Comments Posted By Teeny Duckie
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He looked up at the cimmerian sky and shouted, flinging his emotions up into the heavens, hoping that maybe God would cast down his net and gather the scattered fish that were his thoughts, collecting them again, rearranging the pieces. The papers were clenched in his fists and he ripped them to shreds. His hands shook with fury and disappointment. He had been cheated. Every since he could remember, he had been planning his trip from Morrocco to Spain, to escape the wretched life that he had there. He couldn’t ride with the other poor individuals on tiny, crammed rafts, but had meticulously worked to plan his escape. He had used every last cent, his heart had drained alongside his pocket, but it was all worthless now. The man whom he had paid to acquire a boat had run off with his money. He had nothing. The wind moaned with him, and the river that curved in the valley below him turned deep gray as if laced with a contagious sorrow.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.20.2017 @ 7:37 pm
My heart beat so loudly, I could hardly hear my own footsteps against the wood. And how that wood creaked! It threatened again, and again to give away my position. The sun was setting, casting long ominous shadows down the hall, and my own shadow stretch in front of me, creeping along with me like my partner in this crime. The cimmerian hallway seemed alive with the darkness. My nightgown tickled my ankles and for a moment, I felt a presence behind me. I whirled around, but nothing, no one was there. My shadow on the ground copied my every move, and it almost made me laugh how scared I was. I proceeded further, the floor groaning and creaking under my weight. I opened a door but was disappointed to see that it was only the closet. I sighed and started to go back to my room. I was just imagining things–this was my first time at my grandmother’s large yet remote estate. But just as I was about to close the closet door, something shifted. It was if the shadows inside were gaining depth and I couldn’t look away. I was drawn to the darkness–a strange instinct tugging within me. Then something happened that to this day, I still can’t explain. The darkness turned, gaining shape and definition and red eyes were staring straight at me.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.15.2017 @ 4:17 pm
A dash of spice, a pinch of cinnamon
Don’t forget the flour, the eggs, the lemon
Normal ingredients for a normal recipe
But what about concocting a disaster?
A hydra of worries, insurmountable, crushing pain?
How do you bake anxiety, how do you measure self-gain?
Do you add a teaspoon of greed, or perhaps a cup of fear?
A sprinkle of malice, a quart of timidity
A tablespoon of hate, a gallon of stupidity
How do you grind insecurities and disbelief, the icing on the cake?
The finishing touch, deadly candles with black flames, quake
If chaos, betrayal, and destruction is what you’re after,
How does one concoct a disaster?
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.13.2017 @ 6:35 pm
The book was held up against Emily’s face and she hunkered down behind it, giving the illusion of studying ferociously. As soon as her Chemistry professor picked himself up, stretching and yawning like a great big bear, and meandered out of the library and down the hallway, she sprung up, like a caged animal and raced out of the library, and out an obscure back door. Rodney, James, and Lilja, other thrill-seeking college students just like her, were already waiting for her, and Amber was in the driver’s seat, the engine of her bright blue jeep rumbling impatiently. As soon as they saw her, Rodney waved and he and James jumped in the back seat. Lilja gave her a hug before climbing up on top of the jeep, while Emily sat in the passenger’s seat by Amber.
“What took you so long?” Amber asked.
Emily shrugged, the excitement of the evening beginning to intrude upon her. She looked at the bright neon lights that marred the deep blue twilight. She watched the strident colors blur as the jeep picked up speed and drove away from the college campus. She and her friends were living the life of lotus-eaters, dreamers, fantasists, indifferent to the stark reality of the world. They were party people and wild animals with a primordial lust for adventure and disobedience.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.12.2017 @ 5:36 pm
The winds shrieked and moaned as if mourning for a lost loved one
The air trembled with heat, as if inside an oven
The Sahara was alive and dead with the everlasting sands
Golden shards of crushed stone that spread out in all directions, nearly swallowing the majestic blue sky above
Far ahead, was the crocodilian guise of an oasis, shivering distantly as the heat radiated from the sun, rose from the ground, everywhere and nowhere
The sun’s rays seemed to grow legs, running around, racing and playing tag upon the sands, scorching the plants and bleaching the bones of unfortunate animals to a pure white
The plants hunkered down in the soil, grasping for drops of water, while the stillness soaked the air with peace and loneliness
The Sahara was alive and dead with the everlasting sands
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.11.2017 @ 3:49 pm
The Jade Buddha sits regally on his throne, an immortal being, frozen in the waves of time, legs crossed peacefully, and regarding the world through an all-knowing lens.
Flowers garnish the altar, and candles stand proudly, their rosy warm light flickering over the shaded alcove.
The air is thick and full with the deep smell of incense, tickling the nose like a persistent mosquito.
The sun flickers in at a slant, casting an ethereal mood over the entire scene, as if someone had stepped off the edge of reality and was in the realm of the gods, the deities, the supreme beings flowing in and out of forms, dipping into the shallow existence of the world before retreating to heavenly perches again.
The Buddha watches, just the mere form of a greater power.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.09.2017 @ 3:33 pm
The indecision grips your stomach like a vise, squeezing so hard until you can hardly breathe
Is this how all choices are like? One or the other?
Must we be forced to conform to the patterns of society, adopt the pretense of the perfect being?
Casting our ballots to support one idea or the other? Like good citizens, or like good conformists?
But really, we don’t have a choice, do we?
Lies roll off deceitfully truthful tongues–we can be whatever, whoever we want, we can believe what we feel, we can be daring, artistic, different
But can we?
Or is it just the people who have the strength, drawing from a drying well with every moment of their lives must live with the terrible consequences of being something that doesn’t fit into the perfect little box?
The little boxes lined up in rows
The ways of this world crisscross across the oceans and deserts
Like tripwire, one step and you are caught
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.08.2017 @ 6:12 pm
The sky is inky, syrupy smooth
The stars seemed swallowed up in the sheer vastness of the heavenly entity above
From the enormous height, the people on the earth below must look like thousands of billions of moths
Congregating around clusters of electric lights
Swaths of lights that bathe the land in an ethereal glow, a dangerous beauty
The Earth is speckled blue and green, like a perfect marble
Hanging in a precarious balance
As if divine beings were playing a game, and had left their pieces strewn about, in hopes that they would come
And pick them up
The perfect marble bears the burden of a thousand million dreams
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.07.2017 @ 6:29 pm
I went outdoors yesterday and I was shocked. My backyard’s never been that fancy or cool. The grass is mostly dried and yellow, and the treehouse which I had taken pride in as a child was standing like a lonely sentry in the corner of the small plot of land. It was clear evidence that time had whipped through this backyard faster than a rouge wind. I remember stepping in some of the rocks in the garden and wincing at the sharpness and hardness of the stones. I as disappointed in myself. I remember when the soles of my young and vulnerable feet were hard enough, strong enough to withstand the grating feel of the rocks below. I remember walking barefoot in the grass yesterday, trying not to look down and see the bugs. Gross. I used to never be afraid. The outdoors used to be a refuge, to fascinate me. But now I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the outdoors.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.06.2017 @ 9:02 am
The arrow came whizzing at her, so close that she could feel the slight woosh of the displacement of the air. She leaped over the bush that confronted her and immediately tucked into a clean roll, barely dodging the angry hunter. She immediately stood up and kept running, tearing her way through the thick growth of the forest that surrounded the wall of the Federation. She knew she was breaking many rules with what she was doing, but she could no longer live in silence. As she ran, her mind, in its frenzied state went back to the man who was dead. Just the mere thought of the man’s glassy, dead eyes and the blood that dripped from the small wound on his chest. She had never seen Federation weapons in action until that moment, which had only been twenty minutes ago. She could hardly believe that she and the rebel movement had just performed the worst counter attack of a lifetime. Everyone had scattered after the weapon they had been building for months had been detonated. But the ma hadn’t survived. She squeezed er eyes shut, trying not to remember the life in his gray eyes and the way that he tossed his dark hair when he was trying to be cool, which drove her crazy. She opened her eyes again and tried to focus only on running. She tried to focus on detaching all emotion from the man. She couldn’t even bear to say his name. He was dead. Nothing to her now. Remembering the details of her lover would only make the pain worse.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.04.2017 @ 11:38 am
The dust stung my noise and a sneeze blew out of me even before I had the time to register it. I switched on the overhead light and continued down the rough, wooden, unfinished stairs. As I walked, I ran my toe into a nail and gasped in silent pain. The light cast a grayish yellow pall over the entire scene. Something about all this gave me an awful feeling, but I pushed myself forward. My bare feet were cold against the steps and when I reached the landing below, all I could see were the grayish black shapes of the furniture that had collected over countless centuries. The dust floated around the basement, and the light from the top of the stairs could barely reach down this far, only a pale spot of yellow light. The whole thing gave me a shiver of sadness and uneasiness, as if the furniture itself was communicating the suffering that had plagued it over the many years.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 12.09.2016 @ 8:11 am
It was quite a dilemma. There was no internet in the house at all, and the TV was broken. The speaker was busted, and her phone was cracked. The world was ending for Jamie, a 16-year old girl, and she had been reduced to reading. For fun. As enjoyment.
This seems to be what the world has turned into. The population made up of bookworms, is decreasing. Reading is going out of fashion, and is no longer cool. There are countless of amazing books left to acquire dust on forsaken shelves. Numerous worlds, just waiting to be accessed by the simple touch of fingers against a gilded cover. Characters, tense and ready, awaiting the very moment when their stories will flood the mind of a daring soul. There are few of us left that feel this way. That see books as worlds unto themselves, and not burdens to be endured.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 05.10.2016 @ 10:05 am
The way he talked was syrupy smooth, and enraptured my as if I was a fly trapped in a spider’s web. Julian’s voice was low and deep, and seemed to come from the sweet core of the Earth. I stared at the way his green eyes brightened as he talked and the way a shock of his black hair fell tentatively over his right eye. Now, as I drifted into another world, a world where he was smiling at me–had I just told a funny joke?–I was tapped impatiently on the shoulder.
Julian’s eyes now were narrowed in annoyance. “Astrid,” he said in a tone that told me that this was the second or third time he was saying it, “for our project, do you want to be the one to research the accomplishments of the Mayans, or do you want me to do it?”
I sighed, as I saw Julian’s repulsion of me flickering in his eyes. “I’ll to the research.” I told him. Then I stood up, shouldered my school bag, and walked out as the bell rang.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 05.04.2016 @ 2:48 pm
The elm tree stood long and tall in the front yard. I looked up at its bare skinny branches. I remember being very young, and very small, thinking that the elm–at the time the plant was only about 4 years old–was the tallest thing since seeing my parents. I remember how limited my perception was. I remembering thinking that the whole world was bigger and taller and faster and better than me. As I grew the tree stayed in the front yard, stretching with every year. I watched the seasons whip through it’s branches like a blustery wind. Delicate buds dropping into bright green blades, and crackly fall leaves the colors of Thanksgiving falling to expose the branches. I grew older too, as the elm tree did, and my world view shifted, like an ocean tide. The tree was still tall, and I was taller too, though still much shorter than it. And the world was still bigger, and taller, faster, and better than me.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 05.03.2016 @ 3:25 pm
As Meridian stepped through the door and into her grandmother’s new house, she gasped. It was completely different from what it had been like before. The chairs were decorated with rose and butter-yellow crocheted blankets. Silver and red throw pillows garnished the white sofas. The walls were painted white and crimson, and adorning the walls were various framed photos of popular fashion designers, and famous artists. Small lights framed in metallic cones hung from the ceiling, and jazz music hummed from a speaker high in the corner. The whole scene looked like something from a contemporary home design magazine, except for the crocheted blankets. Meridian dropped her suitcase on one of the sleek ivory sofas, and took off her headphones, and paused the music on her phone. A wild grin spread across her face as she surveyed the wonderland. Never had she been more excited to stay with her grandmother.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 04.30.2016 @ 11:47 am
I set the container with my flowering wisteria on the table. The plant was in its prime, bright and green with delicate lavender blossoms and wide, waving leaves. The sun came in slits from the window, bathing the plant in pale light. I glared a it, scowling as if I awaited a response. I had no knowledge of plants whatsoever and I certainly didn’t have the time to care for such a thing. A soft breeze whispered through the open doorway and, sighing, I moved the wisteria to a windowsill in the kitchen. I knew my mother adored flowers, and it made no sense to leave a flower to grow away from sunlight. It was no use making her angry for no reason.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 04.26.2016 @ 2:44 pm
I noticed that you didn’t call today. I noticed that you didn’t like my outfit. I noticed that you invited her to your birthday party, but not me. Everything in our society is so that you can be noticed by others. By your boyfriend or by the popular group. We are built on the basic human need to belong. The need to be noticed and appreciated by others around you. Our strange and stifling society is cultivating, growing and feeding the plant inside each and every precious individual. Every young girl and every young boy is born, fed and cultured in the delicate desire to belong. The need to be be a lady or a man. The need to fit in with the sporty kids or the braniacs. Why must we all be noticed, when simple acts of kindness and compassion far outweigh the need to wear your hair in a certain style? The backwards notion of being noticed still continues to baffle me.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 04.25.2016 @ 8:02 pm
I looked up and out at the inky sky, studded with tiny pinpricks of light. I could see the silhouette of the moon, back-dropped by the yellowish flare of the sun. I had never seen a solar eclipse before, and it was fascinating and strange. I clung to the slimy wet vine, my fingers digging into it’s supple green flesh. My right foot was braced against the slick wooden balcony of the tree dwelling and my left foot was wrapped tightly around the dangling vine. I pushed the hair swiftly out of my eyes and stared at the dark, fiery orb above me. The jungle was a dark, unfamiliar landscape below me, with black trees and tangled vines stretching upward toward the unusual sight in the sky. The soft patter of rain tickled my thirsty skin and the rhythmic sound flowed through my head.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 04.21.2016 @ 6:21 pm
BOOM! The bomb exploded with a loud, sound, and the reverberation was felt in the crumbling concrete structure. Liliya, a young seven your old clung to her mother’s leg, shaking. She jumped at every sound she heard, her tears making grimy streaks down her pale face. All the young girl could see was the gray, shivering supports of the remains of the building she, her family, and many other people, were hiding in.
“Mother?” Liliya whispered. Her mother turned down to look at her, concern etched on her filthy face. “When will the war be over?”
Tears seeped down her mother’s face and Liliya gave her weeping mother’s hand a squeeze. Another bomb crashed down on the ground and the concrete building rattled. Liliya pressed closer to her mother, and felt the strong, sturdy body of her older brother. She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped that the next booming sound she heard would be the last.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.17.2016 @ 5:42 pm
The pan sizzled and I dropped it, in my fright and confusion. I yelled aloud and sucked on the burning welt that was forming on my right hand. My mother used to to cook, but ever since she was taken horribly ill, I’ve had to complete her jobs, washing the laundry, cooking the meals, harvesting the fruit and vegetables. Now, as I lay, looking at the fallen pan, tears welled up in my eyes and I sunk to my knees. My little brother waddled in.
“What are you doing, Mina?” He asked, crumbling his green tunic in between his fat fingers.
I sat, cradling the pan, it’s leftover heat warming my shaking fingers. “I don’t know.” I told him.
He sat next to me, resting his curly red head onto my shoulder, saying nothing, yet saying everything.
It was all the comfort I needed.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 03.16.2016 @ 7:57 am
Beginnings are important, because without them, you wouldn’t have endings or middles. Sometimes, the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. Beginnings are like promises–that something new will take the place of what was old. The beginning of spring is bright and refreshing in the face of the frigid winter. The beginning of school promises new friends and teachers and classes. The beginning of a book leaves the promise of something exciting or interesting to read. Sometimes beginnings can be sad; endings can be sad, too, and middles are the ridges and hills–the obstacles and barriers that try your soul. Beginnings can be frightening, but but without them, there would be no fun no start, no push into the joy of life.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 01.12.2016 @ 10:00 am
The sound of the grinding metal made Zach’s ears bleed. The stench of the black smoke burned his nose and mouth. He struggled, but flopped uselessly against the metal chair on to which he was tied to. He hated being contained like this. The Captain told him that he’d get caught if he tried to accomplish the mission all on his own. But of course he had been too impulsive. All he had wanted was to simply save his little brother, Ben, who had been captured by the enemy three weeks ago. He had foolishly snuck into the enemy’s base camp against The Captain’s wishes. And now he was paying the price. A metallic shriek filled the air and Zach froze.
“Hey, Zach,” called a weary, but familiar voice from behind him. “Don’t be so tense. It’s not good for you.”
Zach turned around as much as the chains would allow. He looked into the mischievous face of his younger brother Ben. “Ben!” Zach exclaimed. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.”
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 12.26.2015 @ 10:56 pm
Mina’s breathing came out hard and fast. It erupted heavily from her lungs, but she didn’t care. All that mattered, was that she had to flee before she was caught. A grin unexpectedly broke across her face, and she stumbled, falling headfirst into the twisted thicket. A protruding thorn scratched her leg and blood oozed down her knee, but she stood up and continued running, pushing bushes and branches out of her way. She could hear the crashing footsteps of her pursuer and pushed herself to run faster. It would ruin her whole reputation if she got caught; she just couldn’t let that happen. A round circle of whitish-yellow light danced in front of her, framed by the leaves and trunks of the forest trees. It was the opening. Mina ducked under a leafy fern and set her eye on the beckoning light. Just as her hand was illuminated by the sun’s gaze, she felt a hard slap on her back. She tumbled to the ground and nearby brambles scratched her face. She turned to see Riley, her best friend lying on the ground, panting her breath coming out in heavy gasps. Mina groaned, her breath coming out equally hard and fast. Riley stood up and helped her friend to her feet. “Tag. You’re it, Mina.”
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 12.19.2015 @ 10:23 am
Esmeralda grasped the glittering golden statue, so small, it hardly fit into the palm of her hand. All was still; unusually still. The statue glowed in the dim, flickering light from her torch. She brought it close to her face, and could see her greed reflected on its shiny surface. Just then, a deep, unearthly groan penetrated the atmosphere. Pieces of debris fell from the temple ceiling, as if they had been shaken loose by the hands of some celestial immortal. Esmeralda tucked the golden idol in her messenger bag and immediately tensed, hearing another deep moan, but this time it was beneath her. She drew her small dagger and held it, feigning bravery and toughness, with her right hand, and the flashing torch in her left. Suddenly, the ground split and yawned open, like a tremendous mouth. Esmeralda wobbled, unbalanced and attempted to steady herself. She pitched forward and the idol rolled out of her bag. With her mouth open wide, and unable to do anything, but grasp at the empty space, she watched as the marvelous golden statue tumbled into the dark depths, forever belonging to the sacred temple.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 12.17.2015 @ 4:49 pm
United in us. United States of America. United Nations. It’s all about being together; going through life as one. Yet, secrecy and untold plots still taint the atmosphere like a sour scent in the clean air. What does united mean if discord still creeps in like a vine and jealousy scars and masks what is true? The price of united is steep. Acceptance and tolerance are seeds that take centuries to bloom and sprout and form a union. The gardener must first uproot the greed and fear that divides unity before planting the seeds of peace and togetherness. The gardener will be waiting for a while, for unity, like the cedar, does not grow quickly.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 12.16.2015 @ 3:38 pm
The world was blurred with rain. The earth was crying. The heavens opened, depositing heaving drops and absolute sadness upon the cursed land. The gray sheets formed rivulets and channels in the thick, black earth, and the sky was gray with despair. I pressed my hand to the windowpane and watched my mood reflected outside. The cold from the window seeped into my palms and up my arms, down to the core of my fragile soul. The constant patter of rain filled the empty silence of the house. The empty silence; the empty house. What was filling except to be emptied? Well, I had been emptied. I had been empty ever since my grandmother died.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 12.15.2015 @ 4:29 pm
The currency was strange in this village, the collared, man with the thick black sweater knew that much, but nothing more. As he signaled the shaded and attempted to wrap his tongue around the native language and speak it, he felt slightly embarrassed. He knew nothing of this culture. The sun burned down in glaring, oppressive waves and the sharp, rough, tawny scent of cattle pierced his nose. The chatter from the people and the braying of animals, seemed to be the soundtrack to the unusual, movie-esque scene that unfolded in front of him. Red dust blew up in clouds whenever someone walked, and collapsing, brightly colored market stalls lined the dusty paths. People rushed past him, pressing closer to him than sardines in a can, adorned in clinking golden and bronze jewelry, and bold colors of fabric. He stood out in the native hustle and bustle. The grunt of the round, dark-skinned, sweating merchant caused him to glance back. The merchant held out his hand, and the man with the black sweater dropped seventeen sharp, triangle-shaped blades into the merchant’s palm. Once he had grasped the object the merchant offered him, he thought no more of the odd currency.The merchant waved him close and whispered quickly, lowering his voice. “Tell no one I aided you, sir.” The man with the black sweater looked into the merchant’s piercing gray eyes and saw that he was actually talking to a young boy. The black sweater-ed man looked at the merchant in pity and they both knew the horrendous crime that was to take place because of them.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 12.14.2015 @ 3:35 pm
“Look!” the man told her, his face split into a wide grin. But he did not need to say a word. The little girl could clearly see the enormity of the scene in front of her. She rubbed her eyes and dared to look again, but it was so unbelievable, it was like a dream. A town made out of the sugariest sweets was sprawled in front of her. It all looked miniature from her point on the top of the verdant valley. There were gingerbread houses decked with silvery and pink frosting, and bright colored gumdrops lined the roofs and eaves. Pathways made out marbled candy canes connected the homes, and a small river of warm chocolate bubbled lazily under a frosted yellow bridge.The people strolled, unhurriedly through the town, and nodded to all they met. A group of pink-cheeked, bundled up children skated on a thick sheet of light blue ice, and another group of older kids snowboarded down a powdery slope on large graham crackers. Their sparkling laughter could be heard even from the top of the valley.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 12.13.2015 @ 5:12 pm
The teacher surveyed the class through her thick spectacles. Her skirt was tight over her pencil-thin body, and her trim blazer was a sad shade of gray. A red, apple-shaped pin clung for dear life on her right collar. The children shrunk under her reproachful gaze.
“I run a strict classroom,” she told her cowering students. “And I will not tolerate bad behavior.”
A ruler was clutched in her left hand, and bounced, once, twice, upon the nearest desk. The young child sitting there, watched the wooden surface of the ruler slap the front of her desk, fearfully.
“You will tell me who put a tack on my chair, or you will all pay.” The teacher continued, pacing the front of the classroom like a tiger. The students glanced around the classroom–the smudged chalkboard, the strip of glossy paper that declared the letters of the alphabet, and the wooden desks provided no comfort. Finally, a young boy in the last row stood up, his hands trembling. All the children turned around to face him. His bright red tie marked him as an immediate outsider in the room full of dark gray and black wear.
“I did it,” he said, his voice shaking.
The teacher smiled a shark-toothed grin. “You will be dealt with accordingly. Come out into the hall.”
The young, now pale, boy walked to the teacher’s desk, with his head hung low. The teacher escorted him into the hall and slammed the door shut. The class collectively shivered as if a cold draft had engulfed the room.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 12.12.2015 @ 3:14 pm
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The section was walled off. It looked dangerous and intriguing at the same time. Layla, a young, spirited girl took a long, hard look at the wall and saw adventure concealed within its drab white color. She glanced furtively around her. There were people, of course, but for a Tuesday, traffic in the busy city was quite minimal. There were ladies lavishly dressed, clutching black and gray umbrellas in their gloved hands, showing off to all who passed by, men with slick, black and brown briefcases, dripping from the light rain. There were children dressed in muted red and black coats, grasping the hands of their mothers and fathers. They all ignored Layla, so she gave into her rising curiosity. She stood on the wobbly wooden platform, grabbed the jutting pieces of brick in the otherwise smooth, unyielding wall, and pulled herself up and over. She briefly sat on the top of the wall, surveyed the sad city, and pushed off, leaping down.
» Posted By Teeny Duckie On 12.11.2015 @ 4:28 pm