. They think Iām breaking on the inside, or maybe that Iām just holding the floodgates back.
Neither are true. I just need to be alone. The servants always have their eyes on me. Pity...
Some nights I lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue.
It is my one freedom in life, but freedom always has a costly price.
Itās only on the darkess nights, when the wind makes the old house creak. I slip out of my bed and place one foot silently in front of the other. I skip the third step becuase it always squeaks under my weight.
I stick to the shadows and hold my breath unt...
Finally, there he was.
No more games.
No more tricks.
Just me and him in the final confrontation we all knew was coming.
He may be lord of the skies, but I had the earth on my side. My face was stone, and my veins were steel. My eyes, fire and my heart, ice.
Auraceli looked up at me, and the storm flickered. His thunder softened into a silent rain. He opened his mouth, but no words fell out.
...
He looked at her the way a thief looks at an unlocked safe. The way a starving man looks at food being wasted. His angry eyes were reaching into her soul.
The intensity of his attention burned his thoughts. He thought with the desperation of a drowning man craving air.
He kept his obsession to quiet coals on the outside. She never suspected the affliction her beautiful soul set off in his brok...
My name was once Melody. That was a long time ago. I was alone and unloved. But I didnāt seem to notice.
An old man approached me at the park. He asked where my parents were. To that I had no reply. He inquired if I had a coat or something to stay warm with in the bitter cold. I had nothing of the kind.
Everyday I returned to the mysterious man who seemed to be concerned for my well being. He was...