|
Post by wildshadow2 on Dec 15, 2016 17:20:05 GMT -5
Hey, this is just a kind of story-thing I've been working on for a little bit, so yeah, I'll add to it as I write more, and if I like it enough I might finish it, hey, who knows, the possibilities are endless, aren't they
|
|
|
Post by wildshadow2 on Dec 15, 2016 17:20:27 GMT -5
They told her to wait beside the lion outside of the library. She said she would. When she checked her watch, she realized she needed to be at the lion in fifteen minutes. She ran, heart thumping.
She made it just in time.
They told him to wait beside the lion, just outside the library. He agreed.
He arrived precisely on time, checked his watch, and looked around.
A seven-year-old boy sat on the steps of his apartment, his feet resting on the digy, dirty sidewalk. He put his elbows on his knees, holding a car between his hands, close to his face.
“Little boy?” they said.
He looked up.
A teenage girl curled her arm around the cold metal pole, the mulch of the playground soft under her feet. She bit back tears, her phone, opened to a text, balanced gingerly in her hand.
“Hello?” they said softly.
She startled, looked up. “What?”
A young teacher stood beside her desk, watching her young third graders file out of her classroom.
Slowly, she turned to gather up the worksheets and the little odd bits that had accumulated throughout the day.
She heard footsteps on the cold linoleum tiles. Assuming it was a student that had forgotten something, she said, “Have a lovely weekend!” without looking up from her work.
“Oh, don’t worry,” they said. “We will.”
She shot up, shocked.
“If one had the ability to change the course of a life for the better, do you think they would do whatever it is that they need to do to accomplish it?” the preacher said loudly over the pulpit, his eyes full of passion. “Most surely would say yes! But do you realize that God places us in places to do just that! You can—” He stopped, a strange, almost concerned expression on his face. “You—” he tried again, his hands grasping the pulpit fiercely, his veins bulging in his wrists.
“Help. Help me,” he said croakily, the words reverberating through the chapel via the microphone.
He slumped forward onto the pulpit, and the shriek of the mic matched the screams of the congregation.
|
|
|
Post by wildshadow2 on Dec 15, 2016 17:20:43 GMT -5
save
|
|
|
Post by wildshadow2 on Dec 15, 2016 17:20:56 GMT -5
save
|
|
|
Post by wildshadow2 on Dec 15, 2016 17:21:14 GMT -5
save
|
|
|
Post by wildshadow2 on Dec 15, 2016 17:21:41 GMT -5
okay, you can post now if you feel so inclined
|
|
|
Post by wildshadow2 on Dec 20, 2016 13:08:20 GMT -5
bump
|
|