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wool
The woolen fabric rubbed against my cheeks, and I was immediately sucked into a vision of a slim woman lying on this same blanket, writhing on the bed. A man stood over her, holding her down by her neck and threatening her with a knife clutched in his other hand.
revolt
My insides revolted at the simple thought of saying goodbye to him. On an impulse, my fingers clamped around his arm and stopped him from leaving me alone. He glanced at my mouth quickly and I knew there would be no going back. Once our lips were locked together, I finally found my place in the world.
alarm
The radio abruptly commenced yelling at me, and I knew it was time to get up for school. Blearily cracking an eye open, the clock told me it was 7:00, and I realized with horror that I hadn't reset my alarm clock after the weekend.
controller
As I watch my brother play his video games, I wonder what appeal they hold for him. He moves a tiny avatar and cries out at every action. But when he offers me the controller, I understand what it's like to be someone other than myself.
wrench
The wrench of my heart told me that we were not to be. I knew that it wasn't worth my tears, but they slid down my cheeks regardless. When will the fates realize that our futures should have been intertwined?
darkroom
The photos develop perfectly. My father says it is because our darkroom is special. I think it is because they are pictures of us. You and me. Us. Together. I wish we could stay like that. Together- forever. But the moments are preserved in the darkroom for times when you are far, far away.
jelly
Jelly doesn't spread right on my bread. Sometimes I wonder if other people notice the same things as me, or if there's some quirk in my mind that makes me different from everyone else. Truly, the terrible quality of some PB&J sandwiches can make me fall to my knees and scream for frustration.
print
The troubles of life stem from the printer. Paper and ink were the most efficient ways to communicate. What has the world become? People will e-mail each other missives without feeling. Print is the source of human insanity.