ramenette

It was one of the worst possible times for him to pop up. Katerina was in the bathtub, humming to herself. She couldn't get over how wonderful her night had been; her date was wonderful, and everything went flawlessly. Life was beautiful. Then Eros decided to visit. "What are you doing here," she demanded. "You have a new leading man. That obviously calls for a visit from the god of love." "Why you though? Aphrodite is so much nicer, and she wouldn't suddenly appear in my bathroom while I'm in the tub. You're luck my parents aren't home. They'd kill you." Eros snorted. "I'm immortal, stupid. You clearly need a visit from Athena." "Whate

You drive by that house every day. You don't know why, but you do. It's not on your way to work, but you still drive by. It's a long street, and the house isn't as attractive as it used to be. You still go. Whether from that odd feeling of nostalgia or the feeling that you need to go take the same route to work everyday, you still go. The house used to remind you of the sky. The house, itself, used to be bright yellow; the kind that made you wince just to look at because it reminded you so much of the sun. The shutters were bright blue, and the curtains were pure white. The colors looked like they came out of a children's book. There was ev

Loneliness He stared at his wife’s grave, the sorrow and tears showing in his dull gray eyes. Slowly his poured a glass of champagne in two separate cups. One he placed on his beloved’s grave and the other, he drank himself. He raised the glass to his winkled face and sipped  it. Oh how he missed his wife. The woman who had been with him through it all. She was his loyal companion through war, poverty, love, strife, happiness, wealth, and so much more. His heart ached as though he were being continuously stabbed with a knife in the chest. She was gone! He lost her only a month ago but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could

“Wrong,” my professor announced and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. I was not wrong; simply mistaken. I’m never wrong- ever. Actually I’m always correct. Usually the opposing person is incorrect; they just don’t know it. Honestly I am an intelligent person. I’m almost perfect; no one person is actually perfect but I’m as close as it gets. I barely make mistakes. When I do I’ll humbly admit to them- just not when I know I’m right. I’ve gone through elementary, middle, and high school with straight A‘s. I never allowed myself less than perfect. It was always perfect- my entire life was.

I was not a greedy person; I simply was protective over my possessions. They were mine and no one could touch them. She was my treasure. Not even one person was allowed to have her but me. She was my wife and he should’ve respected that. Had he we wouldn’t be in this predicament. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open. He knew what was about to happen. The knife in my hand felt so natural; as if I always held it. It was almost as though the handle was fitted specifically for my hand. My hand lowered, as well as the knife. He screamed and I smiled. I wasn’t being greedy at all; I was protective. He shouldn’t have lo

It amazed and horrified me that something so beautiful could do something so revolting. The sight alone was spine tingling and hair raising. Seeing the blood splatter across the room and dead body on the floor. He was staring at me now; I was next. His scarlet eyes blazed with what looked like wildfire. Blood was dripping from his mouth, down his face. His eyes darted back and forth from the dead woman to me. He was trying to decide who to finish off first. He walked towards me. His tongue emerged from between his lips and licked the remaining blood fro his face. My breath caught in my throat and I began to wonder who would kill me first;

I cringed as I watched the executioner drop the accused witch’s body. Her neck is tied in the loop and was being strangled. I saw her eyes bulge and mouth gasp for air. In not even a minute her eyes closed and body hung limp. My own eyes closed and tears slid down my face. However I was quick to wipe them away. I could not show sorrow for an accused witch’s death. I would be named as a friend of witches and therefore hung as well. It did us no good! What was it worth? Hanging people did not justify our means. There was no trials, they were scared witches would cast a spell on them. I knew better. There were no such things as rea