Kari walked over the small table in the middle of the room. It had the most hideous centerpiece she had ever seen perched precariously on the edge. No longer in the center where it belong. Someone had come running past this table and bumped into it. Throwing the centerpiece off kilter.
I guess the easiest way to solving problems is to work your way into the very center of it all, and work out from there. But sometimes the centerpiece is easily disguised as an insignificant detail or as a memory that should have been forgotten long ago, but still haunts silently.
Nana came home at around nine o clock, and her grandmother and aunt were sitting silently in the living room. Tom was at the kitchen table, playing with the flowers in the centerpiece. The lack of conversation told her everything. She thought she would be relieved when her mother died, and even tried to pretend she wasn’t, but as soon as she met her grandmother’s gaze, she realised she had now lost both of her parents. Her grandmother’s face showed not sadness, but resolve.
The centerpiece was truly grand. It had a simplicity about it, yet it was still complicated and deep, or that’s how it was described. To them it was just a weird looking chicken.
The skull seemed to glare at her even through empty, dark sockets. Scarlet shied away from the staring centerpiece, surrounded by black feathers and black lace. She turned on her heel only to find herself face to face with the owner of the mansion: her deceased grandfather. His transparent form glistened and gleamed in the waning moonlight streaming through the window revealing his well-kept beard and Victorian fashion.
The table was filled to the bursting with foods of all different origins, the centerpiece of which was a large suckling pig with an apple stuffed into it’s mouth.
She pushed the boxes together, making a makeshift table to eat at for the four of them. She carefully sectioned out the protein bars, making sure everyone got their fair share. In the middle of the boxes she put the flashlight. It shone up on the walls and cascaded a dim brightness around them. It was a centerpiece, of sorts. At least, it would do.
The centerpiece shattered into pieces. She turned to look at me, “Do you see?” My hands shook. I looked at the floor and at my hands. My anger had gotten the best of me again. She was right. I’d lost control.
I adore the simple centerpiece at my favorite restaurant, Kitchen Table. They have little glass containers with one to three small “filler” flowers. The design of the entire restaurant seems to be representative of this simple taste.
the centerpiece was beautiful and fitting for the occasion. It was tall and commanding. definitely the highlight of the setting. The flowers were elegant and the smell divine. Lucy had done a wonderful job preparing them and arranging them. I am sure that she we enjoy the compliments the I am sure will be spoken later this evening.
It was the most beautiful thing that he’d ever seen. He loved that woman so much, the centerpiece of his life, the pathway to his future. When he saw her he saw a future, children, marriage, life.
the centerpiece was beautiful and fitting for the occasion. It was tall and commanding. definitely the highlight of the setting. The flowers were tall and elegant and smell divine.
The huge centerpiece crashed into the floor when Joey flipped the table out of anger. He didn’t know how to control himself when Amy told him she had slept with John. He felt the rage build up in his body, his face felt hot and he knew he was going to do something he would regret if he couldn’t calm himself down. Amy was up against the wall hoping he wouldn’t hurt her, or John. “Joey stop! You need to calm down before someone gets hurt!”
centerpiece. hmm. centerpiece. a piece in the center. everyone tries to write amazing things here but in all honesty, centerpiece. that’s right. centerpiece. and im sure the lack of punctuation and capital letters is annoying you right now, reader. well, i just have one word to say to you.
“What the heck?” she cried, staring at the screen in front of her. “What kind of word is that? Centerpiece?”
He looked at her from his laptop. “What’s wrong with centerpiece? Just write. Don’t think.”
She let out a moan. “You’re kidding. Write something about centerpiece?”
“Yeah, just write.”
“Impossible.”
“Time is running out,” he said, and she just stared blankly at the screen.
The centerpiece was sat in the middle of the table. As far as i could remember, it always had been. I think mother had once said it came from her father. It was silvery, though faded by time and had beautiful decorations at the top.
It glows red in the evening, these flowers. They always seem to be shifting and changing under the atmosphere of this room. But now, they’re red. Like blood and lust and the color of the sun as it drops below the horizon. I don’t know why they change like this, but somehow, these flowers sitting stale in the middle of the table, send a shiver down my spine.
the glass slowly rose from the plate in the middle of the table, the masked audience gathered around in awe. a pristine head, her hair fine and delicate, cut to sway around her face with the gentlest motion, stared back at them. she couldn’t swivel to gaze in horror at them all, for she had no neck to swivel on. she could only meet eyes with the man front and center, even more so than she, with the red glasses and red smile, while her nose met with only the heavy scent of chrysanthemums surrounding her sawed-off neck, and her own curdled blood. a fevered murmuring swept through the crowd. she wondered what was so exciting. she was only a head, after all. the red man smirked at her expression.
Blank. That was what her mind was. Questions such as why are they staring at me, how can they be so happy, and am I an outcast spun around and around in her head, causing a head ache to blossom in her temples.
Do I stand out THAT much? No… No, I don’t want to be the center of attention. I don’t want to be the center piece in the beautiful works of art around me…
Eyes seemed to pierce through the back of her head as she timidly edged her way through the crowd of people in the halls.
Do I truly fit in?
It was all plain and simple. But with you there, in the middle of it, you give more color, vibrance, energy. You give life. It’s different when you’re here.
he set his drink down on the coaster, slick black to match the marble of the large table. he stared up at his masterpiece, smiled, at the symbol of his dominance hanging daintily over the center of his grand table. the girl in the bind, hair awash down her back like a white river, couldn’t smile back at him; she was trussed, suspended in a complex position by dozens of ropes from the ceiling, a gag in her mouth. it took hours to get her like that. good thing she was asleep for most of it.
A centerpiece is something that is the center of attention. For example, perhaps you would see a crow in the midst of pigeons. That crow is the center piece of the whole picture. If an artist had painted or drawn it, he or she would have probably wanted the crow to be the centerpiece of the whole creation.
should only be the main focal point during holidays or special occassions so that guests will have something to talk about and to take their attention away from t
Our centerpiece will be composed of lavender and yellow roses. The touch of autumnal gold will spread from the heels of our shoes to our fingertips. Then, when I am gloved with the brilliant dust of evening, I will shower you with kisses as delicate as a cloud yet determined as rain. We will settle in gardens of silver, purple, and orange – old, royal, and young fire.
I saw the centerpiece in the middle of the table and thought to myself that for once I was glad I was not in charge of that particular detail. The color scheme was all wrong and it seemed like a child had put it together.
I felt like the centerpiece of a large collection. What was the world anyway? And what was with everyone else? And in what ways was I similar to them? Was it wrong to consider myself better than them? I mean, I was better than them only to myself, I hadn’t bothered anyone else with this thought, had I? Maybe I had just been cut off from the real world for too long. Did I even know what was real and what was not? Wasn’t reality relative anyway? Sometimes I felt like I truly did not belong anywhere. I felt as though I was foreign to each and every world I could ever perceive.
And yet, despite all this, I felt more alive than ever. I felt more alive than any other being in this world or any other. I was supposed to be in dire straits, and yet, I felt happier than ever. Was it wrong for me to be happy? I hated everything, I even hated myself, and yet I felt so good in my skin. It felt natural, it felt as if I was where I was supposed to be. And yet, I was missing something. Something essential. But what was it? Just what was it that I was missing? It seemed like I just had to live on and hopefully find out.
…
” What are you standing there for? Hurry up, you’re gonna be late.” Aishh, I hated it when people interrupted my thought process. It was difficult enough to figure things out without them butting in and distracting my attention. Too bad it couldn’t be helped. I guessed it would probably be quite boring without them around anyway. Indeed, I had already decided on not driving them away anymore. Being all by yourself is not as fun as it seems to be at times.
” Oh, I’m coming! Gee, I’m always late, so what does it matter anyway?” I eventually yelled while making my way down the stairs. “Do you really want me to get started on that? Just hurry your ass up already.” was the same old answer I got.
The centerpiece of someones house is what gives of impression of who the person is as a person, when you eneter someones house the most prominent insignificant thing is the centerpiece. The superciality of it defines yourself to someone by this simple object uncounsiously.
Something for the moms and grandmothers at the table. Maybe crafted in a grade school arts class a decade ago, but it’s hard to look at the lovingly constructed cardboard cornucopia and say anything that doesn’t end in “how cute”.
Ah. The centerpiece. That one accessory that graces my dining table and reminds me of my years as an elementary educator. That one vestige of celebrating the holidays is all that remains from those years.
The centerpiece on the table was made of roses and baby’s breath. It had taken her hours to configure it. In the beginning, she’d had all of these grand ideas of what she wanted to do, and she’d bought all of these flowers to do it. But in the end nothing had looked right and she went back to the simple things, and that meant roses. Red roses, white roses, and baby’s breath.
There was only one place to understand. It was absolutely beautiful. And that place was the centrepiece. It was where you would find beautiful flowers or horrible dead ones. You couldn’t tell the house’s mood depending on the centrepiece. Some houses had none, showing how empty to detail they were.
It was all because I hated that centerpiece. It was a gaudy thing, made of sticky plaster, candy-red hearts, and pink lettering.
Not fit for a wedding of any kind– and that’s why I left.
Kari walked over the small table in the middle of the room. It had the most hideous centerpiece she had ever seen perched precariously on the edge. No longer in the center where it belong. Someone had come running past this table and bumped into it. Throwing the centerpiece off kilter.
the centerpiece glistened
under the stares darting across the table.
She opened her mouth to speak. But the words would
not come. Like a leaky faucet she dripped
incomprehensive syllables that were
not understood.
across the table
someone rustled
in their chair
I guess the easiest way to solving problems is to work your way into the very center of it all, and work out from there. But sometimes the centerpiece is easily disguised as an insignificant detail or as a memory that should have been forgotten long ago, but still haunts silently.
Nana came home at around nine o clock, and her grandmother and aunt were sitting silently in the living room. Tom was at the kitchen table, playing with the flowers in the centerpiece. The lack of conversation told her everything. She thought she would be relieved when her mother died, and even tried to pretend she wasn’t, but as soon as she met her grandmother’s gaze, she realised she had now lost both of her parents. Her grandmother’s face showed not sadness, but resolve.
To display with pride
something acquired
of great worth
or triumph
I’ll place you, as my centrepiece.
The centerpiece was truly grand. It had a simplicity about it, yet it was still complicated and deep, or that’s how it was described. To them it was just a weird looking chicken.
The skull seemed to glare at her even through empty, dark sockets. Scarlet shied away from the staring centerpiece, surrounded by black feathers and black lace. She turned on her heel only to find herself face to face with the owner of the mansion: her deceased grandfather. His transparent form glistened and gleamed in the waning moonlight streaming through the window revealing his well-kept beard and Victorian fashion.
The table was filled to the bursting with foods of all different origins, the centerpiece of which was a large suckling pig with an apple stuffed into it’s mouth.
She pushed the boxes together, making a makeshift table to eat at for the four of them. She carefully sectioned out the protein bars, making sure everyone got their fair share. In the middle of the boxes she put the flashlight. It shone up on the walls and cascaded a dim brightness around them. It was a centerpiece, of sorts. At least, it would do.
The centerpiece shattered into pieces. She turned to look at me, “Do you see?” My hands shook. I looked at the floor and at my hands. My anger had gotten the best of me again. She was right. I’d lost control.
I adore the simple centerpiece at my favorite restaurant, Kitchen Table. They have little glass containers with one to three small “filler” flowers. The design of the entire restaurant seems to be representative of this simple taste.
Today I sat at a table with a beautiful centerpiece
and I did not need you here to enjoy it
the centerpiece was beautiful and fitting for the occasion. It was tall and commanding. definitely the highlight of the setting. The flowers were elegant and the smell divine. Lucy had done a wonderful job preparing them and arranging them. I am sure that she we enjoy the compliments the I am sure will be spoken later this evening.
It was the most beautiful thing that he’d ever seen. He loved that woman so much, the centerpiece of his life, the pathway to his future. When he saw her he saw a future, children, marriage, life.
the centerpiece was beautiful and fitting for the occasion. It was tall and commanding. definitely the highlight of the setting. The flowers were tall and elegant and smell divine.
The huge centerpiece crashed into the floor when Joey flipped the table out of anger. He didn’t know how to control himself when Amy told him she had slept with John. He felt the rage build up in his body, his face felt hot and he knew he was going to do something he would regret if he couldn’t calm himself down. Amy was up against the wall hoping he wouldn’t hurt her, or John. “Joey stop! You need to calm down before someone gets hurt!”
centerpiece. hmm. centerpiece. a piece in the center. everyone tries to write amazing things here but in all honesty, centerpiece. that’s right. centerpiece. and im sure the lack of punctuation and capital letters is annoying you right now, reader. well, i just have one word to say to you.
centerpiece.
yes. centerpiece.
“What the heck?” she cried, staring at the screen in front of her. “What kind of word is that? Centerpiece?”
He looked at her from his laptop. “What’s wrong with centerpiece? Just write. Don’t think.”
She let out a moan. “You’re kidding. Write something about centerpiece?”
“Yeah, just write.”
“Impossible.”
“Time is running out,” he said, and she just stared blankly at the screen.
The centerpiece was sat in the middle of the table. As far as i could remember, it always had been. I think mother had once said it came from her father. It was silvery, though faded by time and had beautiful decorations at the top.
Water is the foremost centerpiece.
centerpiece
the main attraction
but is it really?
all flashing lights and bright noises
nothing but blank static beneath
the placeholder,
no real substance there
nothing much that will stay
when everything is gone.
It glows red in the evening, these flowers. They always seem to be shifting and changing under the atmosphere of this room. But now, they’re red. Like blood and lust and the color of the sun as it drops below the horizon. I don’t know why they change like this, but somehow, these flowers sitting stale in the middle of the table, send a shiver down my spine.
the glass slowly rose from the plate in the middle of the table, the masked audience gathered around in awe. a pristine head, her hair fine and delicate, cut to sway around her face with the gentlest motion, stared back at them. she couldn’t swivel to gaze in horror at them all, for she had no neck to swivel on. she could only meet eyes with the man front and center, even more so than she, with the red glasses and red smile, while her nose met with only the heavy scent of chrysanthemums surrounding her sawed-off neck, and her own curdled blood. a fevered murmuring swept through the crowd. she wondered what was so exciting. she was only a head, after all. the red man smirked at her expression.
Blank. That was what her mind was. Questions such as why are they staring at me, how can they be so happy, and am I an outcast spun around and around in her head, causing a head ache to blossom in her temples.
Do I stand out THAT much? No… No, I don’t want to be the center of attention. I don’t want to be the center piece in the beautiful works of art around me…
Eyes seemed to pierce through the back of her head as she timidly edged her way through the crowd of people in the halls.
Do I truly fit in?
It was all plain and simple. But with you there, in the middle of it, you give more color, vibrance, energy. You give life. It’s different when you’re here.
he set his drink down on the coaster, slick black to match the marble of the large table. he stared up at his masterpiece, smiled, at the symbol of his dominance hanging daintily over the center of his grand table. the girl in the bind, hair awash down her back like a white river, couldn’t smile back at him; she was trussed, suspended in a complex position by dozens of ropes from the ceiling, a gag in her mouth. it took hours to get her like that. good thing she was asleep for most of it.
A centerpiece is something that is the center of attention. For example, perhaps you would see a crow in the midst of pigeons. That crow is the center piece of the whole picture. If an artist had painted or drawn it, he or she would have probably wanted the crow to be the centerpiece of the whole creation.
should only be the main focal point during holidays or special occassions so that guests will have something to talk about and to take their attention away from t
Our centerpiece will be composed of lavender and yellow roses. The touch of autumnal gold will spread from the heels of our shoes to our fingertips. Then, when I am gloved with the brilliant dust of evening, I will shower you with kisses as delicate as a cloud yet determined as rain. We will settle in gardens of silver, purple, and orange – old, royal, and young fire.
I saw the centerpiece in the middle of the table and thought to myself that for once I was glad I was not in charge of that particular detail. The color scheme was all wrong and it seemed like a child had put it together.
I felt like the centerpiece of a large collection. What was the world anyway? And what was with everyone else? And in what ways was I similar to them? Was it wrong to consider myself better than them? I mean, I was better than them only to myself, I hadn’t bothered anyone else with this thought, had I? Maybe I had just been cut off from the real world for too long. Did I even know what was real and what was not? Wasn’t reality relative anyway? Sometimes I felt like I truly did not belong anywhere. I felt as though I was foreign to each and every world I could ever perceive.
And yet, despite all this, I felt more alive than ever. I felt more alive than any other being in this world or any other. I was supposed to be in dire straits, and yet, I felt happier than ever. Was it wrong for me to be happy? I hated everything, I even hated myself, and yet I felt so good in my skin. It felt natural, it felt as if I was where I was supposed to be. And yet, I was missing something. Something essential. But what was it? Just what was it that I was missing? It seemed like I just had to live on and hopefully find out.
…
” What are you standing there for? Hurry up, you’re gonna be late.” Aishh, I hated it when people interrupted my thought process. It was difficult enough to figure things out without them butting in and distracting my attention. Too bad it couldn’t be helped. I guessed it would probably be quite boring without them around anyway. Indeed, I had already decided on not driving them away anymore. Being all by yourself is not as fun as it seems to be at times.
” Oh, I’m coming! Gee, I’m always late, so what does it matter anyway?” I eventually yelled while making my way down the stairs. “Do you really want me to get started on that? Just hurry your ass up already.” was the same old answer I got.
The centerpiece of someones house is what gives of impression of who the person is as a person, when you eneter someones house the most prominent insignificant thing is the centerpiece. The superciality of it defines yourself to someone by this simple object uncounsiously.
Something for the moms and grandmothers at the table. Maybe crafted in a grade school arts class a decade ago, but it’s hard to look at the lovingly constructed cardboard cornucopia and say anything that doesn’t end in “how cute”.
You are the love of my life.
Ah. The centerpiece. That one accessory that graces my dining table and reminds me of my years as an elementary educator. That one vestige of celebrating the holidays is all that remains from those years.
“its the centerpiece that is the only piece missing from this artifact” the tour guide was saying “the only clay bowl found this century”
For Thanksgiving, for Christmas, Choose a centerpiece that is bright interesting and short enough to talk over.
The centerpiece on the table was made of roses and baby’s breath. It had taken her hours to configure it. In the beginning, she’d had all of these grand ideas of what she wanted to do, and she’d bought all of these flowers to do it. But in the end nothing had looked right and she went back to the simple things, and that meant roses. Red roses, white roses, and baby’s breath.
There was only one place to understand. It was absolutely beautiful. And that place was the centrepiece. It was where you would find beautiful flowers or horrible dead ones. You couldn’t tell the house’s mood depending on the centrepiece. Some houses had none, showing how empty to detail they were.