Storygram #150
It was said that the tree had endured such a traumatic event that it had shed its own branches in its grief, just as a person might tear his own clothes. But no one had even a guess as to what could make a tree so sorrowful.
Storygram #149
The butler leads me to a large room with a spiral staircase that is to be my living room with a study loft. Before he closes the double doors, he gives me a stern look. “Remember, do not enter the east wing, sir.”
Storygram #148
After a few more minutes, Molly looked at the time on the grandfather clock. She walked over to the door and stood with her hands folded. The music stopped, and everyone stood still, watching the door with smiles on their faces.
Storygram #147
The stacked stones that refused to fall greet me at the site of my most powerful memory. The trees have laid siege to it. The animals nest in its crevices. I touch the remains of my earliest home and feel that it is dead.
Storygram #146
“If you ever see the red door, take her. She only appears once to those who’ve heard of her. Lead you to adventure, she will. To another time when men fought for honor and sought justice. When valor was the man’s soulmate. When she appears, take her.”
Storygram #145
When you’re nervous about where you are, your senses become heightened to everything you do in that place. For him being nervous was close to having a nightmare. His senses were always heightened.
Storygram #144
He had been mashing the gas pedal for so long, he wondered if it would ever come off the floor. But he was growing more confident that everything would be fine because the last quarter mile leading to the last curve was in sight.
Storygram #143
I smile down at an old friend. He wears a shell for protection and is unconcerned with struggles for power because he is a humble creature who wishes to be left alone. It’s a little habit of mine, picking up rocks shaped like animals I once knew.
Storygram #142
She shuffled down the sidewalk with an armful of file folders. They slipped down every few steps, and she had to hike them up. Her arm was growing weary of its load. With only twenty minutes left until six o’clock, she had to hurry if those files were going to get to her office in London by tomorrow.
Storygram #141
They skipped up to the little chapel with their hands locked in an inseparable tangle. All they heard was their own laughter. All they thought was of the happiness they shared. All they felt were their rapidly beating hearts pumping out adrenaline saturated with love.
Storygram #140
The old swing, ya see it there, lad? That’s what me father an’ I erected when I were just a wee one like you. An’ that well standin’ there… Aye, that cursed well. I didn’t have your fancy swing sets an’ your outdoor games of every sorts, but I had that swing.
Storygram #139
Going for an evening jog is how I shove the day’s problems out of my mind. They’re fat and weigh me down, but when I’ve jogged far enough, they quit trying to keep up. I leave them panting on the side of the road, while I enjoy my new lightness.
Storygram #138
The shipping route to Jupiter’s moons was long and dangerous, and I had asked him not to go. What happened in his absence wasn’t his fault, but I was angry with him, regardless.
Storygram #137
Matt hopped onto the rusted roof of a junkyard car and placed his fists on his hips. The other two boys studied their king for weaknesses, having no intention of remaining his subjects. “Bow before the king of Metal Mountain, minions!”
Storygram #136
Our forests are nothing more than silent wastelands. They were once alive with animals that scurried over the ground and birds that sang proudly of their treetop views. Now, the trees are rotted, victims of some unknown plague.
Storygram #135
He stumbled through the field, denying his body its right to shut down from the blood loss. His enemy had thought it more satisfying to watch him struggle for life, rather than finish the deed.
Storygram #134
I wanted to see the launch, but I didn’t want to feel it. The thunder of those propulsion engines carried the risk of pounding into my heart the fear I was working so hard to push out.
Storygram #133
He had been raking for an hour, making mound after mound, but his grandson’s jumping enthusiasm seemed to only be increasing. Watching the child play kindled a long forgotten memory that he had abandoned decades ago—youth.
Storygram #132
Joel shook his head. He didn’t like that Jake had a tendency to become attached, ascribing emotions to each automaton that were impossible for it to actually experience. Intentionally demonstrating his indifference, Joel tossed the head into the air to give it a further plummet into the hole.
Storygram #131
Had her husband not perished in the mining accident the previous year, he would be filling her home with laughter and music from his guitar while she knitted and waited on the oven to ding. But silence is all that filled her home now.