“If I was serious, then I wouldn’t be here,” she said as she slowly peeled the pear–the knife nicking its flesh. It made Rosa feel uncomfortable. “How are you anyways? The girl’s death must hard on you too? Right? It isn’t an everyday thing, you know.”
It smelled like fresh orange peels as the sun’s fingers climbed into our bedroom window. It was as if this moment was the definition of ethereal, you were too perfect for this world with disheveled sandy hair and bedroom eyes pleading with the light to go back outside.
The sun was hot in the sky and Maggie wasbt ready to go out again. It had been hard enough to show Ally let alone a whole beach of people. She held her arm out and rubbed at the peeled skin.
like a carrot in the sun dripping with the juice of blistered skin and the beauty of the grotesque. what lies beneath the surface when you pull back the covers, the layers of man, of thought
Mikael was never fond of housework. Being a child, he’d grumble at even the slightest mention of sweeping the floor or fixing his bed. Ever since Pete, however, he’d taken it upon himself to help with whatever he can. Every other day he’d help Lee wash the dishes, and on the days after that, he’d help cook the meals with Wren.
As they peeled wild onions in the kitchen, they’d talk about anything and everything–him and his sister. But as Wren turns her work over and runs the sharpened rock over the surface, Mikael can’t help but notice that Wren seems to have too much and too little to say.
He purses his lips, waiting for the silence to burst. He’s halfway done through another onion when his mouth finally supplies, “You’re awfully quiet today, Wren. Something wrong?”
Mikael looks at her with mother’s eyes and father’s thick lashes. Wren sighs resolutely, setting a half-peeled vegetable aside to study her makeshift paring knife.
“I’ve heard news about Ward.”
“And…?” Mikael prompts, always eager to hear anything about Ward.
“It’s a wasteland now.” Wren steels herself, but her brother catches all the ache and quiver. “We have nowhere to go back to now.”
Mikael can practically feel the heaviness on Wren’s shoulders. They only went with Pete to take temporary refuge from the war–so assured that Ward will still be there once they’re old enough to go back. But with Wren’s news and her grim expression, Mikael guesses there’s more to her troubles than just that.
He scrunches his brows. “What do you mean, wasteland? Sure, the war might have destroyed a few things–like our house–but that doesn’t mean we can’t go back if we want to.”
And then, Mikael’s worst fears are confirmed by Wren’s next words. “They used chemical bombs on the whole nation. The Fifth Citadel–all the Wards. We’d die of poisoning if we ever came back.”
“Oh.” And it’s all Mikael Warwicke can muster to say at the moment–so overwhelmed with the fact that they’re irrevocably ‘lost children’ now. In name and in nature.
“I’m sorry, Wren,” Mikael apologizes: a force of habit. It’s all he can offer his sister now–who’s clung to home with all her resolve.
Pete was never home to her, Mikael knows. . . But at this point, would anything ever be good enough to pass off as home?
I took an orange. It attired my attention. I began to peel it. It was rough, it wasn’ t a happy experience. But I did it. Now I have it peeled on the table. Never knew what to do with all those peeled skins. Probably I’ ll put them to oranges.
“Alright! We have to peel off all the paint from the front door!” Alex’s father said. The children, plus Alex, saluted and said, “Aye, aye!” they all got to work, kneeling down and scratching at the door. In just an hour, the door was peeled of paint. Afterwords, the entire group painted it a pretty blue. That was team work!
It was almost five minutes ago, but Adam wanted that banana peeled. After all, he was hungry. But no matter what he tried, the fruit would not open. What was WRONG with it? This was ridiculous and completely insane. The boy told his mother about this, and she said that is something she cannot deal with. the banana is too old. It was never opened.
When making an apple pie, the apples must be peeled. That is one of the most important parts of creating and apple pie. After that you can then cook them and add the spices. Then you put them into the pie crust. And lastly you must cook the entire pie until it is done.
She peeled the table off of the beer slowly, rolling the paper between her fingers tips until they became tiny malleable balls, browned with the dirty and sweat of her own nervous hands.
“You know I’m a selfish person, you knew that about me ages ago,” he sighs.
Yeah, she knew he was a bit of an ass, but he was her ass and he had been her ass for the past 15 years. He wasn’t anymore though, that was quite clear. Now, he was someone else’s ass and her world was shattered.
Layers and layers of truth are peeled away everyday as you get older. When you become an adult and there are less layers covering up what the World is really like.
“If I was serious, then I wouldn’t be here,” she said as she slowly peeled the pear–the knife nicking its flesh. It made Rosa feel uncomfortable. “How are you anyways? The girl’s death must hard on you too? Right? It isn’t an everyday thing, you know.”
It smelled like fresh orange peels as the sun’s fingers climbed into our bedroom window. It was as if this moment was the definition of ethereal, you were too perfect for this world with disheveled sandy hair and bedroom eyes pleading with the light to go back outside.
The sun was hot in the sky and Maggie wasbt ready to go out again. It had been hard enough to show Ally let alone a whole beach of people. She held her arm out and rubbed at the peeled skin.
like a carrot in the sun dripping with the juice of blistered skin and the beauty of the grotesque. what lies beneath the surface when you pull back the covers, the layers of man, of thought
Mikael was never fond of housework. Being a child, he’d grumble at even the slightest mention of sweeping the floor or fixing his bed. Ever since Pete, however, he’d taken it upon himself to help with whatever he can. Every other day he’d help Lee wash the dishes, and on the days after that, he’d help cook the meals with Wren.
As they peeled wild onions in the kitchen, they’d talk about anything and everything–him and his sister. But as Wren turns her work over and runs the sharpened rock over the surface, Mikael can’t help but notice that Wren seems to have too much and too little to say.
He purses his lips, waiting for the silence to burst. He’s halfway done through another onion when his mouth finally supplies, “You’re awfully quiet today, Wren. Something wrong?”
Mikael looks at her with mother’s eyes and father’s thick lashes. Wren sighs resolutely, setting a half-peeled vegetable aside to study her makeshift paring knife.
“I’ve heard news about Ward.”
“And…?” Mikael prompts, always eager to hear anything about Ward.
“It’s a wasteland now.” Wren steels herself, but her brother catches all the ache and quiver. “We have nowhere to go back to now.”
Mikael can practically feel the heaviness on Wren’s shoulders. They only went with Pete to take temporary refuge from the war–so assured that Ward will still be there once they’re old enough to go back. But with Wren’s news and her grim expression, Mikael guesses there’s more to her troubles than just that.
He scrunches his brows. “What do you mean, wasteland? Sure, the war might have destroyed a few things–like our house–but that doesn’t mean we can’t go back if we want to.”
And then, Mikael’s worst fears are confirmed by Wren’s next words. “They used chemical bombs on the whole nation. The Fifth Citadel–all the Wards. We’d die of poisoning if we ever came back.”
“Oh.” And it’s all Mikael Warwicke can muster to say at the moment–so overwhelmed with the fact that they’re irrevocably ‘lost children’ now. In name and in nature.
“I’m sorry, Wren,” Mikael apologizes: a force of habit. It’s all he can offer his sister now–who’s clung to home with all her resolve.
Pete was never home to her, Mikael knows. . . But at this point, would anything ever be good enough to pass off as home?
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I took an orange. It attired my attention. I began to peel it. It was rough, it wasn’ t a happy experience. But I did it. Now I have it peeled on the table. Never knew what to do with all those peeled skins. Probably I’ ll put them to oranges.
“Alright! We have to peel off all the paint from the front door!” Alex’s father said. The children, plus Alex, saluted and said, “Aye, aye!” they all got to work, kneeling down and scratching at the door. In just an hour, the door was peeled of paint. Afterwords, the entire group painted it a pretty blue. That was team work!
It was almost five minutes ago, but Adam wanted that banana peeled. After all, he was hungry. But no matter what he tried, the fruit would not open. What was WRONG with it? This was ridiculous and completely insane. The boy told his mother about this, and she said that is something she cannot deal with. the banana is too old. It was never opened.
When making an apple pie, the apples must be peeled. That is one of the most important parts of creating and apple pie. After that you can then cook them and add the spices. Then you put them into the pie crust. And lastly you must cook the entire pie until it is done.
She slowly peeled back the skin of the orange smelling it’s fruity goodness waiting to taste each piece in the warmth of the summers day.
She peeled an orange beside a grave, saying it is for her mother.
I peeled a banana. I peeled an orange. My skin peeled after I got a sunburn. I like to peel the dried glue from my hands.
She peeled the table off of the beer slowly, rolling the paper between her fingers tips until they became tiny malleable balls, browned with the dirty and sweat of her own nervous hands.
“You know I’m a selfish person, you knew that about me ages ago,” he sighs.
Yeah, she knew he was a bit of an ass, but he was her ass and he had been her ass for the past 15 years. He wasn’t anymore though, that was quite clear. Now, he was someone else’s ass and her world was shattered.
She peeled the layer of skin back like you would an onion. It hurt like hell but she had to do it to survive.
Layers and layers of truth are peeled away everyday as you get older. When you become an adult and there are less layers covering up what the World is really like.