crisp air soft white billows of icy breath going for a jog dry snapping sounds of twigs and brush and soft patches of grass whooshing occasionally. just want to keep running and get away from his house in the forest.
Crisp air hit my face. It took what seemed like forever, but here we were, atop this mountain. This challenge. Some thought it would be the death of us, that we’d end up at the bottom, or stuck on some ledge for the vultures to feast on us. But here we are, in the crisp air.
She knelt in the dirt, raking her fingers through the crackling autumn leaves. Albert leaned over her shoulder to see what treasures she would display for him this day. Nothing quite as beautiful as a crisp, smoke-filled breeze could captivate him, except Eden, of course.
The crisp intake of the summer breeze has me taken,
I am the first one to awaken.
I grab my board and I practice until I’m satisfied.
My goal is to improve,
Be the best I can be.
For him.
stepping out the doorway, he followed her footsteps with his eyes; to the lake. the snow crunched under his feet and the crisp air bit at his nose. so many reasons to step back inside, to continue on with his life, so warm, peaceful, serine. it wasn’t his problem anymore anyways; he wasn’t the one that hurt.
..yet, through the lies and all, he still cared for her. felt guilty that he was the one to blame for her depression, her self hatred, and her loss of innocence…
so he started to run, hoping he wasn’t too late; hoping she hadn’t already decided to take a swim..
“It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday!” Brooke said to anyone who would listen.
“Mr. Kitty cat, it’s my birthday!” Mr. doggie, it’s my birthday!” Mr. Rock under the tree, it’s my birthday! Mr. ” She had not decided not to go to work at the bakery, but she’d been caught up in the moment.
After seven hours of deranged ranting about her birth, the day she was born, the time of the day she was born, and how nobody could ever take that away from her, Mr. M’Djabi the mailman approached. He was the first actual human being she had encountered all day.
“It’s my birthday!” She squealed, throwing her hands up in the air.
“That’s nice,” he smiled, “This envelope looks like it has a card in it.”
“I knew it would come! It’s from my mommy!” She frantically tore open the envelope, reached into the card, grabbing its contents and threw the card away. In her hand was a crisp new one dollar bill.”
Mr. M’Djabi smiled and turned away. “Remember, don’t spend it all at once, it’ll be a year before you get another!”
As i chowed down on the cracker I couldn’t help but think it was a beautiful brisk winter morning and that I wanted a piece of the white maze outside. If I had a clean bed everyday I’d sleep so much more peacefully… uhoh.. times up!! =/
HOOLY crap i hit refresh and it gave me more time on the same topic! How exciting… too bad this is all I could come up with with only 60 seconds, Reminds me of the radio show Just a Minute.. ever heard of it? Go look it up =)
i love chips especially the nes that are fried.. mmm..
especially the nes that make me fat..
i usuaLLY HAVE THEM WHEN I AM depressed or hungry or just in the mood for chips..
i also like crisp vadas and sarees.
crisp leaves. crisp bills. crisp sound. crisp is used mainly for something positive, something that gives delight. and indeed i like to crush crisp leaves, and to insert crisp bills into a changing machine. perhaps people like something dry?
The crisp autumn air is something I’ve always loved. It smells amazing, the freshness of the leaves as they turn to their golds and reds and oranges … the startling cold that sets in when you least expect it, leaving the mark of coolness on your prickled skin.
It was a crisp winter day,but with the palpable tension. The sun was bright, but not the kind of bright that one would want. It was the kind of in your face, can’t look up kind of bright. The kind of bright that could spoil your day.
Coco Crisp, if he were to win any award for his time playing Major League Baseball, it would be for the most humorous name. Not even a nickname, his actual name. He was a good player when played in Boston but he was supplanted by a talented rookie. But it will be his absurd name that I will always remember him by the most.
There is a crispness in the fall air. Wind blows through the trees as he boards the bus, looking forward to a new life. Trying not to dwell on what he leaves behind. His brother stands behind him, a soft frown on his face marring the look of his gentle green eyes. He wishes the best, but he also wishes so desperately he wasn’t being left behind.
the crisp spring air woke me up as I stepped out onto the porch.
“sunrise is beautiful, isn’t it?”
I turned around and there he was, just staring at me. he hair all messy from sleeping and his shirt wrinkled.
I couldn’t believe any of this was real.
chips crunching in my mouth. the first bite of a red delicious apple. the cold air breaking my nostril hair. clean fold of paper or clothes. crispy minis. dads white work shirt after dry cleaners. a good looking guy in a blazer
How I wish I could feel the crisp air sweep across my face. Instead I’m jailed in this place a call a room thinking,dreaming, wishing on something that wont happen. You keep saying you’ll change. I’ve yet to see any progression. I hate the control you have over me.
The crisp potato chip crunched as soon as my teeth made contact. The silence in the room was awkwardly stunning. Everyone heard me and my crisp. I fumbled with the bag, and put it away in my purse. No way was I gonna say that the snacks at the party were awful.
the morning after something unexpected.
you, alone, nestled on a couch that faces a blank TV, toying with an apple in your hand, hungry, but not realizing it–
pressing the edge of your fingernail into the thin skin of the honeycrisp until the wet of the apple drips down to your wrist, a sensation you are too far away to feel, a mess you’ve made of the pattern you created because you weren’t paying attention, because
the phone rang
(in an eight-hour span, you’ve grown to recognize two doctors’ phone numbers, a sick accidental unwanted memorization, like a child you are too poor to abort)
I bite into a carrot, teeth slicing down and eliciting a nice, crisp crunch. It hasn’t been easy to grow a post-apocalyptic garden…a lack of good seeds, quite a bit of radiation testing, and, frankly the worst part, all the hoes at the department store were either stolen for self-defense purposes or covered in zombie blood. Not to mention the mutant rabbits. But damn a fresh carrot tasted good after months of eating canned beets. And to think I used to like beets.
I supposed it could’ve been worse. I supposed there could’ve been a hundred and one more things that might have gone wrong, but instead, there was simply nothing left.
It was ash. Piles upon piles of black, white and grey in generous quantities of indeterminable shapes and sizes.
Gone. All gone. Burnt to a crisp, as if there were nothing more than a hand that had turned a dial one notch too far.
I stood in the doorway of what could have been for longer than absolutely necessary, because when I saw the blackened hole, I realized your wish had been granted. There was nothing left here for me any more. It was all pointeless.
Crisp, that newborn feeling you left off when you ran, leaving nothing but regret ant “what if?” behind. Leaving dreams and promises. Crisp is when you so freshly and smoothly disappeared with not one person as an audience except for me; the main character.
She fell asleep with the window open, allowing the crispness of winter to fill the room. She hadn’t left the house for a few days and the fresh air felt really good on her bare skin.
The green leaves were crisp with Spring freshness. They glistened in the morning sunlight, dew bending them forward. Spring, what a lovely month. No cold. Only happy thing. Adventures. Smiles. Wonder.
The window of the black sedan rolled down and out of it came a hand clasping a crisp stack of bills. Reluctantly, the scraggly teenager approached and took the money out of the outstretched hand.
“He lives in Paradise Suites, along West Avenue. Room 519.”
“Thank you,” came the gruff voice from inside the car, “You’ve done the world a favor. Don’t forget that.”
And just like that he became Judas, albeit a righteous one. Selling out a killer to another killer, he thought, is like fighting darkness with darkness.
He pocketed the money and walked off, wondering whose darkness was stronger.
Fish and chips in batter, golden brown after frying. In Britain, they call fries, chips, and chips, crisps. They spring off the teeth and tongue, piping hot without being too greasy. They go really well with mayonnaise.
The sheets were crisp for about twelve and a half seconds; the precise amount of time it took me to turn you around, kiss you hard once, and shove you onto the bed.
I like to have a crispy chip every one in a while. It’s nice! Crisp is a funny word, huh? It just rolls of the tip of my tongue. Crisp! Crrrisp! I love it. I’m CRISPY! Crispy is fun ! I like being crisp!
Marika had longed to become a marine biologist and to swim with the dolphins.
One day she read on Google that dolphins were notorious for gang rape and random acts of violence.
She lay on the beach dreaming of this, and must have fallen asleep because when she woke she was burned to a crisp.
The crisp fall air blew through our hair as we sat on Overlook Drive, soaking in the beautiful panorama of Pittsburgh’s skyline. I took a deep drag on my cigarette and closed my eyes. This, I thought, was as close to perfection as I was going to get.
potato chips, and sunshine, and the biting cold of New Yrk winds. Snow, terrible, awful snow, and the sound f leaves as the crunch underfoot on an autumn day. Crisp. Crisp. Crisp. Terrible crisp. I learned that I hate this word.
The sadness is crisp and clear. I had broken her heart without meaning to and in turn, she broke mine with every intention. She thought I was wrong but she was wrong all along. I don’t blame her because she has as much to blame as me. But I just wish we can set it right.
The crisp autumn leaves crunched underfoot, as she made her way down main street. The perfect day, the perfect weather. She loved fall. Everything was new. It felt like a fresh start. A good place to begin again, leaving everything else in the hot summer.
crisp air soft white billows of icy breath going for a jog dry snapping sounds of twigs and brush and soft patches of grass whooshing occasionally. just want to keep running and get away from his house in the forest.
Crisp air hit my face. It took what seemed like forever, but here we were, atop this mountain. This challenge. Some thought it would be the death of us, that we’d end up at the bottom, or stuck on some ledge for the vultures to feast on us. But here we are, in the crisp air.
She knelt in the dirt, raking her fingers through the crackling autumn leaves. Albert leaned over her shoulder to see what treasures she would display for him this day. Nothing quite as beautiful as a crisp, smoke-filled breeze could captivate him, except Eden, of course.
The weather today reminded me of fried potatoes.
Fried til it was white, sparkling.
Whipping, spilling
Burning my skin.
Iced. Frozen.
Crisped.
The crisp intake of the summer breeze has me taken,
I am the first one to awaken.
I grab my board and I practice until I’m satisfied.
My goal is to improve,
Be the best I can be.
For him.
There was a crisp snap on the floor
when I fell
in love with her
together
we will learn how to be
despite our distance
eventually
we’ll be together
stepping out the doorway, he followed her footsteps with his eyes; to the lake. the snow crunched under his feet and the crisp air bit at his nose. so many reasons to step back inside, to continue on with his life, so warm, peaceful, serine. it wasn’t his problem anymore anyways; he wasn’t the one that hurt.
..yet, through the lies and all, he still cared for her. felt guilty that he was the one to blame for her depression, her self hatred, and her loss of innocence…
so he started to run, hoping he wasn’t too late; hoping she hadn’t already decided to take a swim..
“It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday!” Brooke said to anyone who would listen.
“Mr. Kitty cat, it’s my birthday!” Mr. doggie, it’s my birthday!” Mr. Rock under the tree, it’s my birthday! Mr. ” She had not decided not to go to work at the bakery, but she’d been caught up in the moment.
After seven hours of deranged ranting about her birth, the day she was born, the time of the day she was born, and how nobody could ever take that away from her, Mr. M’Djabi the mailman approached. He was the first actual human being she had encountered all day.
“It’s my birthday!” She squealed, throwing her hands up in the air.
“That’s nice,” he smiled, “This envelope looks like it has a card in it.”
“I knew it would come! It’s from my mommy!” She frantically tore open the envelope, reached into the card, grabbing its contents and threw the card away. In her hand was a crisp new one dollar bill.”
Mr. M’Djabi smiled and turned away. “Remember, don’t spend it all at once, it’ll be a year before you get another!”
As i chowed down on the cracker I couldn’t help but think it was a beautiful brisk winter morning and that I wanted a piece of the white maze outside. If I had a clean bed everyday I’d sleep so much more peacefully… uhoh.. times up!! =/
HOOLY crap i hit refresh and it gave me more time on the same topic! How exciting… too bad this is all I could come up with with only 60 seconds, Reminds me of the radio show Just a Minute.. ever heard of it? Go look it up =)
Have you ever noticed the movement your mouth makes when pronouncing this word?
Crisp. Like the leaves of my favorite season.
i love chips especially the nes that are fried.. mmm..
especially the nes that make me fat..
i usuaLLY HAVE THEM WHEN I AM depressed or hungry or just in the mood for chips..
i also like crisp vadas and sarees.
crisp leaves. crisp bills. crisp sound. crisp is used mainly for something positive, something that gives delight. and indeed i like to crush crisp leaves, and to insert crisp bills into a changing machine. perhaps people like something dry?
The crisp autumn air is something I’ve always loved. It smells amazing, the freshness of the leaves as they turn to their golds and reds and oranges … the startling cold that sets in when you least expect it, leaving the mark of coolness on your prickled skin.
It was a crisp winter day,but with the palpable tension. The sun was bright, but not the kind of bright that one would want. It was the kind of in your face, can’t look up kind of bright. The kind of bright that could spoil your day.
She stands in the center of the town, the snow falling slowly like a curtain of crystals.
It’s cold, but she thinks it’s pretty; she stands still, and the snow is still falling.
Coco Crisp, if he were to win any award for his time playing Major League Baseball, it would be for the most humorous name. Not even a nickname, his actual name. He was a good player when played in Boston but he was supplanted by a talented rookie. But it will be his absurd name that I will always remember him by the most.
There is a crispness in the fall air. Wind blows through the trees as he boards the bus, looking forward to a new life. Trying not to dwell on what he leaves behind. His brother stands behind him, a soft frown on his face marring the look of his gentle green eyes. He wishes the best, but he also wishes so desperately he wasn’t being left behind.
the crisp spring air woke me up as I stepped out onto the porch.
“sunrise is beautiful, isn’t it?”
I turned around and there he was, just staring at me. he hair all messy from sleeping and his shirt wrinkled.
I couldn’t believe any of this was real.
chips crunching in my mouth. the first bite of a red delicious apple. the cold air breaking my nostril hair. clean fold of paper or clothes. crispy minis. dads white work shirt after dry cleaners. a good looking guy in a blazer
How I wish I could feel the crisp air sweep across my face. Instead I’m jailed in this place a call a room thinking,dreaming, wishing on something that wont happen. You keep saying you’ll change. I’ve yet to see any progression. I hate the control you have over me.
The crisp potato chip crunched as soon as my teeth made contact. The silence in the room was awkwardly stunning. Everyone heard me and my crisp. I fumbled with the bag, and put it away in my purse. No way was I gonna say that the snacks at the party were awful.
the morning after something unexpected.
you, alone, nestled on a couch that faces a blank TV, toying with an apple in your hand, hungry, but not realizing it–
pressing the edge of your fingernail into the thin skin of the honeycrisp until the wet of the apple drips down to your wrist, a sensation you are too far away to feel, a mess you’ve made of the pattern you created because you weren’t paying attention, because
the phone rang
(in an eight-hour span, you’ve grown to recognize two doctors’ phone numbers, a sick accidental unwanted memorization, like a child you are too poor to abort)
I bite into a carrot, teeth slicing down and eliciting a nice, crisp crunch. It hasn’t been easy to grow a post-apocalyptic garden…a lack of good seeds, quite a bit of radiation testing, and, frankly the worst part, all the hoes at the department store were either stolen for self-defense purposes or covered in zombie blood. Not to mention the mutant rabbits. But damn a fresh carrot tasted good after months of eating canned beets. And to think I used to like beets.
Burnt to a crisp.
I supposed it could’ve been worse. I supposed there could’ve been a hundred and one more things that might have gone wrong, but instead, there was simply nothing left.
It was ash. Piles upon piles of black, white and grey in generous quantities of indeterminable shapes and sizes.
Gone. All gone. Burnt to a crisp, as if there were nothing more than a hand that had turned a dial one notch too far.
I stood in the doorway of what could have been for longer than absolutely necessary, because when I saw the blackened hole, I realized your wish had been granted. There was nothing left here for me any more. It was all pointeless.
I was finally, dead.
Crisp reminds me of bacon.
Crisp, that newborn feeling you left off when you ran, leaving nothing but regret ant “what if?” behind. Leaving dreams and promises. Crisp is when you so freshly and smoothly disappeared with not one person as an audience except for me; the main character.
She fell asleep with the window open, allowing the crispness of winter to fill the room. She hadn’t left the house for a few days and the fresh air felt really good on her bare skin.
The green leaves were crisp with Spring freshness. They glistened in the morning sunlight, dew bending them forward. Spring, what a lovely month. No cold. Only happy thing. Adventures. Smiles. Wonder.
The window of the black sedan rolled down and out of it came a hand clasping a crisp stack of bills. Reluctantly, the scraggly teenager approached and took the money out of the outstretched hand.
“He lives in Paradise Suites, along West Avenue. Room 519.”
“Thank you,” came the gruff voice from inside the car, “You’ve done the world a favor. Don’t forget that.”
And just like that he became Judas, albeit a righteous one. Selling out a killer to another killer, he thought, is like fighting darkness with darkness.
He pocketed the money and walked off, wondering whose darkness was stronger.
betch’a can’t eat just one!
“Just do it!” ordered my grandma.
The gangly teen scribbled on his notepad, walked away, then returned moments later.
“Burned to a crisp”, he said as he threw the hot dog on the table and awkwardly left
Fish and chips in batter, golden brown after frying. In Britain, they call fries, chips, and chips, crisps. They spring off the teeth and tongue, piping hot without being too greasy. They go really well with mayonnaise.
The sheets were crisp for about twelve and a half seconds; the precise amount of time it took me to turn you around, kiss you hard once, and shove you onto the bed.
I like to have a crispy chip every one in a while. It’s nice! Crisp is a funny word, huh? It just rolls of the tip of my tongue. Crisp! Crrrisp! I love it. I’m CRISPY! Crispy is fun ! I like being crisp!
Marika had longed to become a marine biologist and to swim with the dolphins.
One day she read on Google that dolphins were notorious for gang rape and random acts of violence.
She lay on the beach dreaming of this, and must have fallen asleep because when she woke she was burned to a crisp.
The crisp fall air blew through our hair as we sat on Overlook Drive, soaking in the beautiful panorama of Pittsburgh’s skyline. I took a deep drag on my cigarette and closed my eyes. This, I thought, was as close to perfection as I was going to get.
potato chips, and sunshine, and the biting cold of New Yrk winds. Snow, terrible, awful snow, and the sound f leaves as the crunch underfoot on an autumn day. Crisp. Crisp. Crisp. Terrible crisp. I learned that I hate this word.
potato chips. They can be yellow like the sun or like a flower. They are salty and addictive. There’s not such thing as only one. Crisp…
The sadness is crisp and clear. I had broken her heart without meaning to and in turn, she broke mine with every intention. She thought I was wrong but she was wrong all along. I don’t blame her because she has as much to blame as me. But I just wish we can set it right.
The crisp autumn leaves crunched underfoot, as she made her way down main street. The perfect day, the perfect weather. She loved fall. Everything was new. It felt like a fresh start. A good place to begin again, leaving everything else in the hot summer.