Library

You think you understand the whole system? Read again. The door only sticks sometimes, but it always opens when I need it to. I noticed it first during the rainy season when the air felt heavier and everything in the house took longer to settle. The wood swelled a little, I think. It pressed into the frame and made the handle feel tighter than usual. Most people would panic at that. They would force it. Shake the handle. And make a scene out of something that just needs time.

“I have good news and bad news,” my boss Chester said. If there is a more butthole clenching phrase said at a struggling company during a sudden all hands meeting, I don’t know what it is. Thing was, Chester didn’t need to say a single syllable. His slouched shoulders, pale(er) face, and hangdog expression told us the entire story. The company was going under.

It was just about half an hour ago since it happened. I had come to the decision that my house was in need of a rather intense cleanup. Starting with the living room, I took out all the junk and other stuff and then started cleaning. I glanced at the wallpaper, pained by how ugly it truly is without any of my stuff cluttering around it. This wallpaper had still belonged to the previous owners, it hasn't been too long ago since I had moved in and I hadn't really taken the time to change it.

There she is the center of my affection. The reason I wake up in the morning. I have heart palpitations because of her. Jessica Mackenzie. I have known her ever since preschool, and I have been in love with her since. I have tried to confess my feelings to her, believe me I have, but every time I see her, I freeze up and bite my tongue. She was always sociable. Like the planets that revolve around the Sun, she could pull people into her orbit.

I’m writing on here about a missed connection. I was at the Bernard Mall retro game store around 3 pm on Saturday. You were in the fantasy aisle. Your hair was a shining auburn that graced your gentle frame, and when you turned to me. Your eyes lit me up like the mystical northern lights. Their hazel flecks danced even in the dull lighting, and you smiled. And your blushed cheeks a shade of rose so sweet a hummingbird would confuse you for a bloom.

I think it all started when I dreamt of my own death. I was only 10. This isn’t the first time I’ve died in a dream. We've all felt the jolt of a fall or a hit. Shaking us out of slumber and into the dark comfort of our bed.

"Lady Valtin! Lady Rudova!" Béla, who had dozed on the steps of the gazebo, lifted his head and mustered a lazy bark toward the path. An elderly man, wearing a messenger's garb, stood past the bed of daffodils and looked around in confusion. The presence of my large hound didn't seem to concern him, or perhaps he sensed that Béla was not in the mood to cause any trouble on such a nice day.

This Is How You Teach a Child to Die Slowly. "I exist in two places: here, and where you left me." — Margaret At wood. • There it goes again. It starts with a frightening silence. Then… slam! "Jesus!" my mother screams, like she's just realized how close she is to actually meeting Him. We run again. My brothers dive under the bed. My sister clings to my mom, as though she's thinking "maybe this time, she'd actually go, and I can go with her."

A hard copy of the following document was discovered in a disused office suite on the outskirts of Manchester, New Hampshire. Extensive research has so far failed to turn up any information about the former tenants or the provenance of the “report”.  The investigation continues. – A. A. EXECUTIVE SUMMARY This after-action report recommends the complete and immediate abandonment of high-value target SODA BOTTLE despite the costs to be incurred by the Organization as a result. BACKGROUND

Growing up, my family was like a bunch of nomads. We never settled in one place for long. Anytime my father’s job called for it, we would uproot our lives and head on to the next big thing. This meant ending friendships and enrolling in school time after time. It was frustrating having to repeatedly sever my ties with the friends I made, and the little nest I crafted for myself. But as a ten-year-old kid, who was I to complain?

Mystery of the Courtyard is a horror and emotional fanfiction by Joseph Arrington (JosephTheSnail), inspired by the Super Mario 64 urban legend “L is Real 2401.” During Bowser’s attack on Peach’s Castle, Luigi is trapped within the courtyard fountain and left behind as Mario continues his journey to save the princess. Presumed missing for decades, Luigi survives in silence until his body finally gives out, binding his spirit to the fountain itself.

WELL! Turns out he was right, and now “Tilna McGleek” Means “to ever-so-quickly go nuts” – But I’m sure that you’ll find only things that you seek When you stride forth as Grayven McFutz!

I still have the book.  And, reluctant as I am to share it with anybody, I can see no other way. Very well, then. This is how it begins: The Knights are lined up all the way down the hall To be blessed by the Queen and the King, With their shields and their sigils and armor and guns And their magical-gagical rings! - They’ve come from afar and they’ve come from a-near To kneel down and mount up and fight, They’re strong and they’re tall and they’re brave one and all –

I stand in a dark room. It is very large and I can barely see the black outlines of the walls. Around me are golden cages which hang from the ceiling by long chains. Peering into them, I see the most peculiar objects; much like the strange ornate cages, gold glints through many of the bars. There are crowns, golden bars, sceptres with emeralds and other gems embedded in their hilts, golden necklaces and lockets amongst other things. One has bronze weighing scales. Other cages have bones in…

One day a terrible plague entered my village and wiped out most of the population. I should have died back then, but my father made a deal with the healer, an old lady whom lived on the edge of our village. In return however we would be enslaved by her, unable to disagree with her and forced to work until we drop. My father knew full well that this was the outcome, but he didn't want to let me go.

Someone asked me, “Who are you?” I answered quickly, “I’m glory.” But they smiled. They looked into my eyes, not kindly. “No,” they said, “Who are you?” The question didn’t leave. It followed me home, sat at the edge of my bed. Who am I? Who is glory? I try to think. A depressed soul? Too easy. A tired one? That’s just the surface. Glory. Glory. Glory. I’m limited by my problems, That I can't see past them. Glory. Glory. Glory. Say it enough times,

The trip was fun. From what we could remember at least. Olivia and I had made the weekend trip down to St. Augustine, Florida with her younger brother John. The four hour drive from Albany, Georgia to one of America’s oldest cities was long and boring. The four-lane highways we traveled along were barren and isolated, surrounded by nothing but miles of impenetrable forest save for the occasional shithole rest stop.

Call me tasteless but I enjoyed running Southern Fried Murder. Growing up, I loved horror movies, especially slashers, but as I got older I became more drawn to true crime… To the real life monsters walking among us. Like most people, I was initially drawn to the sensationalized Bundys and Dahmers of the world but the local cases scared me more. I became more intrigued by the murders and vicious crimes that happened in my neck of the woods here in the American South. These were also the crimes…

My friends and I have a hideout, hidden away from all the annoying adults in our lives. It’s a secret place only we know of and it’s really well hidden! There are days we come here and days we don’t come here, because we really don’t want our parents to know. It’s a small, low hut in the middle of the woods close by.

1934 was a different time. Not just in Savannah, Georgia but in America. We didn't have many luxuries back then. Or much optimism, for that matter. Not when we were in the midst of The Great Depression.